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She came back just like she said she would. It took a few weeks longer than I wanted but she was back. I had to reel in my excitement. I watch her that first day as she reentered her gym. She excels in the way she pummels her fellow instructors. I can’t help myself. I go to her car. And instead of basking in her scent I fight the urge and leave her a gift. A rose and a note. “Welcome back.”

Before I get far, I panic. This may have been a mistake what is she reacts the wrong way? I rush to remove the note, but leave the flower on her windshield. I wait for her to find it. I thought she would be frightened but she wasn’t. She picked up the rose and held it to her nose, enjoying the scent. She looked so soft, so feminine as her eyes fluttered from the fragrance that tickled her senses.

I hated her for that. She didn’t display strength. I wanted her to get angry, or afraid. I hadn’t known it when I left it there, but I wanted her to be mad, rip the rose to shreds, and stomp on it. Instead she stood there enjoying it. Displaying her weakness! Perhaps she wasn’t my fighter after all, my grand finale. But she had to be! She couldn’t let me down! I should have left the damn note, for this I punish myself.

The marks are still there, they always will be. On my inner arm. A reminder. I haven’t done it in a while. The searing heat of the metal as it leaves its impression in my flesh. I could them, there are nearly 100 small crosses. One for all my punishments, self-inflicted. A penance for the mistakes I have made. The match the 500 on the other arm. Long sleeves are my friend.

It took weeks to devise a plan. One that was simple enough to look unintended. I had to get her alone, away from her routine and friends who had crowded her since her arrival.

It was simple really. All it took was a small puncture to the side of her tire forcing her to walk home from work instead of driving. It was late, she was closing, no one else to drive her to the safety of her home. She would walk, never call anyone for help, she could take care of herself. I counted on her ego and it didn’t let me down.

I wait for her in the alley behind the flower shop and the bakery. Neither were open, closed down, the woes of the economy. I waited in the shadows. Just as she passed by.

I reached out, chloroform towel across her face. It takes a lot to hold her in place. She is as strong as she looks and manages to land a few blows to the side of my face. The shadows hide the struggle she puts up as the chemical begins to work. Finally her body goes limp and I am able to take her to my waiting car.

Silent ride to our nest. Where I would keep her. Soft moans from the backseat where she lay tied. I held myself back. The urge to touch her, to taste the sweat from her skin. It was powerful. The scent filled the interior of the car fogging the windows but I didn’t care. I basked in it. She was mine. I had her. I drove with one hand and held myself with the other.

I wait for her eyes to open, for her to see me. Know me. Want me. Soft flutters of her lashes alert me to her near consciousness.

Deep chocolate brown orbs search the area. Large open space, nothing around her. She notices me moments before she realizes her hands and feet are bound. She cries out but her mouth is taped. I watch her struggle for a while before approaching. Let her tire out, it would be easier that way.

I chain her to the wall, hands, not feet and remove the ties. Her eyes watched me frantically. She begs me to stop without using words. I wish I could comply but it is not possible. Once the chains are secure, I sit back, admire her. She waits.

“I have been waiting for you.” I sigh.

She growls. It arouses me. Her aggression turns me on. Just as I knew it would.

“Yes. That is what I like. Just like that.” I cannot help myself. I go to her. Pull her hair from her eyes. She tries to kick me, I dodge it easily. She is still weak. Most likely still trapped in a world of fog. She growls once more and I kiss her forehead.

“Cooperate my love.”

Another growl. This time I am a bit irritated. That responses to my sentiment. She will not take me for granted.

“Please don’t be upset. We are together now.” I try again to appeal to her love for me. She came back for me. She wanted this. I am sure of it, I know it. Why else would she return? She knew I would be waiting for her.

I try to kiss her again but she head-butts me. My vision blurs, my ears ring momentarily but clear up. I sit back from her thinking for a moment. This is what I wanted. I want more. I want her to use me, to release that pent up frustration. I saw it there when I first laid eyes on her, carrying her drunk friend from the bar. She needed me, and I needed her. It is perfect.

I lean forward. Stroke her cheek and then punch her. She can take it. She is strong. She understand this as my passion for her. I will not treat her like the others. She is so much more to me. So much more special, unique. I will show her my appreciation the way she can comprehend.

There is blood on my hand. It trickles from her nose. I lick the metal taste from my fingers. It fills me with her, I am high. She cringes as the sight of my tasting her. It irritates me more, I punch her again. But this time I do not stop.

I keep hitting her until her face is swollen. Her fight, her struggle ceases, and there I no more enjoyment in it for me. She no longer resembles my fighter. This is no good. I have gone too far. Next time I have to reel it in. I have to take the time to enjoy it, to let her enjoy it as well.

She passes out and I am done for now. I kiss her. Drag her body to the cot I have prepared for her. I cover her body, it will be a cold night. I watch her sleep for a while, wipe away some of the blood. And then I leave her. I don’t want to, now that I finally have her. She is mine.

But I will return to her. I promise her this much. I will return just as she returned for me.

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⏰ Last updated: Aug 05, 2013 ⏰

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