Naoya NonCon on The Wedding Night
Pinned to the futon, my wrists held down by one of his hands while the other traces down my upper body undressing me more. My body is aching, and every part of me feels like it’s been violated on the supposedly best night of my life.
"Stop crying," he commands, like he would actually care about me. "You’re my wife now. A Zenin bride doesn't sob like a pathetic child on her wedding night. It’s embarrassing for both of us."
He forces his way into me. He doesn’t wait for me, he doesn't care if I want it or not. Every time I gasp, he pushes further, every time I try to turn my face away, he grabs my hair and jerks my head back to force me to look at him.
"Look at me," he commands. "I gave you a position. I gave you a life. And this is how you repay me? With these hysterical theatrics?"
He pauses mid-thrust, his eyes narrowing as he leans down against my ear. "A wife is meant to be a quiet thing that makes my life easier. But you, you need to behave better or else you'll see where that gets you."
He resumes his pace, harder this time, his hips slamming into me. His fingers digging into my hips, leaving angry red marks on my skin. "You think you have a right to your own body, to your own 'no.' You don’t understand that from this night on, in this house, your 'no' is just a noise I'll ignore."
He rams into me, deep and punishing, and I choke on a sob, my body arching. He laughs, a low, melodic sound of pure cruelty. "See? This is your duty," he whispers. "This is what a wife does. She opens herself to her husband, she takes his anger, and she lets him mold her into something useful. Stop fighting it. Stop acting like a victim. If you feel ruined, it’s only because you’re fighting the natural order of things."
He slams into me again. He isn't just taking my body; he’s destroying my ability to defend myself, turning my own guilt against me, convincing me that every bruise, every sob, is a failure on my part as a 'good wife.'
"Good," he murmurs, as he feels me spasming around him, my body betraying me with the rhythm of his abuse. "That’s right. Just give up. Stop trying to be something you can't be. It’s so much easier when you just admit that you’re nothing without me."
He isn't finished with me. "You thought you were saving yourself for something significant, didn't you? Some romantic delusion? Look at you now, spread out, sobbing, and your virgin cuntI loves it."
He begins to thrust again, his movements violent, lacking even a shred of intimacy. Hitting every sensitive, vulnerable nerve. He isn't trying to bring me to any kind of relief; he’s trying to ensure that I am so overloaded with pain and humiliation that my mind eventually just shuts down.
"I’m going to fill you," he sneers "I’m going to fill that useless little womb of yours, and you’re going to carry it. You’re going to be a vessel for a Zenin heir, whether you like it or not. That’s your only purpose, isn't it? To be a broodmare for my bloodline."
He drives into me with a final punishing thrust. I am arching off the bed, gasping, my voice gone. "Don't you dare try to pull away," he commands. He grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my head back so I’m forced to stare into his face. "You will take every drop." He spills himself into me. His cum filling me up while holds me there, trapped, violated, and powerless.
He doesn't pull away immediately. He lets his weight crush me, his breath hot against my neck. When he finally does get off me, he doesn't touch me with kindness; he just lies beside me.
"Clean yourself," he mutters, not even bothering to glance at me. "And don't bother crying. You’re a Zenin wife now. You don't have the luxury of feelings. You only have duties."