Your hair is bunched up in my fist, and I am dragging your nude body through the branches and brambles to my car. But when I get you up against the trunk I pin you bodily against it, bending you awkwardly to look directly into your face and eyes. You avert yours, so I grab your head with both hands and force you to face me. You close your eyes, so I hold them open with my thumbs, clutching your cheeks and forhead in my massive palms. My eyes are like glaring headlights, and you are a trembling helpless forrest rabbit, a baby bunny with nothing but trembling legs, wet pussy, and a lump in your throat. You can't talk, couldn't utter a sound if you tried. I want to make you piss yourself from fear. Instead I spit in your face and say "Open wide", but you can barely understand English in this state, so I let you close your lids and breathe with you for a minute, laying my weight on you, my abdomen pressing into yours rhythmically and slowly. Calmly and slowly I breathe with you, and something in you surrenders, calms and yields enough to receive my plain, spoken command: "Open. Your. Mouth."
And you do it. So I spit in your mouth, repeatedly, biting and kissing your lips in between, biting your cheeks and face. "You are a slut," I say, "Swallow my spit." You do it. I hold you by the hair again and slap your face, half gently. I spit at you again. "You will never have to speak," I say, "but you will have to listen." you can feel my hard cock pressing against you through the black denim of my jeans. You are bent bacwards over the trunk of my car, the sun-warm metal pressing awkwardly into your flesh. You are in trouble and you know it, but then again you asked for it. You are not struggling. You are covered with small bruises, cuts and scrapes from your little journey, having been dragged by the hair from your little cabin to my car. This is the beginning of something, but what? You want to throw up, run away, and masturbate while thinking about what would have happened, but it's exciting to be so helpless, and you want to be fucked right now, and you want to be hurt. But just a little bit hurt, not injured, just used and tormented, fucked and fucked over but certainly kept alive. Your control has suddenly evaporated, your subjective agency has bottomed out, and I am your absolute ruler simply because I am bigger than you and I have got you pinned. And now I am chewing on your breast. And I am holding a rough, splintery tree brach in one hand.
I should have known better than to open the door. No one ever comes by here to my little country home, and I was happy to have a visitor and talk to another human being for once. Your plea of needing to use my phone should have sent red flags up and it did… but it didn’t. I wanted to trust you but knew I shouldn’t, couldn’t – I only had a second to decide and I chose wrong… or right. Red flags wrong (a nice girl), red flags right (a bad girl). You seem to know I am a bad-girl slut who has been alone too long and willing to endure whatever you have to dish out – this fantasy life of mine has become too boring. I can only do so much on the internet….a perfect stranger is what I wanted… I thought…
Now as I am being dragged through the woods by my hair I am seriously frightened. I thought you’d want to have a little rough sex on my bare wood floor and maybe I’d just get some splinters in my ass. But this! I feel you are a madman, a sexual deviant who may even take my life. But I am still wet damn it. And all you will need to do is slip a finger into my panties and you will know all about me. My pussy will betray me.
I am like a wild animal just trying to survive. I barely hear you tell me to open my mouth. When I realize you are giving me a command, I do as you say. I am pressed between the hot car and your hot body and I start to sweat and tremble. I can feel your hard on pressing against me and your hand is still pulling my hair and yet my body is screaming for you. As you spit into my mouth I know I will obey your every command – I want to take your spit and your cum as the very liquid of my life.
Yessss...
Eat my very heart as you eat my bosom….
And slip your hand into my panties….and see me.
Naked in the trunk, you have been riding who knows where for almost an hour. I had held up my pussy-drenched finger to your face and stated the obvious: "You love this." But instead of fucking you I had thrown you head first into the trunk, where you kept company with a funnel and a can of motor oil for the long ride into town.
And now you can't see anything but your hair dangling in front of your face as I pull you by the legs out of the trunk and throw you onto your hands and knees, but you know it is still daylight and that you are in the city. Cars and foot traffic are nearby, and looking up you can see a graffitti covered gray stucco wall and a brown, dingy dumpster. But I am behind you, and suddenly you feel the tread of my boot pressing down on the back of your neck, and you are forced to lower your face to the piss-stained cement. "Lick the ground, you worthless little cunt." You follow my command, even as it occurs to you that your hair is dangling in front of your face and I am above you, standing so that I would not be able to see whether your tongue is extended or not. You are not afraid of what I will do to you if you don't lick, you just lick, your own saliva moistening the stained surface. "You are dirty," I say as a matter of fact. "You are a nasty peice of filth, and from now on you are going to be treated as one."
You are afraid of my voice, of being with me, of my eyes, but you are not afraid of what will happen to you because you don't care. One of your knees is bleeding from being scraped against the pavement and you can feel the wetness and stickiness of your blood, but it doesn't hurt.
I remove my foot and reach down towards you, again grabbing you by the hair. You can hear my breath hot against your ear. "You are about to become everything you have been dreaming of. A rape toy. A public cunt. And a whore for sadists." I gently and slowly brush the hair away from the side of your face and you can see, for a moment, that we are in an urban alleyway abutting an empty lot. There is an unpainted steel door six inches to the right of your face, and beyond that the lot is overgrown and filled with litter and dead cars. We are ninety-five percent shielded from the street, but it is broad daylight. You feel your nudity and the echo of an urge to squirm, but you remain still and yielding. What had been an unpleasant sensation in your stomach has gradully turned into a comforting warmth, and you realize you are enjoying this, whether it is safe or not.
"Raise your ass up into the air," I whisper, and you arch your back to offer me your ass, moving your knees against the graound to spread your legs for me, trying to make me notice your willingness and your wet, needy pussy. The blood from your cut knee makes you slip a little, and you recover yourself quickly, thrusting your ass in the air for me again, and spreading wider. With my big, rough hands I turn your head to the side and press your cheek directly into the dirty, piss-stained pavement. I look again at your lips and eyes, but you do not meet mine, and for a moment I don't know whether to kiss you or slap you, so instead I just spit in your face one more time. "You are nothing," I say, slowly and evenly. You can hear me remove my belt.
"Put your hands behind your back."
I can barely breathe in the trunk of this car and it is hot and smelly. I can hear him up in front fiddling with the CD player and he settles on “Highway to Hell” and turns it up loud. I imagine he has the air conditioning on. I am dripping sweat. My wet cunt did betray me and now I am stripped naked and being taken somewhere against my will. Why couldn’t I just be a good girl and have a pussy as dry as a bone… then he would have tossed me aside and deemed me “no fun”… I know he would have. But the fact was blatantly obvious that I secretly liked what he was doing to me. My pussy practically screamed to him to “bring it on”. Now it’s on and right now I hate him for it. How did he find me? I live alone (with my animals) for a reason. My sluttiness and lack of social ability forced me to. I was trying to be a good girl.
The car is stopping. He opens the trunk. The bright light of day blinds me but I relish the blast of fresh air. He pulls me out of the trunk like a rag doll and throws my naked body to the concrete. I lay broken on the ground – a sweaty grimy naked animal. I can see we are in the city – a dirty part. Before I have a chance to plead and cry, he puts his heavy black boot against my neck. I catch my breath and wince. His boot has slammed my face flat on the piss-stained cement and he keeps it there as he commands me to lick the pavement. He tells me I am a nasty piece of filth and I lick because I must lick. I must lick.
I am acutely aware it is bright daylight and I am naked in the open. He whispers his hot breath in my ear,“ You are about to become everything you have been dreaming of. A rape toy. A public cunt. And a whore for sadists." In a flash I could picture what would happen to me: A hollow old man would toss aside his crack pipe and come at me with his face like a skull and one eyeball would be missing and he would smile but it would be a toothless leer and he would open his zipper and his huge filthy cock would poke out and he would mount me but I would pretend I was dead because don’t homeless insane men try to fuck dead bodies in alley-ways? Yes! But how would a dead girl have a dripping wet slit? And would a dead girl moan? Oh shit I am fucked. “Raise your ass in the air” he commands. And I do it. I do it not knowing who will be pumping their pole into me, not caring…he spits in my face and I know I deserve it. I hear him remove his belt and tell me to put my hands behind my back. I want his cock to be first….
I let go of your hair and remove my belt, the last rays of sunlight illuminating your spread thighs and bottom, an enticing target. My cock is turgid and straining, I can barely restrain myself from raping you into the ground, but instead I tie your hands behind your back and turn back towards the car, leaving you to grovel and wonder for a moment what I am doing as I pull a funnel and a can of motor oil from the trunk. ""Give me your ass" I say as if you are not already yielding to me, "Give me that hot little ass." You scooch further up on your knees and arch your back, and I can smell your juicy cunt calling out for me, but I ignore it. I shove the end of the metal funnel into your rectal passage and pour the quart of motor oil down your chute.
"Bad girl," I say. "You want this, don't you?" You moan a little into the grime of the alley, and as the last of the oil drains into your lower intestine I slap your fat bottom and watch it jiggle like a prime roast. "Don't you?"
"Yes."
"Really?" I lean in and whisper into your ear. "Really, 'cause I'll drive you back to your cabin right now if you want..."
"Don't do that. I want this." You start to sob, quietly, as I remove the end of the funnel from your anus and insert my cock. In it slides. I love it that this gives you so little pleasure. You groan in pleasure anyway as I ride you, the pleasure of giving yourself up completely, the release of letting yourself be owned, owned and used. With each thrust you give a little more of yourself to me, until it is my orgasm that you want more than your own, until when I come, long and hard and unrepentantly loud at the back of that alley in the heart of some crowded downtown scene, the sweetness of my satisfaction becomes the sweetness of your own. You do not mean to speak, you do not mean to utter a sound, but accidently, as my orgasm wanes and I begin to retrieve my still-rigid member from your ass, you whisper the words "I love you."
"You don't deserve this, April. You don't deserve my attention." I reach into my car and pull out a knife and an onion, slicing it in quarters as you squat and evacuate, appropriately adding your own fetid grime to the dirt and scudge of the alley. Tears roll down your face, and you do not meet my eyes.
But I am unmoved by your tears, unmoved by your obedience. I am morbidly fascinated by the sight of you squatting, shitting out a pool of motor oil; so before you are finished evacuating I grab you again by the hair, kick your legs out from under you, and lower your filthy hind quarters into the mess. The last of the quart, along with whatever else it has prompted or loosened, squishes out of you with a farting noise and pools between your legs, some squishing up between your thighs and greasing your cunny. I look at you again and see the insatiable whore you are, tears of joy running down your face because you have finally found a fit abuser. I shove the quarter onion up your dirty ass, leaving it there to itch and sting.
"Knock on the door," I say, gesturing toward the paintless steel door at the back of the alley. You instantly obey, but your small knuckles barely make a sound. "Get up and knock on the fucking door, April."
You scramble to your feet and knock as hard as you can, oil oozing out of your ass and down your legs. I step behind you and grab your tiny fist, holding it from behind, my palm pressed against the back of your hand. "Clench," I say, and I push and thrust, repeatedly slamming your knuckles against the cold steel, as you can feel my own still-hard shaft through my jeans, pushing and pulsing involuntarily agains the crack of your ass. But your knuckles! You wimper and sob aloud before catching yourself and biting your lip, but it's too late, I have grown impatient, sickened by your weakness and incompetance. I grab you by the hair and slam your forehead into the door three times, hard enough to be distinctly heard from within. You do not fall unconscious, but you are dazed, dangling in my arms. The door opens.
Many men are inside, but you do not see them. You are being dragged across a grainy wooden floor by your hair. The men are laughing. You hear me exchange words with them, abrupt salutory phrases that sound to you like barks and grunts. You can smell dirty, sweaty male bodies, and you can smell beer, underscored by a faint odor of piss and vomit. Suddenly you feel yourself hoisted up onto a table and planted firmly on your greasy pedunda. My arm is around your waist, my other hand still holding you by the hair, and I pull your head back, pushing your breasts out and up from behind. "Look at this slut!" I shout out loud to the men. "And YOU look at THEM," I whisper emphatically into your ear, "look at them and smile."
You look up, and for the first time realize that you are in a bar, surrounded by bikers. Many are ignoring you, totally indifferent to the young and naked whore in the back near the fire exit, but a group of about ten scraggly male faces are surrounding you, leering with delight, feasting their eyes on your youth and naked helplessness. "Is this the skank from the internet?" one of them asks over your head, nodding incredulously. "Tell them, April," I whisper. "Tell them something about yourself." I reach around and casually caress your scraped and bleeding knee, then pull it aside, angling it far apart from the other one, so that your legs are spread wide and your greasey, dirty cunt is exposed in full view.
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