Hear Me

When his hips jerked in a rhythm, it was time. She found a steady slide, in and out. The whore’s technique; well, that was appropriate for her. Get him off, finish him a million times, so why did it feel different this time? Why did she feel so cold?

His semen was a warm splash at the back of her throat. She forced it down, trying to find appreciation in his shout. He’d lost control; they always did in that moment. She’d never figured out what to do with it, never really wanted to usurp them, but she knew men were brought low during climax.

As he fell back against the chair, his still-hard cock slipped from her mouth wetly, a trail of come stretching between them. She reached with her tongue to catch it, but it fell to the wood floor. Immediately she leaned in to lick it up, hopefully before he saw her and got too angry, but he stopped her.

“What are you doing?”

Her gaze drifted to the floor, that damnable wet spot that meant she hadn’t followed the most basic of rules, she hadn’t swallowed all of the come, she hadn’t appreciated the gift.

“Leave it. I want you to leave it there.” He definitely wasn’t angry now, or even aroused. She recognized the look in his eyes now—sadness. “Touch yourself. I want to watch you make yourself come.”

She shifted her weight where she knelt. This had been a small part of her training, near the beginning, when she could still have an orgasm. Sometimes it had worked; other times she had faked it. But the way his black gaze stripped her, she wouldn’t be able to do that now. He was relaxed, prepared to wait, but all his attention was on her.

She pulled the dress up around her waist, exposing herself. But then she was already so bare, what was once more? Her fingers found her clit, rubbing tentatively at the sensitive skin there. She felt a pinch of pain at the rough treatment but nothing like arousal. Nothing like pleasure.

She pressed harder, hurt herself faster under his intent gaze.

“Stop,” he said.

He squatted in front of her and replaced her hand with his. His fingers swirled around her clit then skidded down along her sex. “Dry, dry as a fucking bone. And curled up tight. Are you afraid of me?”

She felt herself throb against his hand.

“Or maybe you’re not afraid of me, and that’s the problem. Is that what you need to get off? A little fear?” He slapped her lightly, the pain small but the sound loud. “A little pain?”

Her hips rocked against his hand, but what was this? Hadn’t she dreamed, hoped for a day without fear—without pain? Now he’d offered her regular sex, painless sex, and she was too broken to do it.

His forehead came to rest on her shoulder, and her breath caught. It was a show of weakness, or it should have been, but he was so large, so intense, that it seemed to give support instead of take it. His palm cupped her below, just resting, feeling.

And then he began to speak. “I’ve got you. You’re all turned around right now. Confused right now, but you’re with me. I love these breasts; did you know that? So pale and sweet. Large too, for your body but I like them. They stand up proud. The only part of you that seems proud, sometimes. And your waist is too small, but it makes me hard anyway. I love to look at it, especially from behind, the way it flares out into those hips.”

Her body had relaxed, fallen loose in his embrace. His hand was still on her sex, and she was still dry, but she was relaxed. It was a start. She understood what he was doing. It was just another way to play with her, to manipulate her. Probably he didn’t even mean the words, but it felt so good to believe.

He wanted her. He saw her. And if it were only her body that he saw, it would be enough. Maybe that’s all there was left. But she didn’t need to think of that, not when his hand had started a subtle roll against her skin, and he was still talking to her.

“I dreamed of you riding me at night. So dark, with only the faint light of moonlight on your breasts as they moved with you. It wouldn’t be about what we could see though, but what we couldn’t. You, panting above me. The sucking sounds of your cunt.”

Somewhere around the word sucking it had happened: she’d begun to move her hips along with his hand. There was a rhythm there, a build. More, please, yes.

“I’d open my mouth and reach for your nipple, blindly because they’re so dark. Rosy now, but black in the night. Your breasts would bounce against me, and I’d follow, turning my face, feeling with my tongue until I latched onto one and sucked.”

There was the word again, different slightly but the same response. Sucked. She’d sucked a million times, hundreds of faceless cocks, and it hadn’t meant a thing, but then he spoke the words. Soft, husky. Imbued with the promise of pleasure she felt now at her core. In her cunt. She tightened there, and his hand sped up, purposefully rubbing her clit. No pain now, no pinch, just relief.

“But here’s what I really want to know. When I’m ready to come, I’ll grab your hips and start thrusting up inside you. I won’t be able to help it. And you’ll grunt every time I do it, just a quick exhale. All automatic. And it’ll hit a spot inside you so perfect that you won’t be able to help it. You’ll come around me. Gripping me, spilling your liquid all over my cock and down my balls.”

She gripped him now, his fingers in her cunt. She spilled over him now, wet and needy. Faster, almost.

“But what I want to know is, will you cry out when you come? Would you speak for me then? What would you say?”

She came, she rocked, she lost her breath and found it again. She’d been given a gift, ungrateful. There was pleasure there and pain. Sweetness and betrayal. She bore witness to it all and mourned in silence.

“Shhh,” he said. “Shhh.” And she realized she was shaking. There were no words for it.

She’d never… she’d never…

“It’s okay, little girl. I know you can talk.”

She shook her head, her eyes shut tight, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She’d never be normal again.