An Eternity With You

Author’s notes: During a discussion about the concept of people being rewarded with virgins in the afterlife, I was challenged to write a story about “auto-renewing hymens of paradise”. It didn’t turn out quite like I’d expected. Trigger warning: contains rape and abuse.

She lay on the bed with the sheets drawn up to her chin, small delicate fingers gripping the edge as if the thin sheet could prevent destiny. The fabric couldn’t disguise the trembling of her petite frame, the bird-like bones long and graceful beneath the draping cloth.

He shrugged as he sat on the edge of the bed, a lazy gesture of a single shoulder. “This is what you’re made for.”

“But I’m so tired of it,” she whispered. “It always hurts.” Her voice was a tiny quivering thing and he resented her for it. She’d been so up for it at first, always ready to please him, and now more and more she was pulling this pathetic routine. Sometimes he wanted to smack her, but he’d done that once and the resulting bruise had taken days to fade. He found that a little ludicrous in a woman who was capable of regrowing her hymen; she could create new tissue within seconds but couldn’t heal a bruise? Some magic virgin she was, not even able to make her face fresh for him.

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Are you going to drop the sheet or do I have to take it off you?”

Tears glittered in her eyes at his words, but her movements were all sharp rage as she threw it off, revealing the naked skin beneath. “Fine. Take me, big man. Go ahead and force your way in for the thousandth time.” She spread her legs wide but he didn’t glance down, caught by the fury in her eyes as she glared at him. “I think you get off on being brutal. You probably couldn’t get it up if it didn’t hurt me.”

He regretted it almost instantly when he slapped her; she simply wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful when her face was mottled with bruises. But then he decided, well, if she’s going to have one bruise… and flattened her to the bed with one hand on her sternum, while he slapped her again with his other hand. She made an inarticulate sound of rage and went for his face with those delicate fingers curved into claws, but she was so tiny and weak. It was easy for him to grab her wrists with one hand and hold them above her head.

She went limp and turned her face from his, staring at the wall with a stony expression. He kept her wrists restrained above her as he moved into position. “Tell me you want it.” The woman ignored his demand and he squeezed her wrists. She quickly stifled the expression of pain that flashed across her face, but he continued to squeeze until he knew the bones were grinding together. She drew a shuddering breath and he said slowly, “Tell. Me. You. Want. It.”

Her eyes closed when she spoke, and she didn’t bother trying to hide the fake enthusiasm. “Oh, take me, master! I want it! I love it when you make me bleed and I’m crying from the pain! I’m so lucky to be stuck with you for all eternity!”

The man gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to choke her into submission. Although she’d resurrect overnight if he killed her, necrophilia didn’t even remotely interest him, and so her death would make her useless for the rest of the day.

He released her wrists and put his hand over her mouth to prevent any further sass, then reached down to guide himself in. Anticipation was a sick-sweet clenching in his muscles while he paused before entry. It was funny how he could do this thousands of times and still he enjoyed it.

Her cry was a muffled moan against his palm when he drove into her with one deep, fast thrust. She twitched and went still. The only sign of life were the tears that trickled from beneath her eyelids, but that was enough for him. He pounded her relentlessly, slick with her blood, the heated-copper smell of it familiar but still thrilling. “I own you,” he said, his voice hoarse with exertion. “You belong to me.” He plunged into her once last time, body shuddering with pleasure, and collapsed on top of her.

“Get off me,” she said, too weary to use anything other than a monotone. “You’re too heavy and I can’t breathe.”

He rolled off and sighed as his irritation negated most of the afterglow. I’d do anything to trade her in for an experienced woman who enjoys herself, he thought. Good-for-nothing whiny magic virgins. I wish I had a whore.