#nihilist

The engine of Eddie’s van growled to a halt in the thick of the woods, far from Hawkins’ prying eyes. No one around for miles—no screams, no echoes, just the void swallowing us whole. I slouched in the passenger seat, my black hair a tangled mess framing my face, heavy eyeliner smudged from the humid night, dark lipstick like dried blood on my lips. Eddie Munson thought he was the king of freaks, with his metal tapes and Hellfire Club bullshit. But I pushed him harder—darker outfits, sharper cynicism, a nihilism that made his chaos look tame. Nothing matters, I’d whisper in the halls, stealing his thunder as the ultimate outcast.

He killed the headlights, plunging us into shadows broken only by the dashboard glow. A cigarette dangled from his lips, unlit. I snatched it, lit it with my Zippo, and took a deep drag, blowing smoke into his face. “Drive out here to talk philosophy, Edward?” I taunted, voice low and mocking.

He grinned, that wild, toothy smile, curls falling over his eyes. “Nah, sweetheart. To show you what a real freak does.” His hand shot out, grabbing my jaw, pulling me close. Our lips crashed together, rough and hungry. I tasted tobacco on his tongue, mixed with the cheap beer he’d chugged earlier. His kiss was demanding, teeth nipping at my lower lip, but I wasn’t one to submit easy.

I bit back—hard. My teeth sank into his bottom lip, breaking skin. Warm blood trickled, metallic and sharp. He groaned, pulling away just enough to hiss, “Fuck, you little bitch.” But his eyes lit up, dark with excitement. I licked the blood from my lips, savoring the copper tang. It thrilled me, that small act of violence in our twisted game. Pain was my drug, degradation my creed. “Tastes like weakness, Edward,” I murmured, smirking through the smoke curling between us.

He laughed, a low, vocal rumble that vibrated through the cab. “Oh, you like that? Drawing blood like some vampire slut?” His fingers tangled in my black hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. He leaned in, lips brushing my skin, then bit down—not gentle, enough to bruise. I gasped, the sting shooting straight to my core, pleasure twisting with the ache. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Bleeding me? I’ll make you scream for more.”

I shoved him back against the driver’s seat, climbing over the console to straddle him. My fishnet stockings ripped slightly on the gear shift, but who cared? Nothing lasted. My hands roamed his chest, nails digging through his band tee, scratching lines that made him hiss again. Our mouths met once more, fiercer now, blood from his lip smearing across my chin. I ground against him, feeling him harden beneath me, the friction delicious.

“Edward,” I breathed between kisses, “you’re all talk. Hurt me already.” He grabbed my wrists, pinning them behind my back with one hand, the other sliding up my thigh under my black skirt. “Pathetic goth whore, begging already?” he taunted, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. His words stung, but in the best way—degrading, stripping away pretense. I arched into him, biting his neck this time, not drawing blood but close. He moaned loudly, always so damn vocal. “Fuck yes, do it again. Mark me like the animal you are.”

The cigarette burned forgotten in the ashtray, smoke filling the front seat like a fog of sin. I released his skin, admiring the red welt blooming. Then I went for his lip again, sucking the wound, tasting more blood. It made me wet, this power play, challenging his dominance. He thrust up against me, groaning. “You enjoy my pain, huh? Dirty girl, getting off on blood.” His free hand slapped my ass, sharp and unexpected. I yelped, the sound muffled against his mouth.

We made out like that for what felt like eternity—lips bruised, breaths ragged, smoke choking the air. His tongue invaded, claiming, while I fought back with bites and scratches. “Scream for me soon,” he promised, voice husky. “In the back, where no one hears.” I pulled his hair, tilting his head back. “Make me, Edward.”

Finally, he shoved me off, eyes wild. “Backseat. Now.” I climbed over, heart pounding, ready for the real pain.

The front seat makeout left us both breathless, blood on our lips, smoke thick in the air. Edward’s eyes burned with that manic fire as he dragged me to the back of the van, the metal floor cold against my knees. No one out here in these woods—no echoes, no judgments, just the nihilistic void we craved. My black hair hung in sweaty strands, makeup smeared like war paint. I challenged him daily at school, out-freaking the freak, but here, in this remote hell, I wanted him to break me.

“On your knees, goth slut,” he barked, voice loud and commanding, always so fucking vocal. He shoved me down, unzipping his jeans, his cock springing free—hard, veined, demanding. I licked my lips, tasting his blood still, the metallic tang mixing with cigarette smoke. “Suck,” he ordered, grabbing a fistful of my black hair, yanking my head forward.

I opened wide, taking him in deep. The stretch burned my jaw, his thickness filling my mouth. He didn’t ease in—thrust hard, hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, eyes watering, but pleasure spiked through the discomfort. “That’s it, take every inch, you worthless nothing,” he groaned, vocal as ever. His hand tightened in my hair, pulling back sharp, then slamming forward again. Back and forth, rhythmic violence—yank, thrust, choke.

Saliva dripped down my chin, mixing with tears. Each pull on my hair sent pain radiating from my scalp, sharp and electric, making my core clench. “Fuck, your mouth’s made for this,” he panted, hips bucking. “Gag louder, let me hear you struggle.” I did, muffled chokes echoing in the van, the sound raw and desperate. Smoke from the forgotten cigarette curled around us, choking the air, heightening the haze.

He yanked harder, forcing deeper. My throat constricted, air cut off briefly—panic and ecstasy blending. “Look at you, choking like a pathetic whore. Nothing matters, right? Then why fight for breath?” His words degraded me, stripping away ego, leaving only sensation. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, tongue swirling despite the burn. He moaned loudly, “Yes, just like that. Deeper, bitch.”

The rhythm intensified—yank back, slam forward. My scalp screamed, roots protesting, but I loved it, the pain fueling my arousal. Wetness pooled between my legs, ignored for now. “You’re dripping, aren’t you? Slut gets off on suffocating.” He laughed, that Eddie cackle, thrusting erratic now.

But I needed a breath—pulled back suddenly, gasping, strings of saliva connecting us. His eyes flashed anger. “Did I say stop?” Before I could respond, he spun me around rough, face down on the van floor. My ass up, skirt hiked, fishnets torn. “Punishment time, my way.”

His hand came down hard—spank, the crack echoing. Pain bloomed hot on my skin, a red handprint forming. I yelped, the sting sharp. “Count them, nihilist cunt,” he demanded. “One,” I gasped. Another slap, harder. “Two.” He didn’t hold back—each spank layered pain, building heat. By five, my ass throbbed, tears streaming. “Scream for me,” he growled, vocal fire in his tone.

I did, cries filling the smoke-filled space. “Edward… it hurts.” He laughed. “Good. Pain’s your philosophy, right? Embrace the void.” More spanks—ten, fifteen—alternating cheeks, then the sensitive sit spots. My body trembled, pleasure twisting with agony. “Look at this ass, red and marked. You deserve it for pulling away.”

Finally, he stopped, rubbing the welts roughly. “Back to work.” He spun me again, hair yank resuming, forcing me back on his cock. Choke, gag, repeat. The punishment amplified everything—throat raw, scalp aching, ass burning. “Choke harder now, feel the pain everywhere.” I obeyed, taking him deeper, gagging louder.

His groans filled the van: “Fuck, yes. You’re mine to use.” The back-and-forth yanked my head like a puppet, pain constant. I pulled back once more, testing—another spin, more spanks. “Learn your lesson?” Twenty this time, screams piercing. “Edward, please…” But I craved it.

Back to choking, his pace frantic. “Gonna come down your throat, slut.” Yank, thrust—explosion, hot and salty. I swallowed, choking through it. He pulled out, yanking hair one last time. “Good girl.”

The van’s back was a haze of smoke, my wrists raw from earlier cuffs, but Edward wasn’t done. “Hands behind your back, slut,” he commanded, vocal edge sharp. The handcuffs clicked on again, cold metal biting skin, arms pinned. Pain shot through my shoulders as he forced me onto all fours—well, knees and face, since hands were bound. My black hair draped over the dirty floor mat, makeup smeared, goth defiance cracking under the thrill. Out here in the woods, no one heard a thing. Nothing mattered but the hurt he promised.

“Ass up, pussy ready,” he growled, kneeling behind me. His hands gripped my hips, nails digging deep enough to draw blood. I felt him tease my entrance, slick from before, then thrust in hard—doggystyle, no mercy. The angle was brutal, his cock hitting deep, stretching me wide. Each pound jarred the cuffs, wrists aching, metal grinding bone. “Fuck, you’re tight like a vice,” he moaned loudly, always so damn talkative. “Scream for me, nihilist whore. Let the void know how much you love this pain.”

I did scream, raw and primal, pleasure coiling tight with the burn in my arms. Smoke from scattered cigarettes choked the air, making every breath a struggle. He slapped my ass—hard, reigniting the welts from earlier. “Red and marked, just like you deserve.” Thrust after thrust, his hips slamming against me, balls slapping skin. The handcuffs pulled tighter with each movement, shoulders screaming in protest. Pain bloomed everywhere—wrists, ass, deep inside where he filled me.

Then, the slip—accidental at first, or so he claimed. He pulled back too far, slick cock missing my pussy and pushing against my ass. The pressure built, then breach—burning stretch as he slid in wrong. Agony ripped through me, sharp and unrelenting. “Edward! Fuck, no—” I cried out, body tensing, but he didn’t stop immediately. “Oops, wrong hole, huh? Feel that burn, you dirty goth bitch?” His voice was mocking, excited, vocal fire fueling him. He pushed deeper for a moment, the intrusion tearing at me, pain so intense it blurred with forbidden pleasure.

I screamed louder, tears streaming, the remote woods swallowing my cries. “Hurts… so good,” I gasped, nihilism twisting the torment into ecstasy. He groaned, “Tight ass gripping me—nothing like it.” But then he pulled out, slipping back into my pussy, the switch jarring. Relief and renewed stretch made me buck. “Back where you belong, slut. But I’ll remember that ass for later.” He alternated now, teasing the edge—out of pussy, nudge at ass, back in. Each slip amplified the pain, my body confused, aroused.

“Edward, more,” I begged, voice hoarse. He laughed, pounding harder. “Begging already? Pathetic outcast queen, reduced to this.” The cuffs dug deeper, skin breaking, warm trickle of blood. Pleasure built despite—or because of—the hurt, orgasm crashing like a wave. I convulsed around him, screams echoing in the smoke-filled van. “That’s it, come on my cock, you worthless thing.”

But he held back, pulling out slick. “Not yet for me.” With a click, the handcuffs came off—wrists purple, raw, throbbing. “My turn to lay back.” He sprawled on the van’s worn blanket, cock standing proud. “Ride me, degrade me like the freak I am.”

I straddled him, hands free now, sinking down slow. His length filled me again, deep and perfect. I rocked, grinding hard, taking control. My black hair fell over his face as I leaned in, slapping his cheek sharp—red bloom instant. “Pathetic Edward,” I sneered, voice low and cutting. “Laying there like a weak little boy.” He groaned, eyes rolling back. “Fuck yes, hit me harder.”

Another slap, louder crack. “You’re nothing, Munson. Just a cock for my pleasure.” I rode faster, hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight. Slap again—his head snapped sideways. “Scream for me now, you vocal slut.” He did, moans filling the air: “Yes, degrade me—I’m worthless.” I pinched his nipples, twisting hard. “King of freaks? You’re my toy, Edward. Nothing in the void.”

Pleasure surged, his thrusts up meeting mine. Slap, ride, degrade. “Beg for it, like the dog you are.” He panted, “Please… more.” Orgasm hit me first, waves crashing, then him—hot spill inside. We collapsed in the haze, pain lingering sweet.

The smoke curled lazy now, van reeking of sex and cigarettes. My wrists ached, ass still burned from the slip, but I craved more. Edward’s cheek reddened from my slaps, his degradation fresh in the air. “Switch roles again soon?” he murmured, vocal even in afterglow. I smirked, “Only if you make it hurt.”

But the night wasn’t over. He sat up, pushing me onto my back. “Your turn for more pain.” Hands roamed rough, pinching thighs, leaving marks. I arched, inviting it. “Edward, yes.” He bit my neck, teeth sinking deep—pain sharp, blood welling. I moaned, fingers tangling in his curls, pulling hard.

He slid down, mouth on my breasts, sucking hard, then biting nipples. Agony twisted with pleasure, screams escaping. “Scream louder, goth girl.” His fingers dipped between my legs, thrusting in rough—three at once, stretching. “Wet again? Slut can’t get enough.” I bucked, riding his hand, degradation fueling me.

Then he flipped me over again, no cuffs this time, but hands pinned by his weight. “Doggystyle round two.” Thrust in deep, ass still sensitive from earlier slip. Each pound hit that spot, pain from welts reigniting. “Feel that? Your ass remembers me.” I cried out, pleasure building fast.

Accidental slip again—or intentional? Out and into ass, deeper this time. Burn intensified, tears flowing. “Edward… fuck!” He groaned, “Take it, nihilist. Pain is pleasure.” Back to pussy, switch making me dizzy. Orgasms chained, one after another, screams hoarse.

Finally, he uncuffed the ghost of restraint, laying back once more. “Ride and slap.” I mounted, slapping harder—cheek swelling now. “Useless Edward, all talk.” Degrade, ride, come. The van rocked, isolated in the woods.

Hours blurred in smoke and sweat. More positions—me on top, slapping; him behind, slipping; cuffs on, off. Pain and degradation looped, nihilism perfected. Nothing mattered but this endless hurt-pleasure cycle.