The Only Way, a twilight fanfic

By Mikarin Aoi

Summary: Carlisle and Esme's relationship is broken. And the only time they both came alive was down in their basement, where he'd have his way with her in the most tormenting of ways.

Warning: Rated M for Mature content & B for Bondage Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe Pairing: Carlisle/Esme (All Human)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight Saga.

Author's Note: Originally a one-shot from Esme's POV (started October 25, 2012, finished Oct. 28, 2012, posted Nov. 18, 2012), but as of January 4, 2013, three new chapters are added. Chapter Two is the continuation, which is a must-read before you choose either Chapter Three, the good ending, or Chapter Four, the bad/angsty ending. I planned this only being one chapter, but some reviews sort of instilled something within me to give Carlisle and Esme an ending.

IMPORTANT! This Carlisle/Esme fanfic is sort of a psychological story about their relationship. I'm writing this for the deep, dark emotions I want to be able to emit and evoke from this fanfic. It's a brutal, inhumane relationship with a lot of pain, disgrace, humiliation and shame since this has bondage included. I advise whoever finds this offensive that you go back to the previous page and skip this awfully depressing, disconcerting read. It isn't my intention to bring forth any unpleasant memories through this written work of art.

Please understand that this is not the usual Carlisle and Esme we all know. So they are "out of character" in my fanfic. And just to be clear, the bondage in here IS NOT the mild/safe/consensual BDSMthat you probably are more familiar with. You've been warned. In short, whoever can't see or imagine the dark personalities of both Carlisle and Esme, especially Dr. Cullen as a sadist, then this written work of art of mine clearly isn't for you.

I dedicate this fanfic to letitbe54 for "favorite-ing" this when it was just a one-shot. I hope the other chapters will still suit everyone's taste for dark stuff.


~Chapter One~

Downfall of a Marriage

Yes, there was no need to deny it. Our relationship was broken. We no longer were husband and wife. We were just two individuals living under the same roof. We never spoke to each other anymore. No communication. During dinner, there would be an awkward silence hanging above us. No good night kisses, no goodbye kisses before work, nothing. We were dead. We died.

There was no touch, no spark when our shoulders brushed, no cuddling on the sofa on a weekend, no love-making for over – I can't remember how long it has been since my husband last made love to me. There was no reason to stay stuck in this huge house, in this loveless marriage, in this broken relationship, in this childless marriage. Yet I stayed. I stayed. Because I had no place to go to. I had no relatives left in this world. I was an only child and both my parents died not long after I got married to this man.

Once, long ago, yes, I loved him. But now, nothing remains within me for him. Nothing. Everything just faded away into the darkness. And that's where he kept me. On the damp floor of our dark, cold basement, here I was. In chains and shackles, he kept me here.

Naked in the dark, I waited. He wasn't a bad man, my husband. He didn't keep me down here for a whole day. He always let me go. I needed to do house chores. Coming from the hospital at late hours, he didn't have time to put up with anything as mundane as house chores. That was my responsibility, he told me. And I knew that very well.

The sound of car tires pulling up to our house reached my ears. He was home. He'd come in through the kitchen door. He never used the front door anymore. He said something about not coming home to be home, he came home to eat and sleep, so he always entered the kitchen first.

I never came to the door to greet him anymore. He yelled at me when I did. He said he was sick and tired of hearing me greet him 'welcome back home.' That was the first time he pushed me down to the ground. Shaking, I tried to stand up, but he already pinned me back down. And there on the kitchen floor, that day, was the first time he violated me.

At first, I resisted. He held a knife to my neck as I struggled. I could feel the sharp blade penetrate my skin, a stinging pain coursing through my body. I screamed and cried at the pain, yet all he did was hold up the knife to the light and admired it. Putting it to his lips, he licked my blood off the blade, lapped at the blood trickling down my neck, kissed my wound then forced me to drink my own blood as he transferred it from his tongue to mine, which he pulled out forcefully from my mouth with his hand covered in my blood.

I saw a wicked grin on his lips, and I could feel his hardened member straining against the front of his slacks as he grinded his hips against mine. He didn't take the time to pleasure me. No, he was quick about it. Our clothes still on, his growing erection springing out from his zipper, he plunged in mercilessly and didn't rest until he filled me with the filth he gave me.

I didn't fight it. I was confused. He never was aggressive before. I couldn't think from the pain I felt, from both my slashed neck and my broken heart.

I thought another episode like that would never happen again. I was so wrong. That dreadful incident on our kitchen floor two weeks ago was the beginning of all this. He became obsessed with bondage. He bought all these equipment that was now here in the basement, to tie me up, hurt me, punish me.

Broken as I was, I gave up. I let him do every wicked thing he wanted with my body. And since then, I obeyed his every command. Most days he'd lock me up right after breakfast before he'd leave for work. Sometimes, he didn't. Today was one of the former. I've been in this basement for about fourteen hours, if my calculation was right.

The first time I was down here, I felt humiliated. He watched me do private things in front of him. He never made me use the bathroom while we were in one of these sessions. The first time he watched me urinate in front of him, he asked me to squat down with my legs spread for him to see everything. As my husband looked on as I urinated, I saw him shamelessly stroke his cock.

That, in return, turned me on. I was ashamed of that fact. My urine that pooled on the cold basement floor in front of me was such a big shame, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror after that session, remembering how I did something like that like an animal just doing it anywhere. I was glad he never went as far as to watch me do another disgusting thing that also required the bathroom. With that, he was generous. He always let me go to the bathroom for that other disgusting thing.

I heard the kitchen door close, and I knew he was about to remove his jacket, hang it on one of the hooks by the front door, remove his shoes and line it meticulously with the others in the shoe cabinet. Then he'd go into his room, shower, and come down here, naked and already as hard as a rock.

A small light bulb in the middle of the room was the only source of life that switched on as the door to the basement opened. I watched my husband descend the stairs, his body still as flawless as I could remember. He was the perfect fit to my own body. I remembered the first time he touched me intimately. It was our wedding night. I was an inexperienced woman and as scared as I was that night, I trusted my husband wholeheartedly. And he was marvelous in handling me. He held me like I was easily breakable as porcelain. He didn't force his way inside me. He waited patiently until I opened up myself for him. He taught me that no shame ever came from love-making. He taught me how to touch him, where to touch him, just as I learned from him where I liked to be touched. That night was almost nine years ago… Yes, we've been married for eight years now… If I wasn't mistaken, today… was our ninth wedding anniversary… Yes, today was–

The sound of a chair being dragged caught my attention. My husband said nothing as he released me from my chains and pushed me onto the chair. I waited as he pulled my hands behind the chair and enslaved them in cuffs, then tied a rope around my belly to keep me tied to my seat.

I wondered what kind of punishment he'd do to me today. Will it be–?

Before my thoughts could wander, my husband lifted my head to meet his unnerving gaze, but I kept my eyes away. I used to love the mesmerizing color of his eyes, the entrancing shade of a stormy ocean, but lately, it's just been too intimidating to keep looking at. He always glared at me coldly, and I knew that look meant he was turning his anger that he felt toward me into decadent, lustful, impure thoughts. The truth was I was scared of him. Lately, I've always been scared of him. We no longer were the happily wedded couple nine years ago. He became a stranger to me. And I didn't know what he was capable of.

"Look at me, you bitch."

His words no longer surprised me. It's been two weeks since the first time I was down here. Ever since then, he never said my name, nor did he ever say my name anymore once he'd reach his fulfillment… It shouldn't have bothered me since our relationship was long dead. But I did wish he would at least say my name in passing during his moments of pleasure… It made me feel needed. But then again, why would this stranger of a man need me? He no longer needed me. All I was good for, all my worth – was to be the woman who took care of the house.


The scorching pain on my cheek took me by surprise.

"Fucking bitch. I said look at me."

Slowly lifting my head back up, I bravely met his gaze. I could see the hatred he had for me gleaming in his eyes. Today, he seemed angrier than I've ever seen him.

"You better learn your place, you fucking bitch. Remember, you vowed to respect, honor and obey your husband."

I wondered if he knew today was our ninth wedding anniversary… I can even remember the day he told me he wanted to have a renewal of vows every ten years… Next year, we would have had that… if only the happiness of our relationship could've lasted until then… But no, it's probably been three years since we've been truly happy together… When one day, everything just… changed.

What changed? What happened? I keep asking myself, yet never finding the answer…

He released the hold on my face and pushed it to the side, my hair falling across my eyes. I felt used, reused, misused and abused. I wanted it all to end.

I could hear him setting up an equipment a few steps from where I sat, silently waiting, praying. It's been ages since I prayed. Maybe that was one of the causes for this marriage to fall? I didn't pray enough for our happiness? Some days, I'd give up thinking what made this marriage fall apart, and just blame everything on myself. Sometimes, I believed it. Sometimes it felt like I was the reason this didn't work out.

"Face front, you little cunt."

Just as he commanded, I faced front and my eyes grew wide at what I saw. Was he planning to take this all on tape? This was a new level of shame. I couldn't bear the thought of him keeping something this degrading for him to watch repeatedly. But I didn't say anything. I never dared to speak. I was a woman of little courage and of little confidence. That's why when I met him, he gave me courage, and he boosted my confidence. He helped me from being weak. He made me grow, made me strong. But now that he was no longer the man I married, I was back to the frail, scared, vulnerable woman I always was.

He moved behind me and I could feel him lean over to rest his hands on my thighs. With his breath against my nape, I could feel my senses clouding. The fresh scent of him from his shower filled my nostrils, making me miss freshness and cleanliness. All I felt was filth. And that… was how he treated me. Like filth.

With one brash movement, he grabbed my legs and spread them apart and I couldn't refrain myself from the gasp I let out. The hasty suddenness to it hurt.

His hands grabbed my breasts, kneading them harshly in his palms, pulling and tugging on my nipples painfully, then soothingly. The peaks of my breasts hardened under his touch, and I knew that was what he was waiting for. Hearing him move away from me, I knew what he was getting. Those little clamps that brought both pain and pleasure… I still couldn't comprehend how pain could ever be pleasurable. But it was. Sometimes, it was.

I tried to keep my mouth shut as the clamps pinched down on my nipples, but I couldn't restrain myself from the shriek I inadvertently let slip past my lips. The pain set in, then the pleasure. Later, it'll all just be numbness and soreness.

I watched my husband kneel down in front of my spread legs. For a moment, he just stayed there in silence. I waited for something. Anything.

What I didn't expect was another clamp that he kept hidden in his hand which he finally pinched down on no place else but my clit. Even I surprised myself with the shrill scream I couldn't contain.

Before I could even get accustomed to the new added pain, he plunged three fingers into me mercilessly, his fingers quick and unrelenting. I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes, not knowing whether they were tears from the pain or the pleasure.

"You'll come for the camera, you slut."

I could barely comprehend anything he was saying. My mind wasn't thinking. It wasn't doing anything. Except concentrating on the pain and pleasure I was receiving. I knew the feeling of my climax building, and I knew I needed release soon. But having all this saved onto tape, I held myself off for as long as I could. Though I knew no matter how much I fought it, I'd end up coming all over his fingers. I knew that's what he wanted. He loved it when I squirted. I knew how much it turned him on.


His fingers quickened and deepened, curling inside me, beckoning me to let it all out. What he did next did it. With one flick of the clamp on my clit made me release everything I was desperately trying to hold in. He moved away just in time to let the video camera capture the height of my ecstasy. I felt embarrassed as I watched the spurt of my cum gush out of me. I could feel it leak onto the chair, dripping on the edge before scattering all over the floor beneath me.

My husband kneeled back in front me and lapped up at my juices in brash, impetuous, forceful licks. His tongue dove inside my wet walls, licking and tasting. I felt his finger graze along my slit, and I knew he'd lift it up to my mouth.

"Taste your own sluttiness, you motherfucking cunt."

I opened my mouth and offered up my tongue, waiting and watching as he stood up, until he forced his finger all the way to the back of my throat. As he withdrew it, I couldn't help but cough from the gagging feeling he brought forth. He smirked at the pained expression on my face.

I was freed from all three clamps as he readied me for the next position. I felt the rope around me loosen and the chair from under me vanish as I now was on my knees, my hands still cuffed and held behind my back. His one hand held up my hair in a ponytail, the other cupped my chin forcibly.

"Open your fucking mouth."

Doing as I was told, I knew that what was coming now was the part I hated the most. This was when he was most vicious. I did enjoy pleasuring him with my mouth, but not when he was too forceful on me… And in the two weeks we've had these sessions, I've come to hate what men call a blowjob.

"Suck it, bitch."

Hesitantly, I took him in my mouth, his whole cock never fitting inside completely. His package was huge, and I've always felt incompetent compared to other women who could deepthroat men easily. And this was why he was always forceful. He loved having his cock all the way inside my mouth. He loved hearing me gag.

I took my time, like I always did when I sucked him off. The salty taste of his precum in my mouth as I sucked away on his cock spread across my taste buds. He tasted delicious. He always has been appetizing. I knew soon enough, he'd start thrusting his hips to bury his cock deeper in my mouth, and just as soon as I thought it, I felt one brutal shove as he inched inside further.

Both his hands now grabbed my head and guided my lips on his cock in quick back and forth motions, the sound of my mouth sloppily leaving trails of my saliva down his sac.

He then pulled my head away from his member and thrust in then pulled out completely before thrusting back in. I kept my mouth open like the good girl I was supposed to be. Whenever he did it this way, it was comfortable enough.

And just as I knew he'd do after a while, he kept his cock inside my mouth and just kept thrusting in until he absolutely sheathed himself inside the wet cavern of my mouth, filling it entirely. I could feel the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat, and I forced my mouth to open wider, trying to accommodate him more fully. I heard myself making the glugging sound that came naturally whenever his cock hit deep inside my mouth, which also sometimes came with the gagging noise. My mouth was so full of him.

This time, I knew the tears I held back were of pain. It wasn't easy having seven inches inside my mouth. The sounds he made were like music to my ears. Even though he never said my name, I was more than pleased to know I could still give him pleasure.

"Take it all, you whore. Swallow my fucking cum."

His thrusts became more forceful, his hands pulling and tugging on my hair making me want to cry out loud. Everything seemed to overwhelm me with pain until finally, all his filth emptied inside my mouth. And as he ordered me to, I swallowed it all, something I only started doing two weeks ago, on the first day he tied me up down here…

Feeling him withdraw from my mouth, I let myself breathe. But resting was something I never could have. He never relented. He never stopped.

The painful tug on my hair as he pulled me up to my feet was brutal. My mouth was agape, a silent cry of pain ringing in my head. His face moved close to mine, just to have him spit into my open mouth.

"You're a fucking whore."

I heard the pull on chains, knowing I'd now be hurt physically. The chain hanging on the low ceiling above me had a hook at the end, and that's where he placed the chain of my handcuffs. My hands coiled around the hanging chain to keep myself standing steadily, the strength of my body leaving me already.

I knew what was coming next and just the thought of it made me want to scream.


My body propelled forward as the wooden paddle that he loved using to spank my ass gave me one derisive whack. I despised it. Every time the pain started dulling, he'd do it again. And again. These times, I always screamed with each hit. I always begged in my mind for him to stop it. But once again, I couldn't voice it out. I hated myself for my own cowardice.

To distract myself from every ruthless blow of the paddle, I counted each hit. Today, he finished at twenty. The sore pain on both my ass cheeks, he always caressed right after. Then he'd cruelly spank both with his bare hand.

He turned me around to face the camera once more and forced me back down onto the chair, my arms fully stretched upward, my hands still clinging onto the chain hanging above me. Having a hard surface underneath the sore cheeks of my butt added to the discomfort I was already feeling. But I kept my mouth shut.

My husband stepped away from me and made his way to the table located against the wall. This time, I had no idea what he'd be getting next.

I heard him light a match. And as he turned, a thick white candle was in his hand.


The fear within me surged to panic. The coldhearted smirk on his face made me want to beg his forgiveness for every wrong thing I've done.

He held the candle above my breast, and I shut my eyes, praying this was all a bad dream, a very bad dream. But the blistering drop of wax that landed on my breast then slid down over my nipple awoke me to reality. The sweltering heat made me cry out loud, but he never paused to give me a break. He dropped the candle lower, the wax marking me from my breast to my nipple, down my belly until it reached…

My legs were forcibly spread apart and I watched my husband blow the candle out. For a second, I believed I was safe from more of the burning sensation against my skin, but I knew it was all just futile wishes as he let the entire remaining wax drop onto my clit heartlessly and I felt the searing burn slide down the sides of my entrance. He then knelt in front of me and broke into an evil laugh.

"Look how wet your pussy got from that, you horny little cunt."

And with one brusque shove, he forced the end of the thick candle inside me without a thought.

"Stop it! Please!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. With each brutal shove, I begged and pleaded for him to stop. The annoyed expression on his face showed and his hand went up my throat, choking me to be unable to speak.

"You just shut up and enjoy this thoroughly."

I felt the air being cut off as his hand tightened around my neck. I could hear the nonsensical choking noises I was making as my tears fell uncontrollably down my cheeks. The thickness of the candle stretched me enormously. I knew my husband enjoyed seeing my pussy stretched wide open. During my first week down here, he had inserted so many different things inside me that I could barely keep count.

I could feel the room getting darker and my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My mind was foggy. I couldn't breathe. My hands started to loosen around the chain above me. I was losing consciousness. The pressure of his hand on my neck tightened and I was sure to pass out any minute, until he completely let go and I gasped for air desperately, only to lose it again as the candle hit inside me brutally, making me scream out loud as my second release shot out of me, pushing the candle out entirely.

I was barely ready for another penetration, when I felt myself being pierced by his cock. My mind couldn't even register the moment when he pulled me up to stand, sat himself down on the chair and impaled my pussy with his hard cock. My hands tightened around the chain once again as his hands gripped my hips harshly to make me fall back onto his cock with such fierce intensity.

He filled me to the brim, deep and hard, his rhythm implacably painful and punishing.

The sudden movement of him standing up, my legs bent at my knees with his hands under them holding me up, took me by surprise.

I took the courage to look at my husband's handsome features. The beautiful blonde of his hair fell across his blue-gray eyes that were focused on the place where we were connected, his thrusts still as unforgiving as before. The toned muscles on his arms held me up perfectly, his strength admirable. I longed to wrap my arms around them and feel protected once again. But I knew he'd never take me into his arms lovingly ever again.

The amazing sculpt of his torso pushed up against my breasts, the remarkably attractive Adam's apple at the center of his neck as he threw his head back, the rigidity of his thighs, the power of his hips, the strength in his legs – they all marked the wonderful man I married and this was the only time I could carve into my mind every perfection about him. I knew the harsh truth that he now used all of it only during these sessions to punish me.

His head leveled to mine, his eyes snapped open and stared at me in disdain. But just as soon as I noted his anger, his eyes softened. And for a split second in time, I felt loved. A glint in his eye made me aware of the tears he was holding back.


I knew it was a mistake for me to speak, because just as soon as his name left my lips, he gave me another violent, vicious, harsh thrust deep inside me. With my head falling back, my climax nearing, I felt the energy of my whole body being sapped away as he unceasingly rammed into me.

His quick thrusts were erratic, deep, and the anger he had for me broke me with each one. I couldn't hold the tears of my misery.

The sudden stop to his movements made me look back at him. He unceremoniously dropped my legs down, my feet touching the cold basement floor. In one harsh turn, he twisted my body around for me to once again be facing the video camera. I felt him penetrate me from behind, his thrusts as demanding and as vehement as before.

His hands roughly palmed my breasts, my nipples tautening under his cold touch. One hand reached up to my neck, once again tightening around it, while the other slapped my breast painfully, his nails digging into the sore softness of my skin.

My legs buckled from underneath me and I held onto the chain tighter. I was so close to passing out. But the cool touch of his finger close to the little hole above where we were connected snapped my awareness back into me.

Fear struck into me and I felt my heartbeat racing in restless, frenzied rhythms. Never, in the past two weeks had he ever gone this far before. He couldn't possibly force himself in there!

I felt him pull out of me and push the upper half of my body to bend me at my waist. There was a slight difficulty to stay bent with my arms still outstretched upward, my hands no longer clinging to the chain from exhaustion. I kept my head bowed down, my hair falling over, blocking my eyesight. With my eyes shut, I waited for all this to be over.

The wetness of his slick finger pushed forward and forced itself into the tightness of my unused asshole. My lips started to quiver and I bit down on my lower lip to stop it. The strange discomfort and foreign sensation of something inside there scared me. I wasn't at all prepared for what was coming next.

Another digit added, and I wriggled my hips, desperately trying to get them out of me. A painful smack on the soreness of my asscheek made me hiss in pain and my thrashing to stop.

My husband walked away from me and I listened to the materials on the table being thrown casually and carelessly around. I didn't dare look at my husband coming back. I didn't want to know what he'd do to me next.

The feeling of a small, circular, foreign object enter into my hole hurt. But I kept my mouth shut. In one forceful shove, the foreign object that felt like multiple beads was pushed inside me and I tasted the blood on my lower lip as my shrill cry resonated throughout the four corners of this cellar, echoing off the silent walls.

I clenched my teeth together and willed my mind to ignore the pain. The beads were withdrawn out of me in one swift pull and I exhaled a deep breath only to intake a sharp one again as the beads were forcefully inserted back inside in one push.

Once again, I found myself thrashing around, and this time, I begged him to stop.

"Stop it! Please! It – It hurts!"

The beads were left inside of me as my husband came around front. I faced up ahead with whatever strength I had in me left. His huge cock was right in front of me. With one sharp tug on my hair, I had it deep in my mouth, choking me once again. He forced my head up and down on him, forcing me to suck it all.

Then as fast as he had been shoving himself into my mouth, was as fast as how he fastened a gag ball in my mouth to replace himself.

"Shut up and enjoy how I fuck your tiny little asshole."

My muffled protests now were of no use. My husband tore the beads away from inside me and replaced it with his huge self. I could feel his width stretching my ass wide open, and as he forced himself back in, my futile screams, begging and pleading behind my gagged mouth ceased and pitiful sobs were the only thing I had in my strength left to emit.

For a minute, he was still inside me. Then I felt my body turn upright, and his hands dug beneath my knees and pushed it up. With my legs spread wide open, I felt humiliated beyond belief. Right in front of me, the camera captured everything. My wet pussy, dripping shamelessly, while inside my tight little asshole, a huge cock speared into me.

With nothing else supporting me but the strength of his hands and the upward motion of his hips, my hands reached for the chain once again. I couldn't stop my tears. I was mortified, knowing all my shame was captured in that recording video.

For a brief moment, I was free of any penetration. My feet were back on the ground. I heard my cuffs unlock and felt my hands fall to my sides. I couldn't keep myself standing. And I didn't have to. He pushed me down to the ground, my knees and hands scraped by the rough edges of the floor. With what little strength I had left in me, I supported my weight on my wounded knees and hands.

Just as I expected it, he plunged into my ass once again and my nails scratched along the floor from the gaping, ripping sensation of every vicious, cruel thrust that tore me wide open.

His arm slinked around my hips and his hand wound its way to my center. His fingers worked on my clit, rubbing in circular motions then I felt a sharp slap against it, making my hips grind against him, inadvertently inviting him to plunge into my ass deeper. The stifled scream I emitted seemed to spur him on as his thrusts turned ruthless.

All of a sudden, I felt him inside my pussy. Then back to my ass. He alternated between the two. He drove into me repeatedly, ruthlessly, relentlessly. Pounded into me mercilessly.

His nails dug into my skin, his thrusts propelled my body forward, my breasts hitting the cold floor, my sensitive and sore nipples scraping against the hard surface. Through my gag, I begged him to be done with it. But even I myself couldn't comprehend what I was trying to say with the ball between my lips, trails of my saliva running down the corners of my mouth. I couldn't even begin to imagine how filthy I looked like.

He filled my ass with his filth. And let my pussy cum with his fingers.

At the end of everything, he removed the gag from my mouth and pushed me onto the floor callously with his foot on my bare back.

"You filthy slut."

I heard him spit and I felt it fall onto my back. I couldn't move.

By the end of our session, my whole body was sore. My whole self was broken. My husband left me on the ground, cold and unwanted, misused and abused. With all the filth from our session, the dirt, the sweat, everything sticking onto me, he left me here. The sobbing that came from deep within my chest finally burst out as my husband left the basement. My tears spilt onto the freezing, hard surface of the floor, my damp hair blocking my eyesight. I was left here with the burden to bear a broken heart, a broken soul, a broken marriage.

We were broken. Too broken.

I knew I could leave though I knew not where to go. I knew I could earn for myself and start life anew. But somehow, every time he tied me up, every slap I got across my face, across my breasts, every smack across my ass, every brusque shove he'd pound into my core, every pinch of those nipple clamps, every time he choked me with his hand around my neck, every time he'd make me gag with his thick engorged cock shoved down my throat – that was the only time I felt alive.

That was the only time we both felt alive. I never left. Because somehow I believed that through all that, he still loved me. And for some illogical reason, I still loved him. But this was the only way our relationship survived. This was the only way he could love me now. This was the only way he could show me how.


Author's Note: So I know that was pretty dark, demeaning and degrading, but hey, it's bondage. Now I just need to know if it was any good or if I suck at this kind of writing.

So please leave me some love and review, would you? I'd appreciate it.