Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 181

Chapter 181

“Ah, I want to be inside you so much. Feeling my cock being crushed

by your soft walls.”

I feel him rubbing against my ass, the hardness of his member against my buttocks. The proximity stiffens me; my body instinctively

retracts, muscles tense, and heart races.

A cold shiver runs through me as I realize where this could lead. Fear

rises in the pit of my stomach–acidic, burning, as if every second

were a game of Russian roulette.

But suddenly, he laughs low, a sound that feels more like the snap of

a blade in the dark. He steps back, breaking the contact, and turns me

around to face him with a slow gesture. The smile on his lips is wide,

far too serene to be normal.

“You aren’t ready yet,” his voice sounds almost kind. “Your body needs

to rest. See how good I am, Magnus.”

Confusion crosses my eyes before I can control it. He notices and

enjoys it.

“If it were you in my place… would you have mercy?” He asks, tilting

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Chapter 181

his head, his gaze shining with cruel irony. “When you were the

predator, you abused, you beat, and you didn’t think about what the

other felt. Now you are the prey. Do you think I’m being cruel? If I

were weak, Magnus, would you spare me? Or would you crush me if I

didn’t obey?”

His smile widens, almost innocent, but his eyes are pure darkness.

“This time you are the prey, Magnus Hale. I’m being kind because I

love you. But this kindness is not infinite. Be obedient, accept my

love. If not… you will be treated the same way you treated the others.

Or worse.”

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of those words like an invisible

shackle tightening around my chest. I try to keep my face impassive,

but I know he reads every inch of my expression.

He takes the towel calmly, like someone holding a precious object. He

approaches and begins to dry me. Each gesture is slow, methodical,

and almost reverent. He passes the towel over my shoulders, down my

chest, contouring my ribs, wiping away the water that runs down my

thighs.

It is a studied touch, calculated to look like care, but it carries a much

deeper meaning: possession.

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Chapter 181

The towel travels over my body, and with every movement, I feel rage

and fear growing side by side. It isn’t just physical humiliation; it is the process of being dismantled from the inside. Every fiber of mine screams to push him away, but my weak body does not respond.

He kneels to dry my legs and feet with the same disturbing devotion

of a priest before a profane altar. His hands are firm yet careful, the

fabric sliding over the marked skin, removing droplets that aren’t just

water.

He finishes, folds the towel carefully, and observes me in silence,

smiling. To him, it is devotion; to me, it is a cult of control.

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