Deed to Damnation

Bitten

Henry chose the dress he liked most out of the seven that she owned and had it laid out on the unmade bed. He had been cursing as he sorted through them, the words ugly, spinster and frumpy were tossed about along with some crude curse words. Ireland could hear him from the washroom and it filled her with dread, so much so she found herself taking an inordinate amount of time cleaning up and pinning her hair into a tight, severe looking bun. She stared at herself in the mirror and felt burning tears rise up to her haggard looking eyes.
Why was he taking her into town and what gift did he want to bestow on her? The only thing Delarue had given her thus far, were bruises that seemed to be on every intimate place she owned. Her inner thighs bore the marks of his fingertips, where he had dug them in cruelly as he spread them open until they could open no more. The bones of her slender wrists ached from the brutal grip of his strong hands when he would pin them to stop her fruitless struggling. There were ones she couldn't see but felt nonetheless. His belt had marked her. She could tell when she ran the warm washcloth over her bottom, the water making the welt burn and sting. It was her nipples that were perhaps the worst though. He had nipped at them mercilessly between perfect teeth until even the touch of the soft bedsheets made her suck in her breath from pain. She suddenly realized that she simply ached all over. She was so lost in her physical misery, she didn't see Delarue glaring at her from the washroom doorway.
"What are you doing?" He asked gruffly, his eyes flitting over her from head to toe.
Ireland jumped at the sound of his voice. He stood there holding the muslin dress that she wore for special occasions.
"I'm almost done." She said quietly and reached to take the chosen garment.
"No." He stated flatly.
Throwing the dress in a crumpled heap on the floor, he entered the bathroom and grabbed her by the chin. She flinched before he moved her head from side to side, inspecting her high, tight updo.
"Do you expect me to take the schoolmarm spinster into town on my arm?" He mocked. "You're mine now and I expect you to look the part. It's bad enough this ugly ass dress is the prettiest one you own but I'm not about to let you make yourself look like a hag with that hair. Are you doing it on purpose, Ireland?"
That thought never occurred to her. But since she never wore her tresses like an old maid, she supposed maybe she had. Maybe if she made herself homely he would leave her be. If it was a subconscious attempt, it was ruined as he began pulling the pins from her hair until it cascaded down her shoulders and back in loose, coppery curls.
"You will always wear your hair down." He ordered, taking the paddle brush off the small dressing table. "Do you understand? Never knew why you womenfolk always wanna wear it up like that. A man likes to bury his face in it when he's having a go. Didn't you know that?"
He whirled her around and began brushing her hair in long, tugging strokes. She felt like a doll, posed and dressed to her owner's liking. He of course didn't know what he was doing as he dragged the bristles through the tangles, the strands snapping under the pressure. She said nothing even though it hurt. Hell, she couldn't look him in the eye let alone complain, even when he helped pull the dress over her head with no chemise or crinolines to make it more modest and fashionable. He had also shredded every pair of her undergarments the day before. That would take some getting used to for sure. No one knew what wasn't under the dress but she and Henry but it was still just as humiliating and it made her feel like one of the whores that resided here now.
As if reading her mind, he pulled her in close, pushing his face into the mass of loose hair and inhaled deeply. She went limp in his arms and closed her eyes as his eager fingers delved beneath the simple skirt and fondled her sex crudely. He slipped one long calloused finger between her folds and deep inside the tightening walls, chuckling softly as he found that she was wet despite her placidity.
"Your body can't lie, Ms. Devereaux."
His breath was hot on her neck and goosebumps rose all over her flesh at his unwanted touch.
'I don't want this. I don't want this.' She repeated in her head. But he wasn't lying. She remembered the first time he had raped her. She had been so dry and his fingers had been torture devices as they tore into her that night. But now, even though he began pumping them slowly and deeply, there was no pain just a slick, wet sound and the beginnings of churning arousal. A small, involuntary moan escaped her parted lips as he ceased his lewd exploration, leaving a terrible, wanting pang in its place.
Delarue dropped the hem of her dress abruptly and held his glistening fingers to her face and for the first time, a smile broke beneath his mustache and the dimples deepened like ravines under his unshaven scruff. It startled her in a strange way. Her tormentor was rugged and dangerously handsome when he did smile but his eyes danced like devil's, revealing what lay beneath his striking good looks.
"Open your mouth, Ireland." He ordered. "And if you bite me, I'll parade your naked ass through these streets and whip it as you're tied to a saddling post."
She did it reluctantly, scrunching her nose and clamping her eyes shut like a child about to receive some bitter medicine. Two of his digits glided over her recoiling tongue as he moved them in and out just like he had done to her traitorous sex.
"Open your eyes." He growled. "And suck on my fingers. Clean off that sweet woman musk for me."
This act was debasing and so taboo. He had forced it on her just before in the kitchen when he caught her in a bruising kiss. Her flavor coated his lips, tongue and coarse, unshaven chin and he had made her taste it. Opening her eyes, she closed her lips around his fingers and did as she was told, her own honey covering her tongue. It was not terrible but it was foreign as well as completely humiliating.
Delarue watched her full, pink lips sliding up and down the length of his shining digits and he bit his lip, enthralled by soft, suckling of her warm mouth. Soon enough it would be more than his fingers that would be between those plump, innocent lips. He pushed further into her throat until it forced her to gag and pulled them out when she did.
"That's something you'll need to practice." He said with a dark chuckle. "We've got time though."
His words and demeanor sent a chill through her as she wiped the excess spittle from her mouth. She may be innocent but she knew exactly what he meant. He was going to try and put his thing in her mouth again and inside she vowed to not let that happen no matter what. Even if he whipped her, she was determined.
"Let's go, Ireland." He said, hooking his arm through hers. "We're going into town."