It started as she was showing him round the house, he the first visitor she’d had since she moved here, this person she had once known many years ago and whom she had run into in the street purely coincidently not five days earlier. They had gone to school together long ago, had socialised in the same group of friends there, but had lost contact in the years which had followed, so she had been excited to see him so accidentally and they had exchanged numbers.
He had called her, just to catch up. She had invited him over for coffee and to see her new house.
She had been the one to try and kiss him. The coffee had become a bottle of wine, which had then become two, and she knew she’d had too much and was probably making a foolish decision, so that was why she was also the one to break off the kiss so suddenly. They had rounded a corner near the stairs and she had found herself standing so close, feeling just that bit too tipsy. She had merely followed her instincts and leant forward and kissed him. She was single, she was a little lonely and for all she barely knew him, she thought she had correctly interpreted his signals as their flirting had increased in obviousness over the course of the two bottles of wine. Yet the very fact they had drunk so much was what made her pull back in the end as well. She was a sensible type, ordinarily, not a risk taker and not prone to impulsive actions. Her judgement was impaired, she told herself. She was drunk. Maybe what she had taken as flirtation had been nothing more than innocent conversation. She became afraid, suddenly, of making a fool of herself and pulled back from that kiss.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispered, realising then she already had made a fool of herself. He said nothing and so she sought escape, quickly turning, trying to move away, back up the stairs.
That was when he grabbed her. Hard, fast, she unable to comprehend at first, for it all moved too quick. He grabbed her around the arm and shoved her hard up against the wall and it hurt where his fingers had gripped and bit into her, it hurt as her head had collected with the plasterboard behind her, as he pushed her roughly and held her there with the weight of his own body. But it did not matter if it hurt, for his lips were on her own once again, but this time the kiss was hard and forceful. His tongue was in her mouth and his body was pressed against her own and his hands were already at her breasts, and her waist, and gripping the skin beneath her shirt as well. And she was helpless to fight against him, not simply because he was physically stronger than her, but because she seemed to lose all will to fight in the face of his determined lusts.
She did try to struggle after a moment, briefly, ineffectually, as her wits had returned and that sensible part of her brain told her this was wrong and he shouldn’t be allowed to do this. So she tried to pull her face away from his, tried to push him from her, but his teeth only clenched and an anger flared in his eyes and he gripped her shoulders with a brutal force as he pushed her once more against the wall, this time with far more strength. She literally saw stars as her head bashed hard against the wall behind her, her stunned groan entirely unwitting, but he gave her no time to recover, reaching up with one hand to entwine it amongst her long hair at the back of her head and pulling down hard. She whimpered out loud with the sudden pain, but could not get out any further sound, for his lips were on her own once again and his tongue was back in her mouth and she stopped trying to struggle for fear of what he would do and instead just kissed him back.
She was gasping for breath by the time he pulled his face away from her own and she took advantage of the respite merely to draw back air deeply into her lungs, her eyes locked onto his face somewhat fearfully. She saw a cruel amusement in his expression, worse, condescending disdain, as if he had always known she would respond to such harsh treatment, as if he had expected nothing less. His free hand, the one not holding her by the hair at the back of her head, clutched roughly at her breast so that she could not help but utter a low sound of surprised pain. Something else flared in his eyes then, she thought it was satisfaction, pleased to hear her cries. As she stared up at him in that moment of respite, he still pushing his body against hers and she subsequently pinned to the wall, his hand on her breast, the other painfully pulling her head back by her hair, she knew then she truly feared him. Feared him and desired him also, desperately, overwhelmingly so.
He grabbed her wrist as he stepped away from her, not saying a word, just pulling her suddenly, sharply forward, so that she stumbled and had to use her free hand to grab onto him so as to steady herself in case she fell. He gave her no time to regain her balance, however, just pushed open the door from the hallway she had indicated earlier was the bedroom and shoved her roughly inside. She fought to stand still when she recovered herself and even managed one moment to breath, before he was with her again, having entered behind her, and had grabbed her by both arms and shoved her again forward, this time onto the bed. She fell forward, half on her stomach, half on her side, then quickly scrambled to turn over before he was on top of her, because she knew by now he wouldn’t wait to see if she was comfortable or if she was unhurt. Her hurts meant nothing, he cared naught for them. He would satisfy his own desires and he would use her to do so and if it hurt her or if it pleasured her was entirely irrelevant and she was even more afraid of how quickly she had accepted that.
He was on her before she had managed to turn completely over, which meant he only grabbed her shoulder roughly and pulled her back round to where he wanted her, then planted his lips down on hers again as his hands moved down to grip her skirt and pull it up. She knew what he was doing and she was helpless to say whether she wanted it or not, for he was not giving her a choice. He just pulled her skirt up and pushed his hand beneath it, found her panties and yanked them down, then shoved his hand in them and all of a sudden, his fingers up inside of her.
She cried out loud, though her sounds muffled by his mouth still to her own, as he roughly jabbed three fingers all at once into her. It hurt because it was rough and sudden, but it would have hurt more if she wasn’t already so wet. She was dripping, far more than thought was normal for her, for she was already well lubricated and ready for him and it both surprised and shamed her that it was so, that she could respond so to his treatment of her like this. He pulled his fingers out most of the way then shoved them in hard again, hurting her badly so that she arched her back and even unwittingly tilted her face away from his as she did so. He let her, his smile viscous as he watched her whimper beneath his touch and she thought about begging him desperately to be more gentle with her, except she was too afraid he would only use that as a reason to hurt her more. Afraid, also, she secretly didn’t want it like this to begin with, unable now even to trust herself.
He pumped his hand into her three, four, five more times, each time harder than the last, using real, powerful strength until she was crying out helplessly with each thrust, before he pulled it quickly out again. All of a sudden she found his fingers, sticky and stinking of her, at her already bruised lips and pushed inside her mouth. She tried to turn away, gagging hard, she did not like this, did not like to taste herself, but he would not let her and grabbed her hair once again with his other hand and turned her head just as he wanted it and made her lick his fingers clean of her own juices. He was grinning nastily as he did so, no doubt seeing that her eyes were glassy with tears born from her fear and the pain, but knowing she was not fighting him, rather she was only responding more to each new degrading moment. Then, suddenly, he pushed himself back off her. If she had ever been going to stop this, if she had ever been going to fight, now was the time. This was when she could get herself away from him. This moment alone she would have to be free.
Yet she did not move, even as he pushed himself right back to stand at the side of the bed where she lay. She just continued to lay there, looking up at him fearfully and clutching the blankets beneath her with frightened, anxious hands as he leant over and grabbed her panties, which were still around her thighs, and yanked them right down. He pulled them from her legs, which involved more than a little cooperation from herself, she lifting her buttocks to make it easier for him to do this, not kicking out with her legs so he could remove them quickly. Again, she felt a spike of shame she was letting him do this to her, but she could not help it, she could not help herself, not even as she found herself left entirely uncovered and exposed to his view.
She tried to push her skirt back down to hide those private areas of her sex, though why she knew not, for surely he had already gone too far for her to suddenly become coy now. He only slapped her hands away hard and she knew better than to try again as he pushed her skirt once more back up and left her open and exposed once again, her own juices evident on her thighs, staining the bedclothes beneath her. She turned her head, not wanting to meet his eyes, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment and shame, but he only laughed low and as she heard the zip of his own pants open, she could not help but flicker her eyes back, drawn to this, not able to stop it. After that zipper, he undid his belt buckle, then the buckle of his jeans, and then slipped the belt through all the loops, taking it from his pants. He kept a hold of it as he moved back down to her, one hand placed to either side of her head, the right still gripping that belt and she knew that to be a threat, or a warning, one she feared she should take very seriously indeed.
He forced her legs apart with his knees, but she was afraid now, afraid of him and her own response to him, and twisted slightly before he could move right into her. The snarl on his face was angry and his weight shifted suddenly to his left hand as his right flicked back, the belt still in it. She had been right to read that as a warning, a threat, and she cried out quite loudly as the belt flicked back in his hand and caught her on the outside of her thigh. Tears springing to her eyes with the sharp, stinging pain of it, but she learnt her lesson and moved herself back round to where he wanted her and when he kicked her legs out wider she did not fight him, not even as she felt him there, right between her legs, the thick, hard threat of his masculinity, ready now to take her, whether she liked it or not.
He shoved into her, hard. All the way, all at once, so long, so thick, larger than any partner she’d previously had, the few that there were, and seeming to tear her open with the brutal suddenness of it. She cried out yet again, unintelligible words, she wasn’t sure if she were trying to beg him to go slow, to have mercy upon her, or if she was trying to tell him she wanted it all the harder. What she wanted would make no difference anyway, he would take out his lusts and his desires on her regardless, and now he pulled back and shoved into her again and if she thought his fingers had been rough, if she thought they had hurt, then it was nothing compared to the sex of him. He pumped himself in and out all the way with movements almost deliberately designed to hurt and she found herself only pushing back against him, willingly raising her hips to meet his own.
She almost orgasmed immediately on his into entry into her, which shocked her so badly she almost forgot to be ashamed. She never climaxed via penetration, vaginal orgasm just did not exist in her experience, she needed to stimulate the clitoris to get anywhere even close and even then the few partners she’d had over the years hadn’t really been able to satisfy her properly. She’d just grown accustomed to knowing she’d have to do it herself, which was fine, she guessed, that was just the way she worked. And yet now, as he shoved himself so deeply, so roughly, inside of her, she felt it build suddenly, that familiar sensation, and it only took two or three such thrusts to bring her to climax. She tried to hide it, clutching at the bedclothes beneath her and biting back on her lip, but he did not slow and he did not hesitate and he just continued to shove himself inside her until all of a sudden she could hold it back no longer. Muscles spasming, body tightening, the groans she had tried to hide escaping from her bruised mouth as for the first time ever she came entirely from the penetration of a man inside of her.
That moment was a release in more than one way for her. He did not rest once she had cum, but although it hurt more now, she did not try to stop either, instead continuing to push her hips back against his as he dictated their speeds and movements. Following his lead as he did purely what was pleasing to him alone, she merely trying to do what she could to enhance his pleasure, as if that was all that mattered, and so right at the moment it was. She did not try to hide the soft cries she involuntarily made with each hard, painful thrust inside her. She felt as if she could hide nothing from him now, so she let him see the complete affect he was having on her, or at least, she stopped trying to pretend he couldn’t already see it, and just let him have his entire way. Her hands stopped clutching at the blankets beside her and instead now she brought them up to his waist, clutching at him, as if he were the only thing she could cling onto to save herself from drowning in this experience.
Sensible thoughts flickered through her head, momentarily there, then forgotten in the sensations of him; knowing he wasn’t wearing a condom, knowing despite her cooperation she in effect had little choice, aware that if she had fought, had outright refused, he would have raped her anyway. Not caring for any of it, only desperate now for him, pushing her hips towards his, clutching at his body, crying out with the pain and the pleasure of the feel of him, prepared to do anything for more of him, anything at all. She wanted his pleasure, she wanted to feel him cum inside her, this man who had made it very clear he cared little for her pleasures or pains and was concerned solely with using her for his own enjoyment. And yet she adopted this also as her own goal and worked towards his climax, focussed entirely upon it. If she had been brave enough to beg him now, it would not have been for mercy. She would merely have begged him for his seed, to spill his fluids inside of her, and to use her as he will.
There was almost no warning for her second orgasm, which merged almost immediately into a third, and left her so stunned, so shocked, that she felt the tears again at her eyes. Just as she had never experienced orgasm from vaginal penetration before, so she had never climaxed more than once in any sexual experience. Yet now her body betrayed her and she found it hard to cope, bucking beneath him as he laughed low over her, a sound of power, and control. He came himself then, as if he had waited entirely for that moment, shoving himself inside of her the most deeply of all, she seeing his muscles stiffen, the clenched jaw expression of his face and most of all feeling him inside her jettison that load of white, sticky bodily fluid she knew she should be so worried about. But she couldn’t, she just raised her hips to meet his, feeling the spasms inside her, the pumping ejaculation as he made sure she took every drop he had and not a single spilled. Then he took a deep breath and rolled casually from her.
She continued laying there, half naked, sticky, used and abused and also somewhat stunned. Her body felt exhausted, her mind was only confused. She felt tears behind her eyes, she felt the dark shame now and the humiliation all the worse because she had so willingly participated in her own degradation. And yet for all her exhaustions, for all her confusion and shame and humiliation, her body also felt satiated. She felt satisfied and even, surprisingly, grateful.
After a moment, she turned her head to see him sitting there on the side of the bed, leaning back on his arms and watching her. She didn’t know what to say, only swallowed hard and waited for him to speak first, which he did.
“You’re not finished yet,” he told her then, the first words he had spoken this entire time. She didn’t know what he meant, so though she opened her mouth to speak, to ask, she just could not find the words.
“I… I don’t understand…” she tried quietly, not sure if she meant it in regards to what he said, or rather to the entire experience. He only reached out one hand to her and now, after the desire was satiated and some sense of normality had returned, she flinched away from it. Yet he did not let her get too far, only taking hold of her shoulder and pushing her up. She shifted her weight so as to do as he indicated, sitting up beside him on the bed, yet then found herself surprised when he did not stop there. He continued to push insistently, almost threateningly, until she realised suddenly he wanted her down on the floor.
“You’re going to clean me up,” he said as she stumbled a little from the bed, not sure what was going on.
“To cl… clean you…?” she stammered, not understanding even yet, just struggling not to fall completely over as she complied with his insistent pushing and found herself suddenly sitting on the floor in front of him.
“You heard me,” he returned. “On your knees, use your tongue. And do a good job, or else I’ll see you learn the proper respect the hard way, understand girl?”
She did understand now, at that. Finding herself on her knees before him, feeling sticky and sweaty and bruised all over herself, her eyes finally drawn to that which had impaled her. He was still mostly hard, covered liberally in her juices and his own, and it made her gag to think of licking that concoction from him, the smell alone turning her stomach badly. And yet here she knelt and there he was and there was something which told her she could not merely get up and walk away from this now. He was not holding her down, he was not grabbing her hair and forcing her head towards his body to clean him with her tongue, he just leant back on his arms and waited for her to do the job he had ordered her to do. And she continued to kneel there, unable to look elsewhere, and did not get up and walk away. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she shuffled closer to him, leant a little bit forward and began to use her tongue to clean the remains of their sex from his skin.
“You’ve never had a real man take you before, have you girl?” he commented lazily as she slowly cleaned him. She could not answer, not with her mouth cleaning his dick, but he knew that and she suspected his question was rhetorical anyway. “Never been had by a man who knows what he wants and is prepared to take it as his right. You’ve only had pussy-whipped little boys who don’t know how to assert their masculinity. Bit of a change for you, I bet, being done by a real man for once.”
She could not respond, she only concentrated on cleaning him, on not missing anywhere, from the insides of his thighs to his buttocks to his scrotum and penis itself. The thought of what she was tasting was dreadful to her, the smell even worse, but she was afraid of what he meant when he threatened to teach her respect the hard way. Yet it was more than that, too. Somehow, she also found herself accepting in a twisted kind of way that as he wanted her to do this, then so she was doing it. He ordered this of her and that was reason enough. She licked sweat and cum, his ejaculate and her own lubricating juices and for all the smell and the taste turned her stomach, she did not stop. He just leant back now, letting his arms drop so that he lay back across her bed with his legs hanging down over the side of it, and she on her knees cleaning him whilst he lazed back. He was still not really soft, and it had to be said that just the effort of cleaning him so had began a new burning deep in the centre of her, but instinctively she knew better than to think on that, or even attempt to act upon it, despite her mouth being already upon his dick. He required her to clean him, not to pleasure him, and she was too afraid to do anything other than what he expressly said. The hurts she had suffered in their sex were returning now, the bruises, the aches, the pains and she knew he could be cruel. She was right to be afraid of that cruelty.
“You enjoyed it, didn’t you slut girl?” he said then and this time she was grateful for the fact she could not speak, for her cheeks burned in shame, but she could only have answered yes. “Enjoyed the experience of a real man taking you for his pleasure. It’s only natural. Women exist for men’s pleasure, makes sense that you get off on fulfilling my desires. You’ll be begging for more soon enough.”
In any other circumstance, with any other person, in any other time, she would have grown angry or argued or even laughed at such a thing. Yet now she did not. Now she listened and she closed her eyes as she finished licking the sex from his skin and tried not to cry, yet not because of what he was saying, but only because she couldn’t argue. She had enjoyed it, enjoyed every abuse, every hurt and at the end there all she had wanted was his pleasure. As if it were normal. As if it were right. As if it were even natural.
“Finished yet, whore?” he muttered after a moment, sitting up and pushing her roughly away. She was glad she had all but finished, for he seemed to grunt, satisfied enough, and stand. As he found his clothes and put them back on, she continued only to kneel there, not even facing him, still facing the bed and staring ahead of her, somewhat stunned. She wasn’t sure what to do now, or what to say. The whole world seemed to have shifted and she no longer understood her own place in it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening and I’ll want dinner, so have something ready,” he told her as he dressed and it sounded almost normal, if somewhat possessive. “And ready yourself also. Dress well, as appropriate to receive me. I’ll expect you properly attired and properly respectful.”
She did not answer, not even as he finished dressing and left the room, leaving her kneeling there, just as she was. She heard him walk down the corridor outside then almost reach the stairs. Suddenly, not knowing why, she pushed herself up quickly and ran to the door. He was about to climb the stairs when she ran out into the corridor.
“Wait,” she called out, and he turned, his eyes dark as they caught her own. “What makes you think I’ll even let you back in through my front door? You hurt me, you used me, you’ve abused me physically and verbally. Why shouldn’t I lock it against you?”
He only shrugged. “Maybe you will, but I doubt it,” he replied, as if he couldn’t care less. Then he smiled, darkly, viciously. “I’m rather betting you’ll not only have it open, but you’ll have dinner ready and be there waiting in your best dress, hanging on my very arrival.”
“Fuck you. You would’ve raped me if I’d even tried to refuse, wouldn’t you?” she shot back at him with a frown. That made his grin even wider.
“Yes, of course,” he assured her. “And you loved every fucking minute of it. I bet no one’s ever made you cum like that before. So don’t threaten me with locked doors and accusations of rape. You know you’ll be waiting for me tomorrow night. And you’ll serve me dinner and you’ll be a nice little girl, meek and compliant, just as you should be, and when I tell you to get down on your knees and suck me off, you’ll do that too. Because you love it. Because you know it’s your natural place in the world.”
He laughed then, laughed at the look on her face and the devastated fear in her eyes.
“On your knees in front of a man, concerned only with pleasuring him. That’s the only proper place for you,” he finished at last, then turned and climbed her stairs, the new stairs in her new house and left her standing there, half naked and stinking of sex, covered in sweat and most of all simply reeking of him. He was all over her, he covered her in total and she knew from the damp stickiness between her legs and the dark taste in the back of her mouth that he was inside her now too. He may have been gone from her immediate presence, but he was still inside of her and she found herself suddenly, irrationally, desperately terrified that he always would be, leaving her as unable to lock the door upon him tomorrow as she had been unable to refuse his lusts this day. Scared, suddenly, that she would never be free of him.
Her eyes closed where she stood. He was inside her. Inside her body, inside her mind. In control, always in control, because he demanded it to be so and that was frightening enough. Yet perhaps not quite so frightening as knowing it was also because she let him.