(18+)
"I am not him. The only time I will raise my hand to you is when I reach out and wipe away your tears and the only time you will ever see my fist is when I grab your hair as you moan "deeper" while I rearrange your insides with my cock,"
➛
...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Two months flew by so quickly. It was just endless tears, screaming, and sleepless nights as I counted the days for my wedding day.
Today is the day. August 22nd.
The last time I heard from Saint was two months ago when he nearly suffocated me to death. After that, he disappeared like a ghost. I have not heard from him. Seen him.
Or the mentions of his name from me or anyone else in the house. It was as if it's forbidden to say his name without his presence. I stand in front of the mirror, staring into the eyes of a lost girl. The dress I wore was carefully picked out by Krzysztof, the elusive middle Nowak brother.
With his busy work schedule, it's rare to see him, so when he does make an appearance, it's always a special occasion. And this dress is nothing short of special. As I slip into the stretchy white fabric, I'm struck by how well it hugs my curves.
The silhouette is divine, fitted through the bodice before flaring out in a flattering triangular pattern at the waist. The off-the-shoulder sleeves add an elegant touch to the overall design. And when I step back to admire the finished look, I can't help but notice how the dress compliments my light brown skin perfectly.
I decided to forego heavy makeup, opting instead for a light dusting of blush and concealer followed by just a bit of mascara. And the finishing touch? A gorgeous rosewood lipstick that brings out the natural beauty of my skin tone.
When I saw my uncles earlier they noted that I looked more innocent and submissive to my husband. Now that I look the part of a submissive housewife all I had to do was play the fucking part. As I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel the flutter of butterflies in my stomach, a sense of nervousness that threatened to consume me. Most women would consider this the happiest day of their lives, but to me, it was more like a nightmare.
Anatol had promised to teach me the ways of the mafia wife, and true to his word, each day was filled with lessons on how to be the perfect partner. His relentless teachings drilled into my mind the five traits I was expected to embody religiously - obedience, silence, sweetness, purity, and of course, physical beauty.
It was suffocating, the thought of being confined to these rigid expectations, but I knew that the consequences of falling short would be dire. So I tried my best to suppress my emotions and learn how to play my role in this dangerous game.
Despite my skepticism towards marriage, I reluctantly became a pawn in this game, bending to the will of Saint and avoiding any potential consequences. My happiness seemed secondary, a mere afterthought in the pursuit of appeasing my husband's ego. According to them, I was merely a tool for their pleasure; as a woman, my needs and desires were deemed unimportant.
Lost in my thoughts, I was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," I called out wearily. The door creaked open to reveal the figure of Gloria, an elderly woman whose hair bore the marks of time in its powdery whiteness and whose eyes were etched with fatigue.
