The very first time your boyfriend had suggested that the two of you "have a little chat" had been one of the worst days of your life. It had been a minor transgression, something that most people would have overlooked. Certainly not acting as extremely as he had.
You had accidentally burned the food you were cooking. It happened, accidents were a normal part of life. You didn't intentionally burn his food, why would you? Back then, he hadn't truly done anything to frighten you. A few blows, yes, but nothing compared to what came next.
His temper was worse than ever, and perhaps you should have realized it as such. He had come home in such a state of fury, slamming the door shut behind him and glaring at you as you softly asked him what had happened.
You never did find out.
He backhanded you hard enough to send you to the floor. Sobbing, you had tried to get back up, or at least make an attempt to shield yourself from whatever else he was about to do. It wouldn't have mattered; after the first blow came many more, mostly to your back. He knew where he was aiming, and bathroom trips afterwards had been painful. He had directed the punches to your kidneys.
You had hoped that that was the worst of it, that he would simply stop eventually and leave you be to cry alone in the bathroom. Your stomach had knotted up, so full of fear and worry, that you vomited on the floor.
Your boyfriend, disgusted, had jumped backwards to avoid the splash. His upper lip curled back as he watched you heaving, unable to stop the flow, your fear was too great. When you did stop was when he at last spoke again. "Clean it up," were his soft words. You stood up to gather the cleaning supplies, one hand still pressed to your gut and your body aching where he had struck you, but he pushed you back down. "No. With your tongue. I want you to swallow that food you just threw back up."
Your eyes had widened as far as they could go, staring incredulously up at him. He couldn't be serious! Lap up your own vomit like a dog? Even just the thought of doing it made you dry heave again, one hand clamped to your mouth.
A hand went to the back of your head and pushed roughly, shoving you to the floor, right into the puddle of vomit. "Open your mouth," he had hissed, furious. "Lap it up or I shall beat you until you do."
(●)~
Ever since then you had taken great care not to vomit around him, for fear he would make you swallow it back down. It was obvious that the act of throwing up disgusted him, but to do what he had done was beyond your idea of what torture could ever be.
Yet now, as you lie on the bed with your boyfriend shoving his way back into you, you shrieked in pain. There was no easy sliding this time; he was, simply put, fucking you for his own purposes. One hand clamped to your mouth to stifle your screaming, he glared down at you. He was otherwise silent, save for the faint groaning noises he always made during sex.
Suddenly he pulled out and, with a smirk on his face that made your body shake in horror, shoved himself deep into your ass.
Screaming behind his hand your eyes watered, tears streaming down the sides of your face as he raped you anally. There was blood, to be sure, and it was the only thing allowing him to thrust so violently. Sobbing, the sounds muffled, the rebellious voice in your head was also in agony. Every fiber in your being hated him.
You SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!!
After a few agonizing minutes he pulled away, stroking himself as he listened to you crying freely, now that his hand was taken away. "Are you willing to talk now?" he questioned you, ignoring your obvious pain. But you wailed, not speaking, curled up into a ball on your side and sobbing hysterically. "Either talk or you'll not enjoy what comes next, darling," he warned.
"What else can you fucking do to me?!"
Silence. The words came out strong, stronger than you wanted. You hadn't meant to speak at all, not what you had said.
Nor did you expect the smile he gave you, looking down and enjoying the terror behind your eyes. "Is that a challenge?" he damn near purred. He almost sounded... excited. Eager to do more to you, now that you had essentially given him permission to do as he pleased. He left the room and returned, hand behind his back. Whatever it was he carried you did not see, for he shoved you onto your face on the bed, taking your hips and raising them high.
Something thick, large and unforgiving was promptly shoved back inside you, reaming you from the inside out. You screamed again, this time worse than ever as he forced the object in and out. It felt... wooden.
"Please God, stop!!!" was your muffled shriek, squirming to try to remove the foreign object from inside. He only pushed it rougher until you stopped screaming, falling to sobbing uncontrollably instead.
Eventually he did stop, when he was satisfied. He had been stroking himself the entire time, dropping the object to the floor and releasing his seed between your bloodied thighs. It was truly a beautiful sight. Sighing with contentment he sat beside you, patting your head affectionately. "Perhaps now you'll learn not to speak to me that way, darling," he cooed before lying down. Happy. He was happy with the job he had done.
Only when he was fast asleep did you dare to move, and the pain was beyond anything you had ever felt before. Blood dripped slowly down your legs as you moved to stand up. And that was when you saw it: the plunger from the bathroom. Lying on its side, the end of the wooden handle bloody.
He... raped me... with a....
Your head swam, threatening to make you pass out. Wincing you willed the sensation to pass, at least long enough to venture into the bathroom. You laid on the shower floor, letting hot water and blood mix down the drain. You cried, albeit softly, still not wanting to wake him up again. You weren't sure what he would do if he was woken up.
Unbeknownst to you, the TV in the living room flickered to life, the screen turning to static again, whispering the same words as it had before.
"L...e...t...m...e...i...n..."