I’m playing video games in the living room when I hear him let himself into my flat. The slightly hesitant scrape of a key in the lock before it is removed and replaced with the correct key, the door pushed inwards only slightly at first, in case my cat is waiting to escape.
I lean backwards on the sofa to a slightly awkward angle where I can watch him through the open doorway of my living room. He catches me looking and I grin in a reflex, nervous way. I’m always slightly nervous when I see him, even now. I say nothing in greeting, because I am not allowed to speak until spoken to. I lean forwards again, out of sight. I hit ‘Save and Quit?’, thumb the power button on the TV remote and pad out to the hallway on slippered feet. We embrace. He holds me carefully, slightly away from the warmth of his body, so I can’t lean my weight against him. Stubbornly, I push against him. Testing. Plant my feet firmly and press the top of my head into the crook of his shoulder.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
He pushes me away slightly, gently, enough distance so he can look me in the eye. “And then you say…?”
I freeze. I go from trying to press back into him (batting at hands that are holding me away) to turning swiftly on my heel and attempting to exit back into the living room. He grabs my arm, arresting my progress, and pulls me back towards him. “Come on. What are you supposed to say next? Did you forget?”
It’s not that I had forgotten. But when we’d had the discussion about how I would greet him in future, it had been in the form of filth whispered directly in my ear as I’d limply struggled and moaned, held tight against his chest whilst he fucked me with his fingers. I thought – hoped – he would have forgotten, that they were spur of the moment words chosen for the purpose of making me squirm, nothing more. It was an optimistic hope. He knows I hate speaking and having to say things, which is exactly why this happening.
I shake my head, roll my eyes, continue to try and pull away from him. He repeats himself. I whine. “Nooooooooo.” I know what I’m supposed to say. I just don’t want to say it. I struggle with him, still trying to get away. We eventually end up on the floor – my slippers sliding on the laminate until I’m underneath him and he’s lying on top of me, pinning me with his weight. He keeps asking me to say it. Tells me we will stay here until I do. I violently shake my head. No, no no. His tone is patient with an edge. The edge says don’t push me. I tantrum, literally kicking my feet. My front door judders in it’s frame with every kick. He tuts at me the way you’d reprimand a dog.
We get there eventually. He says each word and makes me repeat them until I can string it into a sentence and say the whole thing by myself. I hate every moment, every word. I hate that he has to walk me through it like this. That I can’t just say things, that they stick in my throat and fill my belly with a nervous dread that I cannot shift. It comes out sing-song and sarcastic which makes me wince but I literally can’t say it in a normal voice. “Hello sir. Would you like to use my mouth?”
“Finally.”
He stands up, pulls me up with him. I can’t meet his eye, flushed and sullen. He tells me to stand against the wall. Straightens my shoulders and lifts my chin a little. He slaps me, hard, in the face. It’s a sharp stinging blow that makes me gasp and my eyes brim with tears. I can feel the heat in my cheek, the awareness that my skin must instantly be blushing red. For wasting his time, he tells me. I don’t cry. I’m too ashamed.
Later when he’s undressing me he tells me if I say it again he’ll fuck me. It’s been weeks since he’s used anything but my mouth and I can feel my body tense, my cunt tighten. But I can’t say it. I just can’t. I bow my head and lean it against him, silent and defeated. A little later still when I’m lying between his legs with his dick in my mouth, he moves suddenly, both of his hands pressing my head down til I’m pinned there, unable to move. He is all the way back in my throat and I can’t breathe, not even through my nose. I try not to panic but he doesn’t release me. I jerk, trying to pull away, body jackknifing in place. His breathing is heavy but his voice is still distinct. “I want you to remember how this feels. This is your fault. You’re only here because you wouldn’t do what you were fucking told.”
When he lets me go my vision is fuzzy-grey and dotted with light spots and my ears are ringing. I have barely enough time to get my breath back before he has pulled me up, pushed his dick back in my mouth, in place of the words I cannot say.
