The cellar

He tells me to pull up my dress and I lean over the bench in the cellar. I don't know what he's going to do. I don't think he knows. He tells me to spread my legs. Touch myself. I'm far to nervous to appreciate the sensation of my finger tips between  my legs. I can hear my shallow breath echoing around the stone room.

He steps towards me quickly, shoes on the stone floor, stands behind me, the presence of his body over mine makes my cunt twitch. He reaches forward and grips my neck. Strangling me. His hold is so tight. I can't breath. I start to panic. Really panic. I start to black out. He lets me go. I drop forward onto the bench. Struggling to stay up right. My legs feel like foam.

He steps back and laughs at me. He's talking to me. I have no idea what he's saying. I wish I could remember. I hear him pick up his wine glass and drink from it. He spanks me, a few times, just to keep me around. He pushes his fingers in between my legs.

He chastises me for not being particularly wet. I whimper piteously.
His hand finds my throat again. He pulls me into him and chokes me. I scrabble desperately at him. My grip starts to fail. He chucks me back down on the bench. I start to cry now. Burst into tears. Hyperventilate and sob. I start to think about running away. I wish I could. His fingers slide back between my thighs. He laughs at me.

"Better".

I shiver and shake and cry. Stroke, strangle, rinse, repeat. The room is a blur and I can barely stand. I hear him step back and tell me to pull my dress down. I feel like a stupid whore. Afraid and excited. Relieved its over. Sad it's over. He puts his jacket back on and walks up the stairs back to the party. My weak legs struggle to follow him but I do.

We smoke together in silence.

My neck is covered in deep red bruises, now. My legs and arms are grey with marks from gripping the bench. I'm wet now. Better.