#entrapped

December 26

"Mom, you can’t do this."

The hotel dinette was dim, lit only by the handful of candles Lottie strategically placed atop the counters and the micro-sized table. There were two place settings, two tapered candles, two Dollar-store napkins folded into perfect hearts. Two, two, two because that was the goal. Lottie did not invite you to tonight’s festivities, and you watched with sad eyes as she flitted about, fussing with making this dingy hotel room 'romantic.'

There wasn't much in the way of belongings to show that people stayed here. Between the two of you, your things consisted only of three suitcases, your backpack, and a laptop case housing your six-year-old machine with a fan so loud it sounded like snoring. It was almost comical, but Lottie ridiculously ensured she made the bed and closed the bathroom door to hide away the evidence of, you know, existing as a human. She also ensured there was nothing to be seen of you or your shared past.

Lottie was 15 when you were born, a baby with a baby. She didn't like to be called mom because, with you 20, she was barely 35. 'That makes us more like sisters, anyway,' she often said. Having a child so young meant she never learned how to make adult decisions, and you both had been running from the consequences of her childish decisions for years now. 

"Lottie!"

She’d ignored you the first time because you called her mom. Playing her game, you raised your voice and smacked the table until she looked at you, exasperation and anxiety at war in her eyes. 

"You cannot trap this man. You come with more baggage than a Coach outlet store." You paused, exasperated as was often the case with Lottie. "You can’t keep doing this to people. To us."

To me.

She sniffed, pretending to be offended. Pausing in front of the black glass oven door, she touched up her lipstick before straightening her back, arrogant and far too assured of her plan.

"I’m sure I don’t know what you mean." She shooed you away with an airy wave of her too-thin hand. "Now, go. Flip will be here any minute."

Flip Zimmerman. Ten years Lottie's senior, extraordinarily handsome, and, God knows how, enamored with the creature your mother pretended to be. 

At the door, you stopped again, turning to implore her with a last look that she not do what she was planning, but she only gave you her brightest fake smile. A heavy sigh weighed your shoulders down because there was no talking her out of it.

“Colorado it is, I guess…” you muttered as Lottie shut the door in your face. “Fucking hell…”

December 28

He said yes.

There was no earthly reason for him to say yes. You and your mom had no money, no future. Nothing but a black-and-blue history and a chemo-trail of heartbreak stretching back as far as you could remember.

But he did, and you believed the only reason he did is because Lottie lied about everything. She lied about the number of husbands she’d had. Lied about why - and HOW - you ended up here in Colorado. Lied about her health. About fucking all of it. And no matter how much you wanted your mom to be alright, you simply couldn’t let the man fucking marry her under false pretenses, which is why you stood outside the building fidgeting, fighting yourself over whether you should go in and talk to him.

Honesty won out over fidelity, and you trudged inside. At the counter, you felt the first prick of tears because this was the sort of betrayal for which Lottie may never forgive you.

"Detective Zimmerman, please."

Your voice was deflated, hollow to match your spirit. You were about to sign away any chance your mother had to make a fresh start here in Colorado. You sunk down onto the rickety bench to wait, picking at your cuticles anxiously and kicking at the linoleum with your scruffy combat boots. Each moment you waited felt interminably long, and you grew more and more nauseated with each tick of the too-loud clock. Your brain screamed that you should run, leave here and let everything happen the way Lottie wanted, but your limbs were leaden. All but soldered to the damn floor.

“Hey, kid.” 

So lost in your thoughts, his smooth voice made you jump. You swiveled your head to meet his gaze and hugged yourself, feeling smaller already. You expected this to end badly, but just how badly you didn't know yet.

Flip stood to one side, holding open the small gate that pretended to keep people out here from going in there. He cocked his head slightly, showing that you should follow him through. You stood on wobbly legs and expelled a dubious breath. There was no turning back now. He led you through the maze of desks and into one of the interrogation rooms, pausing at the threshold to unplug the video camera affixed to the ceiling corner.

“For privacy,” he offered with an amiable smile before sliding onto the corner of the steel desk. “What’s up?”

A thousand words jumbled around inside your head. You struggled to pick one way to start even though you knew you stood there staring at the man your mother tricked into an engagement as though you were the perpetrator instead of she.

Was it hot in here? Your hands retreated into the over-sized sleeves of your hoodie as though hiding as much of yourself as possible would smooth things over.

“Youcantmarrymymomsheliedtoyouimsosorry…”

It all came out in one breath, words smashed together nonsensically. Wincing, you closed your eyes and leaned away from Flip, your body physically ready for him to explode. You knew from experience that angry men did bad things. You expected shouting, cursing, maybe some shoot the messenger. You weren’t expecting him to chuckle.

He fucking chuckled.

Round-eyed, you gasped as he stood, gaze trailing up, up, up. Flip Zimmerman wasn’t small. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome in a way that made your insides tumble. If you were honest with yourself, jealousy colored some of your reluctance at letting Lottie trap him, though you'd die before admitting it. He was spectacular and beautiful, and he smoldered in that perfect way that would make a rational person forget their morals. He was whip smart, saw too much, and seemed to understand everything without hardly any effort at all.

And on top of all of it, he was a fucking cop. The same goddamn sort you’d spent years avoiding. And now, Lottie wanted to hitch her wagon - and yours - to one? No, thank you.

He wasn’t just dangerously good looking. He was dangerous, period.

"I know," he said.

When he inched closer, you thought he would reach out to touch your shoulder, to offer some sort of comfort. Instead, he kept moving forward at you, crowding you backwards until you bumped into the wall. 

"What?!" Shock crept over your face, furrowing your brow in confusion. You blinked rapidly to make your brain work better.

“Let's see if you're as stupid as she is, hm?"

The moment his voice dropped into deadly, your stomach followed it off the cliff and fell to your ankles. You didn’t realize you shook your head nonono until his gigantic hand snatched your chin to a halt.

“I don't understand,” you whispered, tongue thick and lips dry. “I knew she was planning to ask you, and I tried to stop her. I wanted you to kn–”

The hand gripping your chin slid up over your mouth, forcing your head against the concrete with a thump. Suddenly, you weren’t baring your soul to a caring individual. No, the reality was an angry bear trapped you, and there was no escape. His knee slid between yours, pinning you in place and sending your heart rate skyrocketing. 

"If I already know about Lottie, and I agreed to marry her anyway, it suggests that I want something. Doesn't it?"

You whimpered against his hand because none of this was right. Lottie thought she'd tricked him into being her salvation, but the truth was Flip understood the game all along. Twisting in his grip, you struggled to swing your head out from under his hand. You wanted to say you’d leave. You’d drag Lottie out of this town by the hair if it came to it.

"S'this how you always dress?"

Flip tilted his head to further take in your attire. You wished you'd worn anything in your suitcase other than this. Well-worn black combat boots, bare legs, black denim shorts, and a threadbare navy blue hoodie with peeling white letters made you feel too young, too much like a delinquent looking for a handout. His thick index finger trailed up the outside of your thigh, from knee to shorts hem, and he smirked as the muscles in your leg tensed.

“I’ll marry Lottie. I’ll take care of her, make sure she gets all the treatment she needs. I’ll even handle that pesky mafia ex-husband. I’ll handle all of it. Isn’t that what you want?” 

Using his hand on your mouth as a control, he forced you to nod. Your eyes watered over, making him blurry. Your guts twisted, sending acid shrapnel into your throat and making you heave beneath Flip's sweaty palm. You knew what he was going to say. It was obvious by the way he pinned you to the wall with his hips, trapping you with his broad body.

“You know what I want, don't you?” 

He paused for dramatic effect, and you hated him for it. He dangled everything you wanted in front of you like a goddamn golden carrot, and you felt like the biggest fool in all of Colorado for believing he was a good man about to be duped. Your face must have telegraphed it because he brushed his thumb across your cheekbone. 

"Hm. Not as dumb as you look."

He ate up the last bit of space between your face and his until you felt his coffee breath on the bridge of your nose. 

"Anywhere, anytime, every time I want." 

He punctuated the words by squeezing your mouth so hard a sharp cry erupted only to be properly muzzled by his oppressive mitt. Dread morphed into outright terror. No part of you believed Flip felt anything toward you besides lust and greed. You doubted he even liked you. Fuck, you’d settle for some sort of obsession, but this wasn't so simple as obsession. Flip wanted to own you. It was sadistic dominance through and through. Whore yourself out for him and maybe Lottie would live a little longer.

What choice did you have?

January 1

Flip married Lottie at the sparse courthouse downtown at three o'clock on New Year's Day. While the Justice of the Peace said a few words about how lucky they were to find love so swiftly, he placed a plain gold band on Lottie’s finger. Then, paperwork. You acted as the goddamn witness, signing right there next to his and hers in recognition of both this sham marriage and your own very real entrapment. All while you felt his glittering hazel eyes on you. 

Saying yes to him wasn't a choice. It was a foregone conclusion, and he'd known it from the minute you walked into the station house. He held all the cards from the first day. Resentment had roiled in your belly as you pieced it together in that grungy interrogation room, but you agreed. He was unlikely to be kind to you. Men with power liked to wield it, and he had all the power here. Every time he spoke to you, it flexed like a muscle.

After the ‘wedding,’ Flip treated you and Lottie to dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, followed by ice cream and a walk through downtown. He even held her hand, pausing from time to time to brush his knuckles along her jawline. He played the part of a considerate, doting partner so well it made you angry - angry because Lottie had just won the fucking lottery. 

At your expense.

Lottie's plan worked, though not the way she intended, and all she had to do now was live out her golden years on the porch while this handsome, compassionate husband doted on her but harassed you in the same house. Wallowing in your misery in the middle of dinner, you chewed on the ugly fat that, regardless of what you knew about Flip, she would do exactly that. You snorted aloud, drawing their attention - fucking hell, your parents. Flip’s mouth pursed into displeasure. His thick brow cocked over a decidedly displeased gaze.

“Shit. Sorry.” You frowned, more at the situation than yourself.

"Y’ok, Puddin'?"

Of course, she used that goddamn name. In front of him. In public. The nickname you hated since you were a kid and asked her a million times to stop using. Lottie was svelte, though less so these days, but you were soft. It was something she never made peace with - that you were her child and looked nothing like her, that your body type wasn't one she could be proud of. Biting back an argument you'd never win, you told yourself it was not that she was a terrible parent; rather, she simply wasn’t a particularly good one. 

You had no ready answer, though.

I’m ok, but I’m scared that your new husband is going to fuck me into pieces. Yeah, Lottie, I’m peachy-keen; I’m a little anxious because I don’t know when my hooking contract begins. Is it tonight? Tomorrow? Maybe you could get your fella to give me the details on that, m’kay?

Instead, you swallowed down bile and chased it with ice water.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Sorry.”

Following the lovers’ stroll, Flip drove you and Lottie back to the hotel to collect your things, even pitching in to carry the suitcases back to his Bronco as though he were the knight in shining armor and not the goddamn villain. 

At his place, Flip pointed you to your room at the end of the hall, next door to a puny, pea green bathroom. Hoping to be inconspicuous, you checked the doorknob for a lock, but you had less than no luck because though there was a lock, Flip caught you testing it and shook his head imperceptibly. A warning. Chattering obliviously, Lottie confirmed they would share the master bedroom on the second floor. Eyes trailing to the stairs, you realized you never asked Lottie if she’d slept with Flip, and now, you never wanted to know.

Ever.

Mashing your lips together, you stood stone silent in the hallway. Maybe if they kept talking, this nightmare wouldn’t truly begin. But your body, tight from nerves, was exhausted, and you yawned loud enough to crack your jaw. For the second time tonight, all eyes were on you. It was an incredibly uncomfortable place to be. Tutting about how sleepy you must be after such a big day, Lottie rushed over and folded you into a weak embrace. She never was one for hugs, but this was part of the package she had to keep selling.

"Everything is fine." She murmured it as quietly as she could before turning and letting Flip lead her towards the stairs. She was three up before you realized Flip wasn’t following her.

“Go on up,” he said with a warmth you wouldn’t assume him capable. “I’ll be right there. Gotta show the kid where the car's parked.”

Too soon, she was gone, and he was right there, heating the cooler air with nothing more than his proximity. The further he leaned in, the further you leaned away until your back pressed against the wall, too similar to your last meeting for comfort. Front to front, there wasn't enough room in this microscopic hallway for you to not touch him. Panic took over, and your eyes scanned the same two feet of ceiling and floor again and again, looking for an escape.

“The car is in the garage next to mine. Be at the station at noon tomorrow.”

He pushed keys into your hand, but you weren’t paying attention - not even a bit. The stress of the last few days, the agitation from the way his broad shoulders kept you penned, crept into your bones, making room for a fatigue unlike any you’d known. And you'd known your fair share of dead ass tired. Your glassy eyes drifted, missing the way his hand shot out lightning fast. Cutting through your delirium, thick fingers tightened around your neck. Adrenaline surged as he lifted you onto the tips of your toes. The keys clattered to the ground when you wrapped both hands around his wrist in an absurd effort to stop him from choking you out.

“You are fucking stupid, aren't you?” It wasn't only his tone that changed. Now, he talked to you like you were a simpleton, which you might truly be. “Tomorrow, you’ll drive the car to the station for lunch, yes? Lunch is at noon. That’s what time human beings eat lunch. Yes? You will be there at noon. Say it.”

His fingers eased slightly, allowing you an unsteady breath before wheezing out the words he wanted.

“Lunch. Noon.”

Finally, sweet Jesus, finally, he let you go. You fell back into the room, hitting your ass on the floor and rubbing at your affronted neck. He kicked the car keys at you before pulling the door closed. Dazed and drained, you sat right there, right where you fell, until you heard his footsteps retreat. He stomp, stomp, stomped upstairs in his loud boots and closed the door to the master bedroom.

God, if you had to hear them fucking, you didn’t know what you’d do. Throw yourself off a bridge tomorrow, perhaps.

January 2

The last time you looked at the clock, it was 3:47 a.m.

Despite your weariness, nerves kept you awake far into the night. The effects of Flip’s manhandling didn’t wear off until close to midnight, and after that, you sat vigil, staring at the door and expecting him to burst through it. You listened for movement upstairs, footsteps in the hall. You watched the doorknob in your room, the one you locked even though he might murder you for it, until you couldn’t see it clearly anymore. As long as he didn't test the knob, you told yourself it would be fine. He'd be gone to work before they could reasonably expect you to face the day, but rationalizing it and believing it were two very different things.

No, it wasn’t so much that you fell asleep; your body simply shut down on its own. You didn’t decide to rest. Your brain said watch; your body said sleep. You didn’t even dream.

You woke to the crashing sound of a kicked in door. You shouted and tried to leap from the bed, but your assailant was too quick, too nimble for such a goddamn giant. Flip grabbed you by the neck and threw you onto the bed. His giant hands dug bruises into your arm and leg as he flipped you onto your stomach. A knee in the center of your back kept you in place as he ripped your flimsy tank top and panties away as though they were tissue paper. You flailed, trying to find some kind of balance to get your head out of the cotton blanket so you could breathe.

When you finally managed a gulp of air, it was only because he switched from pinning you down to crowding behind you. He caged your legs in place with his jean-clad knees on either side of your thighs. Shoving a pillow beneath your pelvis, he planted his palm between your shoulder blades to hold you in place again. You didn’t scream until you heard the buckle of his belt come loose.

"Flip! No, no! I'm sorry! Lottie! Help!"

Within 30 seconds, two things happened that would change your life forever. The first was that the meaty paw on your back moved upwards, palm curving along your scalp, fingers threading into the hair. He used that new leverage to press your face further down into the mattress, cutting off both your screams and your air supply. The second was that Flip’s cock, hard and unforgiving, forced its way into your body, gouging and stabbing at you with no regard for your readiness.

You howled as the tender flesh gave way to his violence. No part of your body was a match to his sheer size. Hysteria took over. You yelled yourself hoarse. Spasms rocked your lungs. You couldn't tell the difference between a lurching cough and a breath anymore until your body nearly inhaled the fabric you lay upon. 

“Tried to be nice to you.” He grunted, shoving more of his iron dick into your tightness, having to work to make room for himself there. “Was gonna ease you into it a little at a time.” Your screams and sobs seemed to excite him further because his hum broke through your fugue and launched you into thrashing again. “But you’re too fucking stupid to do things the right way; so, here we are.”

At last, his pelvis pushed flush against your ass. His fingers dug into your hip so roughly you could feel his nails gouging dirty trenches. They, and the already blooming bruises, would be the first of many marks you’d wear for Flip, no doubt. You gave up flailing backwards at him and clawed at the bed as though you could get away through it, a wounded and frightened animal under the thumb of a malicious predator.

Your only saving grace was oxygen deprivation. You started to not notice how he withdrew nearly completely only to slam his way back home, through a wetness that was certainly blood. You started to not notice the way he slapped your jiggling ass hard enough to raise a print in seconds. You were gone to the encroaching blackness, light-headed enough to think that maybe you actually  were the stupidest person on the planet. More so than even Lottie. 

Unconsciousness wasn’t a respite he allowed you for long, however. You snapped back into yourself, still caught beneath the monster, still stuffed to the very brim by his missile cock, still practically scalped by the ruthless grip he had of your hair. He controlled whether you got to breathe by which way he turned that handle. The only difference was that he now hovered over you. His free palm lay above your head, bracing himself on the mattress - the mattress that shook from the force of his thrusts as he fucked into you relentlessly.

“Rules.”

His hips rammed forward, punching what scant oxygen you got right back out of your chest. When you tried to look up at him, to plead for your life or some other such nonsense, your eyes crossed, making you dizzy. You squeezed them shut tight, matching the way you pressed your lips together to keep from screaming some more.

"When I say come, you come. And you are never late. Say you understand."

His words were smooth - like he wasn’t currently sawing your cunt in two. Your throat felt as though you’d swallowed the whole Sahara desert, but you forced it to work, raspy and broken.

"I un-der-stand."

He hummed again, and for a good, long moment, his pace kicked up into a frenzy.  Your pussy had finally caught up to his invasion, lengthening fully to allow him all the way in, and he took full advantage. You bounced off the bed only to be plowed back down into it.

"Never lock this door again."

Sweat dampened your skin from crown to toes, the muscles overworked and the chemicals overtaxed from horror and assault. You could hear your blood rushing through your veins, your brain pounding in time to your pulse. Could a person go into shock slowly? Your fingertips and toes tingled, and your jaws ached from how valiantly you tried to keep your shit together.

"Flip," you croaked, unable to stop yourself from crying again. "Please." It was idiotic to tell him he was hurting you. Hurting you was the point, but survival instincts are strong, and your mouth carried right on blabbering. "Too much. Please stop."

You didn’t think it was possible for his cock to get larger or more adept at plundering your wounded pussy for everything it had, but somehow, it was. He growled at your begging, licking up a bead of sweat from your temple. Pedal to the floor, his piston hips never slowed. His cock never wavered. 

“This is your life now.” His malevolent words tickled the shell of your ear. “If you don't want to be raped every day, I suggest you learn the rules. Am I understood, Puddin'?" He drew the last word out, and you knew Lottie told him you hated it.

You crumbled. There was nothing for it. He put words to what this was, and it crushed you. Assault. Rape. Punishment. 

You’d either behave for him, give him what he wanted, or this would be the consequence. This and the fact he’d leave Lottie to her own devices. Ignoring your latest round of sobs and hiccups, Flip released his hold of your hair to slither that arm beneath you. Rigid fingers wrapped around your throat, constricting your air in a much more intimate fashion. He tilted your head to the left, baring the column of your throat for him to lick a fat stripe up, enjoying the way it trembled as you broke down. 

“That’s it.” He huffed in your ear, hips losing their rhythm and becoming erratic. “Keep crying for me."

A car door slammed out in front of the house, and you froze. Both your salvation and your humiliation lie right on the other side of the front door. Your fingers curled into fists, and you unconsciously wiggled beneath your tormentor. Flip wasn't phased in the least. The only sign he gave that he cared Lottie was right out there was that he switched from ramming himself into you roughshod to pushing in as far as he could and rocking against your ass. Deep, deep inside you, the head of his cock brushed against your bruised cervix, eliciting an unwelcome shiver. Keys jangled in the lock, and you were certain Lottie would walk in on her brand-new husband sunk to the hilt inside of his brand-new step-daughter.

At the last conceivable second, Flip mashed his mouth against your bare shoulder, teeth finding purchase in the skin, and groaned with satisfaction as his weaponized cock emptied into your battered cunt.

By the time Lottie’s voice floated through the house - Helloooo? Anybody home? - Flip was off you, clothes righted. He darted out of your room, pulling the door shut behind him with a near silent click. You listened as he called out that he was in the living room before you pulled the pillow he’d nearly suffocated you with over your head to muffle their conversation.

You curled into a ball, willing sleep to come take you again. You deserved it after all that, didn’t you? Your fingers searched for the clock, setting an alarm so that maybe tomorrow would be better than today.

Before you passed out, you spied a scrap of paper on the nightstand where you'd left Flip's keys last night. The words made you want to vomit, cementing the fact that you were well and truly up shit creek no matter what you did. 

January 9

Flip gave you a week to heal. For seven days, he spoke to you normally, treated you kindly, and behaved as though nothing had ever happened between you. The house was quiet - a perfect nuclear family. Lottie clucked on and on about how pleased she was the two of you got along so well, and it was all you could do to not throw the nearest knick knack or lamp at her. But after the third day, he started looking at you with that predatorial gleam in his hazel eyes. It wasn’t just that he tracked your movements; it was that he made sure you knew he did so. In a subtle power move, he’d shift his boot or tap his lighter against the table - any small thing to draw your gaze so you’d see him clocking you, taking stock of how wobbly you walked or how deeply you winced. You couldn’t remember a time when you felt so fucking anxious.

Your clock ran out at 7:57 a.m. on a Monday morning.

Having learned your lesson about locked doors, you stood at the tiny green bathroom sink brushing your teeth with your eyes closed. You couldn't bear to look in the mirror these days. The person who stared back at you looked haggard, conflicted, haunted. She had no options and wouldn't know what to do with one if it hit her square between the eyes. Instead, you spent every day praying your tormentor was busy, uninterested, or just fucking gone. His job kept him away, and as nice as it was to take a breath in his absence, Lottie was unbearable when he wasn't there to witness her performances. When she didn't have him to focus on, she hyper focused on you and all the ways you differed. For the last three days, you'd wondered if you'd prefer his scrutiny to hers. He was a walking terror, but at least he was something to look at.

Shaking off the foolishness, you chided yourself for that line of thinking because nothing good would ever come your way at the hands of Flip Zimmerman. You needed to get that shit out of your head post haste. Yesterday, even. 

The man must be fucking psychic, though, because as you spit out the last of the toothpaste, telling yourself to get it the fuck together, the rickety door creaked open, edging inwards at the behest of a dusty boot. A veritable wall unto himself, Flip filled the frame completely, observing you for so long you fidgeted. Crossing python arms over his white thermal clad chest, he leaned against the jamb and sucked on a toothpick obnoxiously loud.

“Lottie?”

You didn’t recognize your voice. It was small, afraid, and it trembled where you wished with all your might you could be strong. If she was awake, though, the likelihood you’d suffer for the next however long was much lower.

His voice, however, burned into your gray matter. It raised your heckles, curled your toes, and set your teeth to grinding. 

“Asleep.”

You smashed your lips together, as if you could stop the fear from escaping the bottom of your gullet. The world closed in, tunnel vision taking over because one person crowded the poorly designed bathroom; so, when Flip pushed off the doorjamb and stepped inside, you felt emphatically trapped. And terrified. He let the door click shut behind him and moved around you, moving far too stealthily for a behemoth. 

You held your breath and dared not look. 

When you didn’t hear the jangle of his belt until he’d passed you, your jaw unclenched in barely restrained relief. You hardly breathed, thanking the almighty that Flip's plan was to pee and not introduce your face to the grimy tiled floor. Cautious, you lowered the toothbrush to the sink, hoping you could flee if your steps were quick and careful. If you didn't agitate the beast, he could forget you existed.

You should have known better. You had no such luck. 

Maybe it was the way you shuddered, or maybe you reached for the doorknob a smidge too fast. Something tripped his trigger, and he snatched the thought of escape right out of your brain with five thick fingers tangled into the hair at the back of your head. He had decades of experience subduing people on his side, and you were just an idiot with high hopes. In a flash, he had you on your knees in front of him, forcing his spongy dick into your mouth.

You didn't register that the floor was cold. Nor the smell of starch in his pants. Nor the burning in your nose, eyes, scalp. You missed it all because the first hot drop of salty urine launched you into an outright atomic panic. Your muffled yells bounced off the dingy walls, and you beat at his corded thighs. Crying wasn’t the right word for what you did. Your eyes leaked, and your chest seized, but it was more than sadness, more than anger or dread. It was revulsion. It was horror, and you flailed frantically against his grip, which did not, even for a millisecond, weaken.

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He groused, but you just could not. What scant bit of self-respect you had left would not allow you to do this without a fight, but it was a fight with which Flip swiftly tired. Further exerting his control of the situation, he stepped closer, tipped your head back more, and bypassed any conscious function you may have had for this vulgarity. He took away your option to even swallow of your own accord and pissed directly down your throat while you frothed and retched, sending it dribbling out at the corners of your mouth and shooting up into your sinus cavities.

It was more than humiliation, more than objectification. He never thought of you as a person, you knew, but this was a level of degradation you could not comprehend.

When he finished, he yanked your head backwards off of his spit-soaked dick but did not release his hold. You heaved and coughed, trying so goddamn hard to do it quietly because there was no snowball’s chance in hell you’d ever be able to explain why you were on your knees at his feet if Lottie showed up. But the smell of it was everywhere, and you sobbed. Confusion and disgust and fury and… fucking everything passed through your mind, but you couldn't settle on only one. Somehow, this was worse than what he’d already done, and you suddenly weren’t sure if he intended for you to survive this bargain.

He meant to torture you to death. To do all the heinous things a person could think of but couldn't get away with legally. He had you dead to rights, and he intended to make the indecent most of it. 

“Why the fuck do you only wear the same three things all the time?”

On another day, you might have pretended to be offended. This was your favorite hoodie, and it had hidden you from many a wandering eye. But today, with your shit rocked so thoroughly, you couldn't argue. Your jeans were more holes than pants, you could barely tell your hoodie used to be black, and your bra only had one good hook left. Your lungs thickened with colliding shames. Your stomach sloshed, and when you thought about why, you battled nausea all over again. Pushing the heels of your hands deep into both overflowing eyes, you forced yourself to breathe in through the nose, despite the smell, and out through the mouth.

“Lottie…”

It was all you could say, and it occurred to you it was the only word you’d said to Flip since he opened the door.

Whatever he felt about the thoroughness of your answer, Flip’s fingers tightened in your hair again, and he drew you back against his groin. You understood what he meant for you to do. Hell, any logical person would understand what he meant for you to do, and the sooner you got on with it, the sooner he’d lose interest and go the fuck to work. Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you opened your mouth and took him once more.

Sucking cock wasn’t historically your favorite thing, but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant. Losing yourself to the rhythm made it easier to bear. In addition, your blow job recipients never lasted very long, which also made the task easier to bear. Instinctively, you knew that would not be the case now, but if you could zone out, everything would be over soon…soon-ish.

With your nose brushing against Flip’s pelvis, you swirled your tongue around his semi-soft dick and coaxed it to life. Each twitch and jump told you what he liked, and it wasn’t long before he was half-mast and long enough for you to bob back and forth - root to tip, tip to root, root to tip, tip to root. He continued growing and hardening far past what you expected, though. His cock was fuller and longer than any you’d had before, and it was overwhelming.

The smell of him was everywhere, as was his taste. Not salty like his piss, but not sweet. It was a heady mix of spice and sweat, and it absolutely should not have tasted good.  The way he guided your head with his large hand and the feel of his erratic heartbeat in the throb of his veins married that taste, and it fucking worked. Without really doing much, he fucked you all the way up, and you lost yourself in the obscenity of it. Sucking Flip’s cock was messy and loud. He coaxed more saliva from the back of your mouth until it was so noisy you were sure Lottie would hear, each slurp joining the roar in your ears. When he’d lengthened too much for you to fit in your mouth, you wrapped your hands around the base to tug and twist.

And when he hummed? That pleased sound deep in his chest? You. Were. Fucking. Gone. There was no bathroom, no house. There was no bruised past or million dollar hospital bill. There was no Lottie, no Colorado. There was only Flip’s thick, weighty cock.

“Not the first dick you’ve sucked, is it? Look at me.”

Maintaining your (surprisingly) enthusiastic pace, you shifted your weight and tipped your head back - far too similar to exactly what he’d done when he pissed in your mouth five goddamn minutes ago - and opened watery zombie eyes on him. Cotton-brained, you stared. You no longer existed in the world regular humans lived in. There was only this, only him.

“Rules,” he said, his large body curving towards you to ensure his low talk didn’t carry. “No more pants. No panties. No bra. Your ass is mine, and I want unfettered access to it. Understand?”

You weren’t in a rush to respond, too drunk on the delicacy of his dick and the way it stabbed at your throat. His words buzzed in the decision-making part of your brain, but you ignored it and forced yourself all the way down on his cock, hungrily cutting off your own airway. He groaned, tightening his grip in your hair and jerking you backwards for the second time this morning.

Your mouth hung agape, and your chest spasmed with how hard you fought to suck in air. You didn’t want to think. Flip choking you out with his monster-sized cock was a much more straightforward path to not thinking, and you outright whimpered when he batted your hand away from reaching for him.

“Say you understand.”

“Hnng. I.. un…der…stand..”

His gaze was fire, and it burned you from your crown down. 

“You want more?” You didn’t need him to nod for you this time. “Yeah? Want me to fuck this filthy mouth of yours until you black out?”

Alien noises erupted from your throat, and you felt your body surge towards him, straining to steal exactly what he asked. You even licked your lips when he finally let go of your hair and straightened upright, thinking he would deliver on the promise, but he cracked you so hard across the mouth that your head knocked straight into the sink. 

It's funny, you thought; slaps don’t ever sound like slaps.

Bell rung, you held your swelling forehead and shook the stars from your eyes. He snatched you up by the chin, amazing you yet again at how goddamn fast he moved.

“Too fucking bad.” His tone was lethal, barely above a whisper, and what he said next proved everything you thought about him to be true. “You’re going to suffer for me, Puddin’, and you’ll be wide awake every fucking minute of it.”

Your lips trembled, and your eyes stung with fresh tears. You slumped back onto your ass and shrunk away from him, watching numbly as he stuffed his hardness back into the dark jeans and re-buckled his belt. You’d gone from some sort of fucked up euphoria to burning humiliation and icy terror - AGAIN - so goddamn fast that you couldn’t make a single sound - not a sigh, not a hiccup. Nothing.