Page 97 of Monster's Edge
Twosimplewords.
And these words really do change everything. Don’t they? It’s like the moment you’re married people take you more seriously. They respect you more. They kind of fan all over you to give you the attention you’ve been craving. If that’s your thing, I mean.
When Ian and I walk into the reception, his cum is still dripping out of me. The worst thing is that I’m not even embarrassed about it. I’m just irritated. I want more of this. More of him. More of everything.
Is it strange that I love this, but I also loathe it?
Everything we’re doing iswrong.
I know that.
I’ve been taught that since I was a child, so I understand the way the world works. Things like sex are bad. We aren’t supposed to want it or to crave it. We aren’t supposed to find sexual satisfaction in things like bondage or humiliation. These are feelings and cravings that we’re supposed to tuck away and not tell anyone about.
Only, it’s too late for me because I already want these things.
I already crave them.
If Ian were to tell me that he’s going to let a group of the men in attendance run a train on me, I wouldn’t even care. If he wants to line me up and let man after man fuck me, I’m so horny that I’ll agree. That’s scary. It’sscaryto feel this way.
It’s even scarier to know that it makes me exactly what he thinks I am: a whore.
I’ve never been with someone who loves the idea of me being dirty. Naughty. Slutty. Most guys want to cling to the antiquated idea that women are innocent until proven sleazy. They want to marry a virgin, to know that their woman has never seen another cock...never had another one in her mouth.
Ian isn’t that way.
Now, it’s time for me to accept the fact that not only is Ian a complete freak in all the best ways, but he’s also my husband. The two of us are now married. For better or worse, it’s happening. We’re together until the end of time – or until he tires of me. With Ian’s personality, I don’t really know which outcome is more likely.
We make our way into the mansion where we live. Somehow, during the time we were gone at the wedding ceremony, the mansion was transformed. I’m not sure who is responsible for this – probably people Ian has paid handsomely – but it looks incredible. There are flowers everywhere, along with banners. It looks like we’re walking into a fancy hotel – not the house we live in.
He’s watching the expression on my face when we walk into the front entrance. When I turn to him, he’s almost leering at me, but in an excited sort of way. I nod slightly, letting him know that I like it. He visibly relaxes, and that’s when I realize just how important my approval really is to him. Isn’t that interesting? He’s such a big, bad tough guy, but he cares so deeply about me in some ways.
In other ways, he sits around waiting for me to screw up so he can have an excuse to punish me.
There’s a part of me that despises this about him, but there’s another part of me – a sick, twisted part – that enjoys it. I know this is weird. I understand that it’s unacceptable. I just don’t really care.
If he wants to use me like a toy and toss me aside, then he can.
If he wants to tie me up and play with me, he’s allowed to do that.
What I can’t stand is thinking about the fact that it took me and Ian so damn long to find each other. I’m nearly 30. I’m far too old to just now be getting married. I’m too old to just now be realizing that my life is very different than I planned for it to be.
There’s a very big part of me that wishes I’d realized what I need a long time ago, so I hadn’t wasted so much of my life just trying to find happiness despite my weird family situation. I should have walked away from my father’s house years ago. I wish that I had.
Turning back to the scene before us, I realize that the main entrance area is filled with caterers and guests. Many of the people here were at the wedding, too. I recognize a lot of faces, but of course, there are people I don’t know here, as well: business associates of Ian’s, most likely.
There are going to be many parts of his life that I’m not privy to, that I won’t understand. I’ll do my best, but I’m not sure how much he really expects for me to understand. Mafia men aren’t known for sharing their feelings.
Besides, if I’m not wrong, Ian most likely expects me to be a normal, ordinary, pretty housewife. I meant what I said when I asked if I could get a job, but I don’t know if it’s going to happen. What I do know is that he’ll expect for me to always look my best and act my best.
I’m a reflection of him now.
“How did they beat us here?” I ask Ian, gesturing to the crowd that’s gathered. He shrugs, as though he has no idea, but I realize this means he had the driver take the “long way” home. Interesting. So, he wanted us to have that “alone” time together.
You sly dog.
Maybe he just wanted a few extra minutes for us to fuck or perhaps he likes to make an entrance, so he ensured that we wouldn’t be the first ones at the house when we arrived. Either way, I have to admit that he seems to think of everything. Not a lot gets past Ian Salucci.
Nothing.
