Chapter 11: Sacrilegious Vows
The heavy scent of jasmine, thick as syrup, clashed violently with the acrid tang of Rara’s fear-sweat. Beneath the intricate white lace of her bridal gown, her skin felt like ice, yet a furnace roared in her core, stoked by shame and the phantom
The bitter aftertaste of Bram’s cum still coated Rara’s tongue as she knelt on the silk sheets, trembling. Hali’s text—"Love you"—glowed accusingly from the nightstand. Every swallow reminded her of betrayal.
"Presentable," Bram had ordered, already showered and dripping arrogance in a tailored suit. He watched her limp toward the en suite, his eyes raking her bruised hips, the sticky trail between her thighs. "Wash the whore off, but keep my scent inside you."
Hot water scalded Rara’s skin, but couldn’t purge the ache in her ass or the filth in her thoughts. She scrubbed until her flesh burned, fingering the silicone curves he’d paid for. Hali had held her after the surgery, whispering, "You’re perfect." Now Bram’s voice drowned it out: "My perfect fucktoy."
At breakfast in the penthouse’s chrome-and-glass dining room, Bram fed her strawberries with one hand while the other slid beneath the table. His fingers plunged into her still-sore cunt under her skirt. "Squeeze," he murmured, smiling at the waiter pouring champagne. "Show me how much you need it."
Rara moaned, hips jerking. Shame flooded her—Hali was disinfecting massage tables right now, covering her lies. Bram’s thumb found her clit, rubbing hard. "Good slut," he purred. "Now listen carefully. We’re getting married tomorrow."
Married? The word choked her. Bram just smirked. "Islamic ceremony. You’ll wear white. Hali will attend." He withdrew his wet fingers, shoving them into her mouth. "Suck them clean. Consider it your engagement ring."
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Weeks blurred into a nightmare of fittings and lies. Hali arrived at the bridal boutique, eyes hollow but resigned. She adjusted Rara’s ivory hijab, fingers trembling. "He promised the surgery’s final payment after this," Hali whispered. "Just... survive, okay?" Rara nodded, nausea rising. Bram owned them both now.
The wedding hall dripped opulence: gold calligraphy snaked up pillars, jasmine garlands perfumed the air, and Quranic verses echoed from hidden speakers. Rara stood frozen in lace, flanked by Hali in matching hijab—Bram’s cruel joke. He approached, immaculate in white beskap, his smile predatory. The imam began the akad nikah.
Bram’s grip bit into Rara’s arm as he whispered, "Watch," nodding toward a blushing young scholar reciting verses. "He’s next." Then louder, for the imam: "I accept." As tradition demanded, Bram lifted Rara’s hijab. Instead of a chaste forehead kiss, his lips crushed hers, tongue invading. The crowd gasped.
He yanked her against him, his erection grinding into her hip. "Now you’re my halal whore," he growled, low and vicious. Before the stunned imam could react, Bram spun Rara around, hiking up her gown. Cool air hit her bare ass. His zipper rasped.
"Bismillah," someone stammered. Bram laughed, thick fingers spreading Rara’s cheeks. "Pray louder," he snarled. Then he slammed his monstrous cock into her unprepared ass.
Rara screamed, the pain tearing through sacred verses. Bram hammered deeper, each thrust splitting her open on the dais. Silk ripped. Guests froze; Hali sobbed quietly. "Take it, hijabi slut!" Bram grunted, fingers twisting in her hair. "Gape for Allah!" Her body betrayed her, clenching around him, shameful pleasure mixing with agony.
He came with a roar, pumping hot cum into her bowels as the call to prayer echoed outside. Collapsing against him, Rara tasted blood from her bitten lip. Bram wiped himself on her gown, then turned to the horrified scholar. "Your lecture starts soon," he panted, grinning. "My wives need... spiritual guidance." Hali flinched. Rara’s tears finally fell, dripping onto silk already stained with sin.