Page 26 of His Cruel Exception

Alex

My wrists and ankles hurt, and every attempt to shift my weight, straighten my back or lean forward as much as my aching body will allow only introduces me to a new kind of discomfort.

I’ve been in this room, kneeling awkwardly on the bed for so long that I’ve completely lost track of time. I don’t know if it’s been hours, days, or years, but my knees are throbbing and my back is stiff. The mattress sinks beneath my knees every time I try to adjust, and while it’s certainly better than kneeling on the floor, it does absolutely nothing to relieve the uncomfortable strain in my legs.

The only thing I know for certain is that it’s dark now.

My stomach lets out another loud growl, and I press my lips together as another wave of hunger rolls through me. The worms in my stomach have gotten particularly needy, and at this point, I’m fairly certain they’ve started feeding on my small intestine since I haven’t eaten anything of substance in God knows how long. I’d settle for just about anything right now, even something I would normally turn my nose up at.

Just like at the beach, I have no idea why I continue to defy Antonio when I already know what he’s capable of. Exhibit one is the coppery taste that has stubbornly refused to leave my tongue, no matter how many times I brush my teeth or drag my tongue across the roof of my mouth. My jaw still aches, and every time I move my lips, I’m reminded of exactly how that taste got there.

I’m normally a people pleaser and a complete pushover. I would rather apologize for something I didn’t do than get into an argument, and I hate, hate confrontation with every fiber of my being. I can barely bring myself to tell a waiter when they get my order wrong, so what is it about this particular mafia heir that makes my stupid brain think I can go toe to toe with him and come out of it in one piece?

The sane half of me wants nothing more than to keep my head down and do as I’m told until Antonio eventually gets bored of me and moves on to his next prey. But the other half of me gets a strange thrill whenever I think about what Antonio might do to me after I’ve pushed him too far. I don’t even want to begin unpacking what that says about me because I have enough problems as it is, and I can’t afford the amount of therapy it would take to address whatever is going on in my head.

But there’s something else, something that has been bothering me since this morning, and it might have more to do with my little rebellion..

When I woke up earlier today and checked my phone, I found a deposit of two thousand dollars sitting in my bank account, and for a few seconds, I could only stare at the screen in disbelief. My first reaction was excitement, of course. I even refreshed the app a couple of times just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, but once the initial excitement wore off and it finally sank in where the money had come from, an uncomfortable hollowness settled in my chest.

I felt dirty.

I know Antonio probably doesn’t see it as him paying me for sex, but isn’t that essentially what it is? He gets to have me whenever he wants, and I get money deposited into my bank account afterward, which sounds an awful lot like a transaction no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. And when he sent Davide to come get me, like I don’t have a life of my own or things I need to do, it only made that awful feeling in my chest worse.

Not that any of this stopped me from putting the money to good use immediately. I paid my rent first, and the relief I felt when the payment went through was so overwhelming that I sat there staring at the confirmation for a while, knowing I wouldn't have to spend the next few weeks worrying about whether my landlord would come knocking on my door. After that, I finally pumped gas into my poor Volvo, which had been sitting in the same spot for weeks because I couldn’t afford to fill the tank, and I even had Mom’s medications delivered to her earlier than she needed them.

I can’t remember the last time we were able to buy mom’s medications without having to scrape together every spare dollar we could find. We usually have to wait until she’s almost out before I can afford to place another order. And after taking care of all those things, I still have money left over, which is such a foreign concept to me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can actually put something aside toward paying off the loan I took out last year instead of watching the interest pile up while I struggle to make the minimum payments.

So, yes, Antonio’s money has gone a long way toward easing my financial burdens, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful for everything I’ve been able to do with it sinceI’m not in a position to turn down that kind of help. But every time I think about how I got that money, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’ve accepted something I’m going to have to keep paying for, even if Antonio never asks me for a single cent back.

My stomach lets out another loud rumble, and I press my lips together, trying to ignore the uncomfortable emptiness that has been getting progressively worse for the past few hours. I know it’s only a matter of time before my tied hands start shaking from hunger. I just hope Antonio comes in here soon, and isn’t having too much fun with his cousins and has completely forgotten that he left me here.

The position I’m in has become so uncomfortable that I eventually give up trying to maintain it and lower myself onto my hands and knees, wincing when the movement sends a dull ache through my stiff legs. I bring my bound hands in front of me and rest my head on them, letting out a sigh as some of the pressure finally eases from my knees and lower back.

I don’t intend to fall asleep, but my eyelids have grown unbearably heavy, and at some point, they slip shut. I’m not sure how long I manage to doze before a sudden, biting smack against my backside jolts me awake, making me flinch so violently that I nearly lose my balance on the mattress.

I lift my head with a startled gasp, still struggling to figure out what just happened, and turn to find Antonio kneeling behind me. His palm is resting against my ass, and he rubs the skin he just smacked with slow, absent movements while I blink at him, trying to clear the last traces of sleep from my head.

Before I can even think of something to say, he turns me onto my back, leaving me staring up at him as he takes hold of my knees and spreads my legs apart. His grip makes me wince, and I tense beneath his hands, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he settles between my thighs, taking up what little space I have left on the bed.

He produces a pair of scissors from God knows where, and my eyes drop to the blades as he brings them toward my shirt. He slips it beneath the fabric and begins cutting through it, the snipping sound unusually loud in the otherwise silent room. I watch as the material parts, feeling the cooler air against my exposed skin before he moves on to my sweatpants and then my trunks, cutting through each piece with the same unsettling patience.

I’m too stunned to do much more than lie there and watch him because the whole thing feels unreal, but I know better than to open my mouth and risk making him angry again. He reaches beside him, and it’s only then that I notice the neat rows of polished rings and solid tubes like surgical tools arranged on the bed.

My eyes follow his hand as it moves past several clear acrylic pieces before he picks up a lightweight resin cage, turning it between his fingers while I study its short, curved shape and the narrow ventilation slots along its surface. He sets it down beside my cock and picks up a ring, and an uncomfortable feeling begins to fill my stomach. He positions the ring at the base of my cock, the thick band biting into the delicate skin where my thighs meet my groin, pinching the flesh so tightly that a gasp tumbles from my mouth.

“It’s too small,” I breathe, shifting uncomfortably as I glance down at him. “I won’t be⁠—”

I may not have used a chastity ring before, but Logan has, and now that I’m in this unfortunate position, I remember him explaining that the circular part is supposed to fit snugly around the base, not squeeze so painfully that it feels like it’s trying to cut off blood flow to the cock.

“That’s the point, little stripper,” Antonio interrupts.

He guides my flaccid length into the curved tube, the contrast of the cool resin with the heat radiating off his palms is jarring. He then slides the key into the small keyhole and turns it, the click of the lock making my stomach knot.

Antonio looks unbothered as he gets to his feet and brushes a nonexistent speck of dust from his trousers while I’m already throbbing from the tight, suffocating grip of the cage.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from complaining again, and I would have begged, but I don't think appealing to his better nature is going to get me very far.

He picks up the scissors from where he left them on the bed and cuts through the zip ties securing my wrists and ankles, and the moment I'm free, I bring my hands in front of me to examine the angry red marks left behind. I then rub my chafed wrists with my thumbs, wincing when I accidentally press against a tender spot, before stretching my legs and rubbing my ankles together in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness there.