Just another night alone.
There's a knife at my throat. My face is pressed so hard against the brick it's starting to bleed. My arm is bent so far up behind my back that one more milimeter will break it. I'm scared, terrified, worse than I thought possible. And against all reason I'm aroused. This fuck of a stranger has turned me on with his violence. My clit is throbbing with pressure and desire as my breath comes in short, spasmodic gasps. I can't see him. I can't hear him for the pounding of my heart in my ears. But I feel him. Such control-over himself, over me. I find myself hoping he has a big dick, hoping-and god what a sick fuck am I?-hoping that he'll rape me. I feel his breath against my cheek as he presses his body against mine. Flash of pain, seeing red when his teeth sink into my neck. He's trying to hurt me. He's succeeding. Who the hell IS this bastard? Only he's not alone. He can't be because the knife is still at my throat and I feel hands clumsily ripping my pants away. Finally free from them, a hand slips between my legs. And finds me wet and dripping. I'm thrown away from the wall to be struck so unbelievably hard in the face that I'm knocked to the ground. "Sick bitch," I hear whispered. I don't look up. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Now he's on top of me, pinning me down, using my own moisture to ready the smaller of my nether openings. I struggle, knowing it's in vain, trying anyway. Then he's in me, filling up my ass with his size and power. Shit, can it actually POSSIBLY be hurting this badly? I feel myself tear and notice him moving more easily due to the blood. Is it over yet? No. Despite my cries for mercy and brevity, it lasts forever. Left for dead, beaten, broken, bloody-is that to be my fate? Again, no. I'm turned around and look into the eyes of someone I know.
What the hell is wrong with me that I think these thoughts? I mean, shit, I'm practically coming all over myself-and will be in a few minutes when I break out the toys. Thinking about hurting and breaking and being forced. Hell. I want it SO badly. Why can't *I* have a sweet, caring romantic who's into inflicting unbearable amounts of pain?
Laters
There's a knife at my throat. My face is pressed so hard against the brick it's starting to bleed. My arm is bent so far up behind my back that one more milimeter will break it. I'm scared, terrified, worse than I thought possible. And against all reason I'm aroused. This fuck of a stranger has turned me on with his violence. My clit is throbbing with pressure and desire as my breath comes in short, spasmodic gasps. I can't see him. I can't hear him for the pounding of my heart in my ears. But I feel him. Such control-over himself, over me. I find myself hoping he has a big dick, hoping-and god what a sick fuck am I?-hoping that he'll rape me. I feel his breath against my cheek as he presses his body against mine. Flash of pain, seeing red when his teeth sink into my neck. He's trying to hurt me. He's succeeding. Who the hell IS this bastard? Only he's not alone. He can't be because the knife is still at my throat and I feel hands clumsily ripping my pants away. Finally free from them, a hand slips between my legs. And finds me wet and dripping. I'm thrown away from the wall to be struck so unbelievably hard in the face that I'm knocked to the ground. "Sick bitch," I hear whispered. I don't look up. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Now he's on top of me, pinning me down, using my own moisture to ready the smaller of my nether openings. I struggle, knowing it's in vain, trying anyway. Then he's in me, filling up my ass with his size and power. Shit, can it actually POSSIBLY be hurting this badly? I feel myself tear and notice him moving more easily due to the blood. Is it over yet? No. Despite my cries for mercy and brevity, it lasts forever. Left for dead, beaten, broken, bloody-is that to be my fate? Again, no. I'm turned around and look into the eyes of someone I know.
What the hell is wrong with me that I think these thoughts? I mean, shit, I'm practically coming all over myself-and will be in a few minutes when I break out the toys. Thinking about hurting and breaking and being forced. Hell. I want it SO badly. Why can't *I* have a sweet, caring romantic who's into inflicting unbearable amounts of pain?
Laters
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