I thought I looked cute today. I don't usually dress up so much—short black skirt, a sweater with a neck that dips a bit too low, some nice short heels and socks. It felt good to be all dolled up for once. A dash of pink lip liner, some mirror gloss. Hair down and bangs styled. Eyeliner thick and mascara on both my upper and lower lashes.

I got lots of compliments, mostly from girls. Lots of stares from guys, but that's pretty normal for a short skirt anyway. I pay it no mind, ending my day at the library to study for awhile. Pages turn, clocks tick. It gets pretty late, so I finally decide to shelve my thoughts and head home. I'd want to get back inside and warm before the evening chill kicks up too much.

My gut sinks hot and sharp when your hand grips my arm and tugs me sideways.

Hard.

Tripping over my feet and giving you enough leverage to kick out my knees, fisting my hair so my scalp hits the brick and I stutter on a breathless yelp.

My ears are ringing, the skin of my knees stings. I move to fight back seconds late—reaction too slow as you crowd into my space, pressing your jeans and belt harshly into my cheek. I can feel the heat of it pulse as I squirm and start to beg, not finding any give in the way your hips and thighs and dick have me pinned to the side of the alley.

This can't be real—my stomach is still hot, wincing sharply when you tug on my hair and change your grip to card roughly, dragging up my bangs and letting the cold rock dig into the back of my scalp. My face is moved just slightly away from your bulge.

I expect you to say something, anything, and finally risk a glance up. I can feel the tremor in my body waking under my ribs. The dark shroud of the buildings make it hard to see any definitive features. My eyes, teary and wide, give you pause.

"Well?" My heart sinks.

What do I say? I don't want this, you definitely don't care. I've not done this before, no. Stop. How do I make it stop? How do I make you stop? Maybe I don't.

I was quiet too long, a dread building in my chest that trickles warmth all the way down to my core. Your spare fingers are finding the buckle, a sharp sound. The metal clinks like chains. You hiss like a beast. I feel my heart rabbit up like prey, body thrashing, eyes shaking. I stutter out something, anything, choking on tears,

"Please do—" it's the immediate weight of you fucking into my open mouth. I scream, high and frightened, and the vibrations make you thrust all the way down to the hilt with a guttural moan. My throat clenches, I can't breathe, heat pooling and flooding everywhere before you pull out and I gasp long enough for you to spit on my tongue and shove your cock back in.

It doesn't hurt, it suffocates.

Everything so full that I'm stuck gasping and drooling and somewhere along the way I realize I can't get out of this, and begin to let you fuck my skull into the brick. Try to breath through my nose and clench my eyes shut. My whole body flushes as you groan, as your balls tighten against my chin over and over and harder and harder with each slide of your cock down my throat.

I feel used.

The way I notice the slick dripping down my thighs is humiliating. Your pre and my embarrassing spit keeps dripping down and pooling into my cleavage—as some point I flinched at how it spilt onto me, and you impaled my head on your cock with a moan, holding me there against the alley, as I gagged and cried and clawed. You bring your hands down long enough to pull out my tits, letting your arousal run and coat them further and they harden in the cold night air. Both your hands find my head after that, pumping your hips and shoving my mouth down on your cock again and again and I just...

No. I don't like this. My thighs aren't wet and I don't feel hazy and I don't like—

You pull out and cum on my fucking face.

My tongue was out, it had lolled out a long time ago, during some struggle to breath that ended up with me only sucking you in deeper with a sound that made me feel like a fucking whore. (Or maybe you had called me that. I'm not remembering it well, outside of the sounds of you using me as a cocksleeve. The smell of it: musk and sex and sweat.) I flinch, choking on a sob as I feel your cum paint my nose, my cheeks, just barely missing my eyes, dripping off my bruised lips onto my tongue in a salty, humiliating drops. I freeze when your hand takes my jaw gently, tilting me up, examining the tears and cum all over my face with a brush of your thumb.

You spit onto my tongue and shove my mouth closed on your slick covered thumb in one smooth motion, grinding my scalp into the wall as you lean down onto your haunches. Our eyes meet. Predator feeding on prey. Your nail digs down onto my tongue like animal teeth and I shudder.

There's a flicker of movement, a once over you give and I can tell by the little glint that you've caught the way I've made a puddle of precum on the concrete, knees red and scraped and twitching. You look me in the eyes again, cold and hard.

"You said please, right?"

Another pearly tear drops from my lashes, spilling black pigment onto my slutted out face. I shiver when you tilt my head up, forced to look at an endless black sky. Tipping my throat. A void. A swallowing up of everything.

I am alone. No I'm not.

I choke on a sob around your thumb as your breath hits my ear, guts swooping.

"You said it, and I gave you something, so," You tilt my head up, up, up, into that alone. There is the moon and it's single star, boxed in with stone. I can feel your cum and spit slipping down to the back of my throat. My guts ache. It's a whisper in the back of my mind, a demand from your lips. Your voice is licking into the side of my head, tight up against my ear:

"What do you say?" I don't get the second to think it over. You decide I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it. My cunt throbs. It drips thickly, in a way I can feel the weight of my arousal (my humiliation, your pleasure,) slick down the side of my thigh.

That endless black night.

You rip your thumb from my mouth and grip my chin, thrusting my crown up against the brick and I gasp hard enough I'm forced to swallow. Its salt and seawater and a thick claiming.

An endless swallowing. The moon. The lone star.

Your grip tightens in call and I respond.

"Thank you."