a little more

“Not now,” you mumble into the sheets.

Your own voice sounds disgustingly hoarse. You’ve always hated it, but after hours of sobbing, it's even worse.

He brushes your hand aside.

“Why. Are. You. Dressed?” he repeats. Slowly, one word at a time. In that cold, stern tone you sometimes like, but not now. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had, but something vile and prickly is stirring in your chest again.

He doesn't care that you feel like shit. No one does. As usual.

You clench your jaw tighter, trying to force the feeling down. Then you push yourself up on an elbow and turn your head to look him in the eye. You know you look a mess—tear-streaked face, snot, red eyes… But fuck it. Let him look. His sex toy isn't very sexy today.

He does look. His gaze locks onto your face, scanning every centimeter. You wanted to say something cutting, but all your resolve instantly evaporates. Instead, you just sigh tiredly and answer:

“Just… can you not touch me today, please?”

It sounds pathetic.

“No,” he replies curtly, with a smile, and his hand returns to your ass possessively. The smile doesn't reach his eyes. They're watching you with greed. “I want you now.”

He's only wearing his jeans. You feel his hands hook the waistband of your shorts and underwear and tug them down.

You twist around, grabbing his wrist again, trying to curl into a ball.

“I don't want it now,” you hiss. This time, less pathetic. Like an angry cat.

He doesn't even consider letting go, just lazily hooks a finger through the ring of your collar and gives it a slight tug.

“Free use,” he reminds you. “Anytime. You belong to me. You agreed to this.”

“Ahhh fuck that!” you snap, your patience finally running out.

You are too exhausted to think too hard about what you're doing. You just twist and sink your teeth into his arm. You get a sharp jab in the stomach for it. You flail your fists, hitting anything you can reach, trying to scratch. Your nail accidentally catches on something on his jeans, and a sharp pain shoots through your finger, but you ignore it. You're fighting back.

As always, it's useless. You're in different weight classes, as he likes to remind you—in word and in practice. You end up on your stomach again, with him on top of you, your arm twisted behind your back to the point of pain.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. We'll have to fix that,” he says thoughtfully, and you feel a touch on that very finger that hurts. Seems you broke your nail down to the quick.

“Red!” you spit out hurriedly. Though without much hope.

He doesn't let go.

“Did you forget what safewords are for?” he asks with feigned surprise. “This isn't a scene. I'm just going to help you so you don't hurt yourself further… You'll have to bear with it a little, but it's your own fault…”

You barely have time to clamp your teeth down on the sheet before the torn piece of nail is ripped from the quick in one sharp motion. A nasty, sharp pain. The kind you don't like. Tears well up in your eyes again, and you whimper.

“There now,” he notes with satisfaction. “Stop resisting, or something even worse might happen to you… Will you be good?”

You've known him long enough to hear the threat in those words and take it seriously. Your choked 'Mhm' is enough for him. He releases your arm and gets up. He strips off your remaining clothes and tosses them somewhere on the floor. His hands grab your hips and pull you up, positioning you on your knees, so your ass is in the air. You hear the clink of a belt buckle, the sound of a zipper being undone. The click of a lube bottle opening.

No foreplay. He just positions himself behind you and pulls you onto his cock. Not in one smooth motion, of course—your size difference makes it somewhat difficult—but without ceremony.

Like a fleshlight, your brain supplies.

It hurts, and it stings, and it hurts, and it stings, and…

“Still so tight,” he chuckles, and starts to move.

You whimper again. Once again, you're just being used. You're always just being used. But you feel that thought, along with the pain, along with the sensation of his cock stretching your ass, starting to arouse you. As always.

“Tell me why you were crying,” he says. Not asks. Demands.

What does it matter? Why not tell him. Why not tell him while he's fucking you in the ass. You have nothing left to lose.

“Just thinking about how worthless I am,” you force out. You try to sound casual, but your throat tightens again.

“Oh, yeah?” he drawls, not stopping thrusting into you. “In what way, exactly?”

You swallow with difficulty—and start talking. Everything. Literally everything. It can't get any more humiliating than it already is. You're just a walking bundle of problems. Unattractive. Defective. Worse than everyone. The one who’s not enough. The one who's always abandoned, always cheated on, always used. Sometimes you manage to forget, to deceive yourself for a while, but it's always right there. Something always reminds you. A carelessly dropped phrase, a random memory, any fucking little thing…

“And you're just using me, aren't you?” your tears are dripping onto the sheet. “Just… fucking me, and then you'll dump me. I'm not good for anything else anyway.”

You sob, your body shudders and clenches—and clenches around his cock too. He grunts and starts moving even more sharply, his fingers digging into your hips, moving your ass back and forth, sheathing you on his length.

“Keep going, baby, I'm close,” he moans.

You turn your head and look back at him over your shoulder. A handsome face, showing pure lust. A heavy gaze, parted lips, beads of sweat on his forehead…

What did you expect to see there? What did you wish was there?

“You make me wanna die,” you giggle through tears, through your own matching lust, the shaking, the tension…

“But why? What's wrong now, sweetheart? You came to me yourself, remember?” he purrs in response, sensually, without a trace of sympathy. Accompanied by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Something inside you seems to crack.

“I just wanted you to love me!” you almost yells desperately in a final attempt to get through to him. Casting the last remnants of pride aside.

You stare at him point-blank, from below, and he looks back at you, even stopping his movement. For a moment, you almost believe he heard you.

Until a cruel smile blooms on his lips, until he reaches for you, grabs your collar, and pulls you towards him, forcing you into a kneeling upright position. He turns your head to the side to see your face, and says:

“You know what I want? I want to cum inside you right now.”

He stares at you greedily.

The crack grows, widens, and something inside shatters, explodes into a million pieces, and he sees it.

And you can physically feel how that only turns him on even more.

He shoves you in the back, and you fall onto your elbows.

He's rutting into you violently, so fast you can't take it anymore. Your body reaches its climax almost simultaneously with his; you scream into the sheets, already soaked with your tears and drool. You feel him cum—deep inside you.

But he doesn't stop. You know this isn't over yet.

There's not a single thought left in your head.

…

You hear him leave the room. You hear the door close. Then it opens. You feel your finger being wiped with antiseptic and bandaged. You hiss softly but don't otherwise react. You hear him leave again. You hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. You hear him walking back and forth through the apartment. Talking to someone on the phone.

You vaguely recall that yesterday you were hurt by how he was talking to someone else… Maybe. Your memory fails you like this all the time.

A strange thought comes to you: if you had something like a pencil within reach, you'd pierce both your eardrums just to not hear anything. But you simply don't have the energy to get up and find something suitable. A stupid idea.

The sheet beneath you is unpleasantly wet and cold from your own release. The throbbing pain in your finger is a slight distraction from the feeling.

You wish you could just not exist.

You watch the tree branches swaying in the wind outside the window. You don't feel the passage of time. Just watch as the sky darkens. The streetlights come on. It starts to snow. Big, fluffy snowflakes slowly, slowly fall down… You're cold. You imagine lying out there, being slowly buried by the snow.

Until the door opens and the weight and heat of another body cover you once again. You feel so small.

“Do you like it, my love?” a voice mockingly purrs in your ear as its owner forcefully pushes his cock into your tired, aching, miserable body one more time.

You're not a person. You're not even an animal—they have at least some instinct for self-preservation. An animal would gnaw off its own paw to escape the trap you walked into willingly. You're just a worthless thing to be used, ready to serve its owner again. Things are unfamiliar with concepts like dignity.

Give me those sloppy, wet kisses. Go on, baby, make out with it. Kiss the tip like you mean it. 

I love the way your tongue slides from the base all the way up, tracing the vein, and then that careful circle around the head… Yeah, lick it like melting ice cream. 

Taste me. Breathe me in. Get used to it. 

Now go lower. Don't forget my balls. Lick them, take them one at a time into that sweet mouth of yours. Give them a gentle pull—yeah, just like that. Feels so good. 

And I want to feel your tongue on that sensitive spot right behind them. Press your pretty face in there. Come on, I want to see you shameless. Don't you love every inch of me? Show me. Good… that’s enough. 

Now, take me into your mouth. All of that wet, hot warmth. I want to be inside. 

Look at me. Fuck, you look so good with your lips stretched around me. Keep your other hand on my thigh. No, you don't get to touch yourself. Your world is me right now. 

I love the silky feel of the inside of your cheek. 

And the way the head of my cock glides over your tongue when you really get into it… My hand rests on your head, not pushing, just lazily stroking your hair, twisting a strand… I can feel my own pulse starting to pound. 

You’re watching me, aren’t you? You see my head fall back, my eyes squeeze shut. You hear every ragged breath. You see the muscles in my stomach and thighs flex. Do you like seeing what you do to me? That it’s taking all my self-control not to just grab you and fuck your throat raw? Of course you do. 

And when you pull back until I’m almost out, then tighten your lips and sink down again, letting the head push past that resistance… Fuck, baby, that makes it even harder to be patient. 

Oh, yeah… go on, use your teeth, too. Just that little scratch of danger. I like the thrill. Just be careful. 

You could probably make me come just by playing with the tip—if you tried hard enough—but here you are, trying to take me deeper. Tilt your head back a little more, get your throat in line… there… It’ll help. A little. I can feel your whole body shudder as you fight your gag reflex, forcing yourself to stay down. The raw, tight heat of your throat is so good. 

I’d imagine how your cunt must be clenching from this, but right now, all I can feel, is this perfect, hot clutch around me. 

I love how soaked your mouth is, the way your lips glisten with spit, the way your eyes are shining with tears… 

Then you surprise me. You rise up and dive sharply, and my cock rams deep into your throat. 

You know what? Fuck patience. My control just… snaps. I grab your head with both hands, my fingers tangling in your hair, and I pull you into me, driving my hips up off the bed to meet you. You choke, your composure gone from the sudden, brutal thrust. A strangled sound tears from your throat, your hand slaps weakly against my thigh, but I ignore it. I'm too close, baby, too far gone. I’ll listen to your complaints later. Right now, I know you can take it. 

…But I’m not going to come down your throat. Not like this. I pull you back by your hair, drag you off the bed, and force you to your knees on the floor. You don't resist, just look up at me with those dazed, wrecked eyes. My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. 

“Open your mouth.” 

I hold you tight with one hand, the other working my cock. I don’t need much. Just a few rough strokes before I feel it—a deep, coiling snap in my gut. My cum pours into your mouth in thick, hot pulses. 

“Don’t swallow. And don’t you dare close your mouth. If you do, I’ll stop.” 

I tell you this as I get down on one knee in front of you to be on the same level with you. One hand still fisted in your hair, the other finds your pathetically soaked cunt, and I slide two fingers inside you without a hint of gentleness. 

I watch your face—smeared with saliva and tears, your hair stuck to your forehead, your lips red and swollen. I watch your tongue move luxuriously in the cloudy, white liquid you’re struggling to keep in your mouth, just like you were told. The wet, squelching sounds my fingers make as I fuck you with them are obscenely loud. Can you hear how much you’re dripping just from sucking my cock? I hope you like the taste in your mouth. Savor it. 

I feel your body tenses. 

I see your eyes roll back in your head. 

I know you’re right there, balanced on the very edge. 

“Now swallow.” 

And the moment you do, the moment I see your throat work, I curl my fingers hard inside you, pressing up against that sweet spot. And I watch you shatter. 

Who would have thought you'd enjoy being my little cumslut so much, ha?