I bend my head down, obedient over the carpet.
Instead, I feel prodding in an unexpected area. Pain. The pain sharpens and intensity firs as he finds the entrance he wants. I whimper no. He presses on, telling me I wanted this even though I did not. I whimper and try to struggle away. His grip becomes firmer. He tells me this will happen.
I collapse in a whimper. He presses into me, the pain spreading. I moan. He presses his pelvis against my skin and rocks, and the pain changes, giving way to a far-off pleasure that throbs dully somewhere deep with me, threatening to betray me against the pain.
He uses me, hands lovingly caressing my back as he abuses and rapes me, as I struggle between pain and discomfort and pleasure and revulsion. If he massaged my aerolas gently now, my body would lose control.
He releases me. I am relieved, glad my punishment is over and he can clean off now. He doesn’t move to the shower, but flips me over and spreads my legs. I protest. He tells me he’s not done with me this way, and against my feeble protests I am unwillingly invaded again, the pain betraying me by receeding as he glides in and out of this part of me he was never meant to know. My pussy is tightening against my will, betraying me for what I am. He triumphantly calls me a dirty whore and I close my eyes and look away, ashamed at the truth as he feels my pussy tighten and retract in pleasure that radiates painfully from somewhere deep in my ass. He grips my thighs and keep gliding in and out, pumping me.
I wince and moan as the pain waves through, knowing this is unnatural. I wonder what is wrong with him as I writhe on the floor, captive to his whims and wills over my body, enduring the pain for his sake. What broken part of him needs to hold and rape, to dominate and enthrall? God knows my weak protests are doing nothing but encouraging him. I ask him why. He says he likes to degrade me. I want to ask him what kind of person wants to degrade other people, but I’m fighting another orgasm.
He rinses off and enters me, touching my lips with a vibrator that has too high of a speed. It hurts and I wince away from the stinging sensation. I touched myself with the vibrator while he was in the shower, stroking my aereolas with light circles and then light, rhythmic punches, and even when I turned it off while I waited for him my pelvis was thrusting with the wanting.
The vibration against my lower pussy lips races me toward an orgasm I could not achieve, given how my insides contracted painfully against the knob of his penis just inside me. Three days ago, he sucked on my clit and brought me to shuddering orgasm again and again as he rocked the vibrator against my clit. It ached. My favorite is when he lightly gives my clit butterfly, slightly suctioned, feather-light kisses while he brings the vibratory against the hood. Those do not ache but drip with pleasure.
Today is not a day to drip with pleasure. Today is a day to be used. He bangs against my cervix and I gush hot liquid down his shaft and balls, wetting him completely with the shameful evidence of my pleasure as he uses me. He laughs, making it happen again and again. I gush helplessly onto him. I hate it when my body succumbs to him even while my mind fights him, that he thinks he can coax nipple orgasms and hot gushes our of me against my will, that I know this means if I ever leave him he can control me back into him by using my body against me, raping me, fucking me, ruling me. I give in again and again. I come on his cock as he rapes me. I suck his ballsack and let him invade my ass. I am, truly, the whore he says I am. But I would not be if he didn’t make me be.
I deserve this.
Once I was a brat for a day. My attitude was really poor. That night, he told me I’d disappointed him and he took me into bed. He sadly told me he was going to punish me, and he milked my nipples while he sadly told me all the bad things I’d done. I was so ashamed that I came all over him, gushing hot clear liquid as he milked my nipples straight to my pussy. The glistening liquid that told him how turned on I was by his punishment made me feel even more ashamed, the shame rushing to between my legs and pulsing hot and quivering there. This wasn’t role play, I wasn’t being punished for some made-up offense a cheerleader had committed against the principal, this was real and true and my body responded far stronger than with any made-up fantasy.
If he strokes them both, I’m done.
Instead, he pushes the vibrator into my aereola. It is too much, and it hurts, but I also immediately come. My pelvis thrusts with the waves. He pushes it into the other one and I come again. I bite my lip against the convulsions.
I melt into more orgasms as my pussy tightens as he rhythmically pounds my cervix. I know he can feel me come. He reaches forward and strokes one breast on the delicate skin surrounding my tiny, tight nipple. The rumble of another orgasm threatens. I want him to stroke both in a circle. Gently, softly.
He does. This engages between my legs, intensifying the growing rush of blood to my clit. I buck against it. Would I be so brazen if his friends were here? God, bless hope not.
He tells me to come. I cannot. He tells me if I do, I will make him come. I think I cannot, but this knowledge makes me explode, my pussy tightening around his cock as he spears me, and oh it hurts too much, but my pussy is already clenched around him in orgasm, me riding him knowing his little girl is going to make him come, and it pushes me over the edge as I involuntarily clench down, rolled between ecstasy and aching, the orgasm bringing pain, which seems right, somehow, and he comes into his little girl and we are finished and I am conquered.
