Curse Of Love| 18+

2) Master

The grandness of his home had always scared me, it was always only me and him. 

There was one friend of his who used to come and touch me. 

He started with touching my hand and then reached to the inside of my thighs…I blame it on my short dresses. 

My love for short skirts was my real stupidity. I should have known better. I should have covered myself better. 

Like an emotionless doll I used to sit beside my master at the dining table. The other side was occupied by his friend almost every other night. 

Normally I used to feel his touch on my knees but that night his hands reached to my thighs and then to my inner thighs. 

And like a stupid girl I winced and then cried gaining attention of the devil who was feeding me with his own hand like I am his personal dog.

Master's hands stopped, his eyes snapped to the other man's hand on my thigh and for the first time I saw him killing someone. 

That night I got to know that he was not only a rapist but a murderer as well. 

After that no one came to this grand house and I was alone most of the time with him and other times rotting at one corner naked, scarful and chained. 

Master never leaves me unchained in his absence. Few days back out of love he unchained me even in his absence… that is how I got the chance of running away from him. 

But now I think he was going to chain me again.. I could not expect otherwise from him. 

Looking ahead at the grand house all those dark memories visited me back. I wonder how many more filthy touches I have to endure from my master.

Hasn't the shine of my beauty lessened after tolerating all this torture that he was still wanting me. 

I came out of my thoughts from the sound of the car's door opening. 

I flinched at such a normal sound and looked at my master. His eyes were dark. 

It was a gamble of his eyes or a trick perhaps but they change the color frequently. Sometimes they look at me like I am kind of a goddess other times they glare at me like I am the ugliest creation of this earth. 

But most of the time they were completely blank just like now.

I can't understand what his hazel eyes with the shadow of darkness were trying to convey. For once I know he was angry with me, second I know that I am going to be punished, third I know that I was about to get raped.

Again. 

With the end of my chain in his hand he pulled me towards him. My face ended up just being an inch away from him. His stubble was getting rough turning into a beard. It was making him look more dangerous, more aged and still supremely handsome. 

That is the thing he was proud of the most. 

People look past all of his sin only because of his face. 

No one believes that behind such a good looking face hides a monster who preys on someone's wife.. who makes someone's wife his personal whore, his mistress. 

No matter how much I beg from those women and men who call themselves humans but no one heard me..for them I am a bitch, a slut, a gold digger who lures rich and handsome man and Shivoham Shekhawat was a saint. 

A most handsome saint.

Is it the end of the world ? Then why people judge the character of a person by how good they look, how rich they are, how powerful they are.