The Sacrifice: A Dark Revenge Romance
The Sacrifice: Chapter 34

When I was in high school, I had a friend named Margaret. My parents loved her. They thought she was the best friend to have. Virgin, never partied, no drugs or alcohol. She was the only friend I was allowed to continue to have after my sister passed because she was a “good girl.” Did everything her parents asked of her and wasn’t a slut like the other girls—my mother’s words.

Margaret’s father was a Lord, and she was already promised to marry another Lord. He was nine years older than her. They were to get married on her twentieth birthday. One of her requirements was to be a virgin for him. So at fifteen, she started having anal.

I remember her telling me about how painful her first time was, but she expected it to be. So she did it again. And again. She ended up loving it. She told me that she had to prep herself each time. Otherwise, it would have been messy.

The moment Tyson said preparation, I knew exactly what he meant. I knew this time would come. When he’d claim other parts of me.

He was right. I held in whatever he put inside me as long as I could. I’m not sure if it was ten minutes or not, I didn’t time it. But I then poured myself a bath where I cried from embarrassment. It’s humiliating. To have a guy—your husband—tie your hands behind your back and give you an enema so he can fuck your ass. Tyson told me to shower, but I didn’t want to ruin my hair. It had been dyed and fixed at the salon earlier today, and it looked too pretty to mess up, so I put it up in a big clip and took a bath. I had to get out twice to use the restroom.

I had cramping, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I finish getting dressed and go down to his office. I’m more nervous now then I was after our wedding. I’m sweating. Rubbing my hands on my shorts. I was planning on asking him what Ryat meant but after I saw what he had planned for me, I decided against it. Now wasn’t the time. Plus, if I say something to Tyson, he may tell Ryat and then Ryat can order Blake not to see me. I’m not sure about their marriage. I don’t want to chance Ryat forcing her to stay away from me.

I open Tyson’s office door and come to an abrupt stop. He’s sitting at his desk, his eyes down while signing a piece of paper, and Bethany is leaning over it, her tits in his face. Her hands on the surface.

The moment she hears someone enter, she turns around and her eyes meet mine. A cruel smile instantly spreads across her face. “Well, well, well. Trying to look like Whitney?” she asks.

“Get the fuck out of my office, Beth.” Tyson dismisses her. He doesn’t sound mad or irritated. Just bored.

Her words make my heart race faster. My sister had dark hair and it’s exactly why my father made me bleach mine. Why can’t I want to be me, without trying to be my sister? Why do I have to change my appearance? I always had dark hair too.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” she tells him over her shoulder before she exits, shutting the door behind her.

I look at him. He sits there staring at me, but his blue eyes give nothing away. It drives me nuts that I can’t guess what he’s thinking. Was she in here to fuck him? Did he call her up here because he wanted to see her? He knew I was coming to his office; did he want me to catch her in here? Another way to remind me that he can do whatever he wants.

“Stop,” he commands, and I jump at the sound of his voice.

I square my shoulders. I hate that he can read my face. That my mind screams so loud that he can hear it.

“Come here,” he orders.

I walk over to him, my heart still racing, but now for a different reason. Anger. Jealousy. I’m not stupid. Tyson Crawford could have any woman he wants. I’m sure women have dropped to their knees for him without him having to say a single word. Or let him fuck their ass. I watched my sister let him have his way with her—however he wanted it. I heard the stories she’d tell her friends when she called them after he left our house. Or after she’d come home from spending a weekend with him at the house of Lords. I was jealous then too. Of her. Of what he did to her.

It’s been two days since he’s even spoken to me. Does that mean he’s gone to Bethany to fuck? If not, then someone else? Who knows how many women he’s been with since he was dating my sister. I’m sure he’s fucked more than half the female staff here at Blackout.

He picked me. I’m his wife. He’s my husband. A man like Tyson needs a woman. A slut. His own personal whore. I’m determined to be that. I want him to see Bethany and think of me. I want her to throw herself at him and him turn her down because he knows that I can give him what he needs. Because I know for a fact Bethany isn’t going to stop. My father is controlling her. But Tyson—he can control me, and I can control him.

Going over to his desk, I don’t even wait for him to ask. I shove my shorts down my legs and bend over his desk, putting my arms behind my back. Taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes, knowing what’s about to come. Lots of people have anal. It can’t be that bad. I’m a pretty competitive person, and if they can do it, so can I.

His hands go between my thighs and undo the snaps on my leotard, pushing it up and out of the way. “You’re wet, Lake,” he observes.

I whimper, knowing my underwear has a wet spot. I’m always horny for him. That’s what a trained slut needs. Dick.

His desk drawer opens and closes, then the handcuffs are fastened around my wrists. I hiss in a breath when he tightens them. Then my thong is pulled to the side before his fingers run over my cunt. I moan, pushing back against him.

“How do you feel?” he asks, and then clarifies, “Your stomach?”

I blush, thankful he can’t see my face. “Fine,” I answer.

I think he’s going to start fingering me, but instead, he runs them up and over my ass. I can’t help but tense up. He removes them only to place them back, and I can feel the lube on them this time. He pushes one into me, and I suck in a deep breath. “You’ve got a six-hour shift tonight,” he says, removing it and pushing it back in. “You will be in my office every two hours. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” I gasp when I feel him pushing a second one in. That nervousness returning to my stomach. Three times tonight he’s going to fuck my ass? Dear Lord, my pussy is still sore from all the sex we’ve had since I became his wife.

He pulls them out, and I take in a shaky breath. “How often?” he asks, slapping my ass cheek.

“Every two hours,” I answer, my arms fighting the cuffs digging into my sensitive skin.

“If you don’t, you will be punished, Lake,” he adds, and I inhale sharply as he pushes two fingers into my ass once again.

I rise up on my tiptoes, and when I’m about to beg him to stop, he pulls them out. I exhale and relax on the surface of the desk.

But I tense a second later when something rubs against my ass. “Tyson?” I gasp, feeling pressure against the spot his fingers just were. It’s not his dick, it feels … different.

“Take in a deep breath, Lake,” he commands.

I do as he says.

“Now let it out slowly and relax.” He pushes something inside me. I cry out, trying to pull away but my hips are pushed up against the side of the desk, so I have nowhere to go. I’m at his mercy.

I feel my ass open up for whatever he’s making me take, and just when I don’t think I can take it anymore, the pain subsides.

He grabs my cuffed arms and pulls me to stand. Turning me to face him, he cups my face. My watery eyes meet his and he leans down, kissing me. My lips open up for him on their own, and I moan into his mouth as he reminds me that I’m his.

I want to cry that I want him. That I need him. The fact that my pussy is wet just proves that I’m trained. Just how he wants me. My hands fight the cuffs, wanting to touch him. To run all over his chest and arms, feeling his strong and muscular body.

The taste of the whiskey on his breath has me moaning. Or it could be the way he’s holding me to him—both of his hands in my hair, his fingers gripping the strands so painfully my scalp stings. But I like it. I rub my hips into his, and I can feel how hard he is. He’s all worked up, and I pray that it’s because of me and not the bitch who was in his office when I entered.

He slows the kiss, just our lips touching before he pulls away, leaving me panting. “Every two hours, you will come to see me, and I’ll change out the plug.”

My eyes widen as I realize what we’re doing. He’s going to slowly stretch my ass to fuck it later. I knew anal was his plan, but I thought we would do it now and get it over with. Why do I feel like he’s punishing me? Dragging it out by making me wait. It’s a way of control.

“Do not remove it,” he demands.

“What if …?” I trail off, afraid to even finish that question.

“What if what?” he asks, running his knuckles down my neck and to my choker.

The subtle hint that, at any time, he can turn it on and shock me into submission. Maybe that’s what he meant by I’ll be punished tonight. The fact that I want to be his good girl is reason enough to turn it on and light me up. Maybe it’ll help me out of this trance that he’s got me in.

“What if I have to fart?” I ask softly, my cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

He laughs like I’ve never heard him laugh before. It makes his eyes light up and his chest shake. He looks careless and free. “That’s cute.” He kisses my forehead and turns me around. Uncuffing me, he pulls my leotard, snapping it, and then slaps my ass once more. “Put your shorts on and go to work. I’ll see you in two hours.” With that, he dismisses me, avoiding my question that was not a joke.

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