Housewife

A ferocious fire courses through my veins at the mere sight of her.

With a physique fit for a warrior queen, her curves were like soft, ripe fruit against her statuesque figure. Her skin, It’s as if the very earth itself has imbued her with its rich, fertile hues. Her pronounced brows arched gracefully above her languid, velvety eyelashes, teasingly framing her darling bulbous nose. Full, luscious lips. They’re positively bursting with deliciousness, like some kind of forbidden fruit that I long to savour, while her hair— a cascade of light against the dark night sea, each black strand glowing like the ink of a brilliant poet’s quill. And those eyes…those intense, virility-brown eyes that seem to stare straight into my soul.

Irena was flawless personified, an exquisite masterpiece carved by the gods themselves.

Leaning against the door frame, my eyes are fixated on her every movement. She gracefully unclips her bra, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her supple curves. As the bra falls onto the bed, I can’t help but linger on her luscious, full breasts, her chocolate chip nipples hardening in response to a cool evening breeze that creeps in through the window.

My body aches with an intense desire to reach out and touch her, to savour every inch of her sensuous body. But my urge is thwarted as she slips into a robe and walks over to the open window. With the moon casting a glow across her face, she gazes out at the vast ocean with an entranced expression.

I follow her outside, peeling off my shirt as I join her in taking in the serene beauty of the night sky. The moonlight shimmers like crystal on the water’s surface, creating a peaceful, almost ethereal atmosphere. Being so close to her, my own heartbeat quickens as I long to reach out and touch her.

As the gusty wind whipped across the vast ocean, it brought with it a distinct clarity. A faint fragrance, tantalizingly sweet, beckoned to me, causing my fingers to tighten their grip around the smooth timber. My senses were spel bound by this aroma – and by Irena. She stood before me, her skin shimmering like a luminescent pearl, illuminated by the soft moonlight.

Her lips trembled briefly as she nibbled on the lower one. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’ Her words broke through the silence like a gentle breeze over the waves.

‘A whole week,’ I responded softly, my eyes still fixated on her. I was transfixed by her beauty, like a visitor at an art exhibition admiring a piece he can’t take his eyes off. Only this was different. Irena was the only masterpiece that mattered.

Her gentle demeanour beckons me with a magnetic pull, as if she’s the only one that exists in a world full of chaos. Her allure is spel binding, a fusion of her exotic Polish-Moroccan heritage highlighting her striking features.

‘Am I to endure a whole week of your unsettling stares?’ she asks, her brow furrowing. I pause, my thoughts racing as a soft breeze tousles her raven locks, setting my senses alight with the longing to touch her skin.

‘Irena,’ I say, commanding her focus with a deep growl.

Her face turns up towards me, her chest rising and falling with carefully controlled breaths. I wonder if she’s as curious about me as I am about her.

‘Do I scare you?’ I ask, furrowing my brow as I get lost in the deep, dark pools of her eyes that seem to glow in the absence of light.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, silence wraps itself around us like a cocoon while she retreats within herself. I ache to explore the depths of her mind, to uncover the secrets she keeps hidden from the world – and from me.

As the seconds tick by, my hunger intensifies, gnawing at me from the inside out. I crave her mysteries, and long to unravel the tangled web of her thoughts.

At last, she breaks the silence. ‘No, I’m not afraid of you,’ she murmurs softly, her voice trembling with a hint of fear.

As she nervously pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, I can’t help but notice the subtle signals she sends when she’s feeling vulnerable. And vulnerable she is – standing before me, a small doe in the presence of a towering predator.

My eyes lock onto hers as fear flickers across the surface. But beneath that fear, there’s something else – something that quickens my pulse and makes my heart beat faster. I watch as her pulse pounds against her neck like a wild dance, desperate to feel the rhythm of her heart beneath my fingertips.

I reach out, my hand closing around a fistful of her hair as she tries to back away. A small whimper escapes her lips, but I’m not deterred. I pull her closer, but not too close – I want her close enough to feel her breath on my skin, but not so close that we touch.

As I lean in, I’m hit with the sweet, heady scent of honey and vanil a. It’s intoxicating, and I find myself breathing her in deeper and deeper, each breath drawing me further under her spell.

My fragile doe – she doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.

Irena emits a scent that utterly tantalizes the senses. It’s almost impossible to resist.

Her reaction is fascinating; her eyes widen with apprehension, her lips part, and her breathing becomes shallow with a hint of fear. ‘Why must you deceive me, Irena?’ I whisper gently, peering into the depths of her spirit.

But, there is no answer.

Why does she do this?

Perhaps it’s her defense mechanism, designed to protect herself. When feeling threatened, she becomes still, quiet, and unresponsive.

‘Are you frightened of me?’ I inquired once more, my voice hushed this time. Irritation oozes from my pores. My grasp grows firmer, pulling at her hair with renewed vigour, prompting her head to jerk backward, her neck entirely exposed to me. ‘Are you petrified by me? Does my slightest contact make you sick to your stomach?’

‘Do I make you tremble with anticipation? Does my proximity make your whole body react like a live wire, sparking with undeniable electricity? Your breath catching in your throat, your heartbeat racing like horses thundering across the open plains?’ My voice is low, husky, intoxicating. ‘Tell me, Doe, is this what you feel when you’re near me?’

Her anger dissolves like sugar in hot tea, leaving behind a trembling, vulnerable creature. But it only makes her more al uring, more desirable. I press my lips to her neck, savouring the feel of her pulse racing beneath my touch. ‘Speak to me,’ I whisper, my voice dark and heady. ‘Don’t be afraid to tell me how you feel.’

As she struggled to hold back her emotions, a single tear escaped her eye and trailed down her cheek. I couldn’t help but follow its path with my gaze, feeling a rush of heat as it touched her skin. Suddenly, my body reacted on its own, as if possessed by some primal urge. I eagerly licked away her salty tears, relishing in their taste on my tongue.

Her body shook in fear, and I couldn’t blame her. My actions were far from normal. But the sight of her trembling only added to the twisted thrill that twisted in my gut.

‘You’re sick,’ she gasped through uneven breaths.

But I knew better. I was simply a predator, drawn to the vulnerability of my prey. And as I gazed into her fearful eyes, I couldn’t help but whisper, ‘I’ve been called worse, Irena.”

A charged pulse surges through me, igniting a wildfire under my palm.

The air crackles with tension, holding its breath for a single heartbeat while I greedily absorb the forbidden feel of her skin. But as I release her, she stumbles back, eyes wide with fear, arms crossed defensively across her chest.

Something about the way she looks at me cuts deep – as if I’m the monster that haunted her nightmares as a child. And yet…

She shakes her head in disbelief and darts back into the room, but my eyes track her every move until she’s out of sight.

Irena.

The name echoes in my head like a mantra, driving me mad with longing and frustration. Thin ice cracks within me, and I feel the urge to shatter her innocent nature growing stronger with every passing moment. A dangerous hunger claws at my insides, urging me to take what I want, damn the consequences.

Like a starved beast gnawing on its prey, I crave to dismantle this woman piece by piece, showing no mercy until there is nothing left but shattered remnants.

I burn with an insatiable desire to destroy her.

IRENA

My heart races as a searing fire courses through my veins, threatening to consume me entirely.

I struggle to steady my breathing, my chest heaving with each rapid beat of my heart. Is this my fate, to be crushed under the weight of my own angst and pain?

It feels as though I am being mercilessly tortured by some unseen force, pushing me to the very brink of my own sanity.

As I make my way to the bathroom, my footsteps heavy with dread, I can feel the tears beginning to form behind my eyes. I col apse to my knees, emptying the contents of my stomach as the tears silently stream down my face.

Finally, as I lean my head against my arm, I can no longer hold back the inner turmoil that threatens to overwhelm me. Whole scenes from my past play out, unbidden and relentlessly.

As I don my apron like the dutiful wife that I am, I am bubbling with excitement at the thought of surprising Viktor with a cake. Yes, we’ve had our fair share of quarrels lately, but I am determined to make things right. With our first-year anniversary approaching and his birthday on the horizon, I’ve decided to let bygones be bygones and start anew. And what better way to do that than with a scrumptious cake that will melt away any animosity between us?

As the rich aroma of buttery goodness emanates from the oven, I set to work on the decorations. With deft hands, I sprinkle black edible glitter onto the light-as-air cake, its frothy white buttercream beckoning like fluffy clouds on a sunny day. I then adorn it with a wreath of fragrant red roses, each petal a testament to the love that still burns bright between us. And to top it off, I imprint the number 30, a nod to his wisdom and experience over the years.

Suddenly, the front door jolts open, and five speedy steps later, I hear his thunderous footsteps drawing closer to the kitchen.

He’s supposed to be away for another hour!

My excitement turns to panic, my heart racing as I quickly hide my surprise in cabinets.

Shit and the cake is not ready.

With a deep breath, I slid my hand under the freshly baked cake and delicately lifted it off the counter, my heart thrumming with anticipation. It was a secret I had to keep, just for a little while longer. As I tiptoed across the room towards the fridge, my eyes peeled for him, and an unexpected obstacle reared up before me. I collided with someone, and my treasured cake was crushed beneath their couture clothing.

My heart plummeted in my chest. How was I going to hide the evidence now?

As I gazed up at him, a chill rippled through me, rendering me frozen in his icy glare. His clenched jaw and seething fury seemed to consume everything around him at the speed of light. ‘I-I’m sorry Viktor,’ I stammered, my heart pounding in my ears. But his wrath burned brighter than the sun. ‘You fucking imbecile! Do you not have eyes?’ he bellowed, making me shrink back in terror. ‘This suit, you bitch, do you understand how much it costs?’ The walls shook with the thunderous boom of his voice, and I fidgeted nervously with the strings of my floral dress, resolutely avoiding his eyes. With a violent shove, he sent me hurtling towards the oven, and the sharp handle dug into my back, stealing my breath away. I fought back tears, begging my eyes not to betray me. Not now, not in front of him. I couldn’t risk upsetting

him any further than he already was.

My heart sank as I watched Viktor smugly toss his jacket onto the marble countertop. His piercing gaze met mine and I knew I was in trouble. As tears streamed down my face, I hastily attempted to wipe them away.

‘Are you crying?’ He scoffed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a cruel smile. I shook my head, my eyes downcast as I scrambled to clean up the mess of the ruined cake.

Suddenly, his shoes came into view as he stormed towards me, his hand grasping my chin roughly. ‘You ruin my suit and you are fucking crying!’ His voice was low and menacing.

With trembling lips, I tried to explain. ‘It was not my intention, I-I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday.’ But my words were lost in a sea of tears that seemed to never end.

‘My day was already fucked up and I come home to a brat called my wife,’

he hissed, his grip on my chin tightening. I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer and turned away, feeling defeated and small.

With a dry laugh, Viktor shakes his head and grins maliciously. ‘Oh, I’ll give you something to fucking cry about.” The next thing I know, he’s yanking me by the hair, dragging me out of the kitchen like a rag doll. I struggle to break free, but his grip is unyielding, and he pulls me along with ease.

As we reach the living room, I try to plead with him, but my terror-filled voice falls on deaf ears. ‘Please, Viktor, don’t do this!’ I whimper. But he slams me onto the couch, cutting off my words with a fierce command to shut up.

I scoot away from him as fast as I can, but his strong grip latches onto my ankle, dragging me back towards him. I scream and struggle, my heart pounding like a drum. The coldness in his eyes sends chills down my spine, and my hair stands on end like spikes.

As the fabric rips apart, a blood-curdling sound screeches through my being, making me freeze. There it is, the ruin of my dress, exposing my chest to the wind and the merciless gaze of Viktor. He hovers over me like a vulture, his eyes darkening and his tongue flicking over his lips with a pang of predatory hunger.

Tears prick my eyes as I realize what’s about to happen. But he’s not done with me yet. ‘You wanted to do something nice for my birthday, didn’t you?’

he purrs, with a twisted, mocking humour. I feel bile rising in my throat.

My lips tremble as I try to answer. But he cuts me off with a mocking, condescending tone. ‘Be a good little wifey, keep quiet, and be still.’ His words slither over me like a snake’s venom, making me feel weak and powerless.

And then I hear the sound of a zipper, and my heart nearly stops.

Oh no.

Not him. Not now. Not like this. But I’m frozen, helpless, and at his mercy.

Images flipping in my head, again and again. His face, his twisted voice, his rough hands, his dirty mouth, his cold body. I cannot bear it anymore.

I want to scream, I want to run, I want to fight back. But I can do nothing.

He has me in his grasp, and I am his toy to play with, to destroy, to use, and abuse.

I shut my eyes tight, preparing myself for what is to happen next.

The first brush with male dominance still lingers in my mind like an uninvited guest. It was a time when I was just a tender 18-year-old woman, oblivious to the harsh reality of our world that was saturated with male supremacy. The incident left a deep, unsettling impression on me, and continues to haunt me to this day.

A fragment of my soul was stolen, leaving me incomplete and unsure of my future. I wonder if I will ever fully recover from the day that shattered my hopes for a happy home. In my sleep, I find myself propelled into that very house, yet my visits bear witness to only ghastly nightmares.

My prone form remained transfixed on the ground, tears spilling in a steady waterfall down my face.

There was an overwhelming sense of calm that washed over me as I finally took revenge on him for all the torture and sorrow that he had forced me to bear.

Looking back, people might tell me that I should have spoken up and fought back, but the truth is, taking action was never so simple. When the first offense occurred, I turned to my uncles, hoping for their support and guidance.

Unfortunately, they dismissed my pain and instead chose to believe the twisted tales of a lying, drunken man over the fragile pleading of a vulnerable and unprotected female. It was a gut-wrenching betrayal, especially considering that I had always relied on them as my only pil ars of familial support.

Despite the overwhelming frustration and bitterness that once consumed me, I have come to realize that my emotions are simply a byproduct of a patriarchal culture that has distorted and imagined ideals for women. I refuse to be trapped in the torment and turmoil that this culture has inflicted upon me.

As a fierce and independent woman, I choose to rise above the societal expectations that hold me back. Though I yearn to release my anger through destructive means, I am aware of the judgment and scrutiny that will follow.

Instead, I am determined to relinquish these negative emotions and forge a new path, one that is filled with hope, strength, and self-love.

Growing up under the guidance of a male figure has left me hesitant to showcase certain behaviors. The urge to release the pent-up scream that I’ve bottled up for so long and let my destructive tendencies run free is one I can’t help but entertain.

It’s deeply disappointing that society often regards the destructive traits of men as a standard and forgivable, while women are criticized for similar actions.

Even though we speak of equality, the truth remains that the dynamic between women and men can never truly become a perfect match.

No matter the force of our protests, the heat of our disagreements, the passion of our cries, the sadness of our laments, or the desperation of our pleas, our voices still echo in empty halls.

As a woman, I exist in a world where men hold the reins of power, their presence felt in every corner of society.