The addiction is so powerful that she goes to him even though she knows it will be her undoing. That is how strong the allure is. How powerful. In fact, there is nothing in the whole Universe that is more powerful, more binding than this. Nothing. Not here, not now, not ever. It is so tenacious. It has such tentacles, such fine fingers that have already enchanted and bound her up in knots too tight to ever be undone. And so, it is finished, and she goes willingly into his arms. Though he is a liar and a thief and will be her undoing. There is nothing else she can do, so it is written.
He removes the ribbon from her lovely chestnut hair and it tumbles down to her breasts. She murmurs no sound, makes no move, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. His hands are touching her breasts, finding her nipples. He is not kind. There is no kindness in his touch, nor in him. But still, or maybe in spite of this, he always awakens the same mesmerizing passion in her, taking her by surprise and astonishing her into blissful submission.
“Little Princess,” he whispers in her ear, pinching her nipples and kissing her. “Have you been a good girl today?” His fingers are now squeezing her nipples tightly and she moans, sucking in the air softly as she tumbles into the blessed oblivion, if only for a little while.
When he enters her, she knows it will be perfect, as it always is, a perfect match for a perfect moment before the pain of what she has once again done, torments her even more. Until, when he is sound asleep, she slips out the door in terror.
She didn’t remember him ever showing her any kindness. Nor did she expect him too. It was not how she was raised. No. She was raised to believe the mistaken idea that love was abuse and that abuse was love. How else could she explain to herself why she trembled with desire in the face of such insanity? There was no other explanation possible. She was like an alcoholic, addicted to the pleasure that could only be gotten through pain and which could only cause pain.