"Did you think I didn't notice you flirting with my co-workers earlier? I thought I told you to shut your f*cking mouth.”

Briane grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking you to look at his expression of wrath, and insanity. He sported his work attire, the usual unbuttoned blouse, black striped blazer paired with matching trousers.

Although covered in bruises, evidently hurt by his grip, and previous actions— your husband quite enjoyed the sight of your unfortunate state of abuse. With turgid wrists, and a despondent pride, you could only meekly look down on the floor as he shook you around like a little rag doll.

“You think I'm buying your bullsh*t?.”

“You're a fcking slt, huh? You're a little c*m dump for every single man you come across. Do you got no shame?”

You flinched as he slapped you across the face, violently stumbling back from the impact of his palm against your cheek. His truculent behaviour had seemed to sizzle, and finally burst into a violent act, not that it wasn't like you were faced with tremendous abuse each day. Sexually, verbally, mentally—either worked, but damn did it hurt.

"Get on your knees you little b*tch. Now."