Thank You, M, for fixing this memory for me.
The previous parts of this story can be found here.
His cock invaded my throat as his fingers wound themselves through my hair, pulling my lips all the way against the taut muscles of his torso. My body heaved with the violation, as I gagged helplessly around him.
I turned my head, and I felt my teeth scrape against his cock as I struggled to dislodge him.
I didn’t mean to pull off of him. It was simply a reflex, an ancient piece of feral code for animal survival.
And yet, I knew what that would mean for me. A moment’s unintentional reflex, would be paid for with my screams.
I could imagine the expression on his face, full of eager maleficence, as his smile crawled across his cheeks. “You know what happens when I feel your teeth?”
It was a redundant question, of course. We had been meeting like this for months. Of course I knew.
My heartbeat sped. I felt my body start to shake; a tiny tremor that began in my shoulders, but spread like a poison through my muscles, as I knelt there. “I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t mean…” The pitiful words poured out of me, a last ditch attempt that I knew was futile, before I even began.
His fingers caressed my cheek, but there was no comfort in the touch. “I know, sweetheart. But has your regret ever saved you from me?” His Virginian drawl seemed to pull the words into long, spiraled shapes in the air around us.
“No,” I whispered, and my voice broke on that one syllable. I felt the tears spill down my cheeks, cool against my hot skin.
His fist slammed into my cheekbone, and I screamed.
There was a sickening crunch of bone, and pain blossomed hot and sticky across the side of my face. He used my open mouth to again push his cock down my throat. The overwhelming pain made it easier to take him, even as my cheek throbbed. He fucked my mouth deep and hard, without mercy.
I gagged again and pulled back, against the iron grip of his hands on the back of my head.
“I almost think you do this on purpose,” he said. “You like when I hit you.”
The words sounded true, in my pain-addled mind. I tried to nod, but only managed to gag, sending a wash of throat slime over his cock. Still, he held me there, as my throat convulsed helplessly.
I did like it.
“There you go. My pleasure is more important than your comfort.” His voice was patronizing, condescending, as if he were tired of explaining this to me. “You’re just a hole.” He fucked me with long, deep strokes, as the taste of stomach acid and blood mingled in my mouth.
As soon as I had the thought, my stomach rebelled again.
He grabbed me by the hair and pulled himself out, as I spilled the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. “Tsk. You’re going to have some cleanup to do before you go home tonight.”
I shivered, as I thought about how he would make me clean up my mess. Long strands of slime dripped from my lips, leaving a slick, cool coating on my tits.
“Are you done?” His palm connected with my cheek, making it throb anew, and then he hit me again across my breast.
“Disgusting little thing.” He brought his fingers to my mouth and roughly shoved them down my throat, sending a new wave of spit oozing out of my mouth. Each time I gagged, the pain in my face magnified into a pulsing pool of agony, a feedback loop of nausea and torment. It was so much, too much to even begin to process each individual hurt. Everything morphed into one single, devastating shroud of pain, and I felt the thoughts in my mind become slow and placid.
Just a hole.
The tension in my body began to disintegrate, like little pieces of rock being eroded away under the constant churning of the ocean.
His fingers worked deeper and deeper as my throat opened up for him. “That’s it, don’t fight me. Just take it.”
He made it sound so simple. And in a way, it was; and, of course, wasn’t.
The crude violation of my throat ended before I could process the absence of his fingers, but he didn’t leave me the time to contemplate the emptiness before landing two vicious slaps across my face. The pain was sharp, making the layers of previous injuries throb in concert. There was a faint humming in my ears, and a blanket of dizziness draped over me.
I felt myself wobble, kneeling there. It might have been half a second or half an hour, it was impossible to tell.
“Spread those legs for me.” He sounded far away, or maybe like he was underwater.
It seemed like such a simple thing, but my body struggled to cooperate.
I began to shift one knee, but I only managed to slide it into the slippery puddle I had made on the concrete. My whole body seemed to be in a horrific spiraling free fall, before I felt the side of my head crash against the hard ground. Pain exploded in little lights behind my eyes as my empty stomach heaved.
“Pathetic.” It was almost like I could hear the eye roll in the tone of his voice, and it made me feel like my insides were curving in on themselves, stabbing me from within.
I felt his boot slam into my ribs, and I screamed as my body curled into a ball. The ropes still tied around my wrists pulled and rubbed against my skin, and I knew, distantly, that they’d leave their own scrapes and bruises for me to admire tomorrow. My mind was a mess of anguish and vertigo, and it was impossible to parse what exactly hurt, and what didn’t. It didn’t matter – I knew that – and that blessed thought allowed me to let go of that last vestige of personhood.
Just a hole.
Sickening swirls of color danced in my inner vision, as I felt him kick my legs apart. I no longer had the strength or desire to make any movement to deter him; I felt my body being manipulated like a doll, simply an object for his pleasure.
“At least you’ve left me plenty of lube.” He lined up his cock with my asshole and pushed, and I let out a hiss of breath as my hole was stretched and violated. The movement was rough, sticky, and hot, and felt my body clench and drip with my own pleasure.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, as he raped my ass.
Each stab of pain blurred into the deepening pool of my own suffering, cruelly magnified and sharpened by the reeling sway and prickling nausea crawling all my body.
It was useless, trying to tell how long he went on. Time had become meaningless, and at one moment I felt him, and at the next, I didn’t. I could hear his heavy breath, his pounding exertion, and then I couldn’t. My vision, even behind the blindfold, oscillated between black and blacker.
I was not a person. I was just a hole. Blinded, beaten, concussed. Just a hole for him to use.
His pace may have quickened, or it may have slowed, but I heard the growl of his voice above me, as his big hand clamped around my throat and squeezed. “Open your fucking mouth for me.” Each word pushed its way into my ears, fucked me, like he fucked my ass – violently, mercilessly.
I opened my mouth – I think – even as the blood pounded in my lips, the crescendo of the throbbing symphony of pain playing through my body. My ass was empty, and his cock was again in my mouth, thrusting its way into my throat. The taste was overwhelming and somehow completely right, commingling between him and me.
I felt his cock spasm, and hot, salty liquid filled my mouth. He pulsed, groaning, and there was a tiny spark of my own contentment, underneath all that pain and suffering, at being the object responsible for bringing him that pleasure.
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