Torment Me (Rough Love 1)

“Don’t kill me,” I whispered.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m trying to get you under control.” His arm loosened but stayed where it was, a hug and a threat. His weight crushed me, and his rough voice rumbled in my ear. “I know you’re all pouty and hurt because you didn’t get enough attention, because I didn’t fawn over your pretty dress and your fucking lingerie. You’re not getting what you want, are you?”

“I want you to get off me!”

“And I want you to let me fuck you without all the feelings and drama.” His voice was sharp as a sword, stabbing through me. “You’re nothing to me,” he said. “You’re my prostitute. You don’t get kisses and compliments unless I feel like giving them to you. You don’t get to look pretty. I don’t want you to look pretty. I want you to open your mouth when I tell you to open your mouth, and open your legs when I tell you to open your legs. Do you understand?”

I managed to yell “I hate you” before he tightened his arm around my neck again. I pressed back into his chest, trying not to pass out. I understood what he was saying. I understood that he was paying me, and that I was his whore, and that this was his show, but I didn’t see why he had to be so obnoxious about it. One of my shoes dropped to the floor with a thunk. I kicked off the other one, not caring where it landed.

He spread my legs wider with his knees, and shoved a hand between my thighs, gathering moisture from my pussy. I was so wet, and I was afraid it was because I liked this. I didn’t want him to be right.

“Now,” he said, “you’re going to take it in the ass where it hurts, instead of your wet pussy where you want me, or your whore mouth where you could have had me.”

I shook my head no, but I knew he didn’t care. He was already pushing inside me, using only the slickness he’d gathered from my pussy. I groaned and squirmed but his knees had me open so wide, splayed on the bed. One of his hands trapped my wrists under my stomach, and the other, of course, was still wrapped around my neck.

He gave a long, low sigh, made a guttural, animal sound of pleasure as I trembled under him. My ass hurt, pried open once again by his oversized cock. But there was nothing I could do. I was literally held down from top to bottom, and from inside where he impaled me.

“I know you don’t want this, but it feels so good to me,” he said. “You’re so tight, and it feels like fucking heaven when you fight me.”

I didn’t want to fight, not when he’d enjoy it, but when he started moving in me, it was like I had no choice. Fight or die. Fight, or admit that I liked being held down and brutalized this way. I clenched around him and he growled.

“That’s right. Do I hurt inside you? That’s what I want. You don’t get what you want. That’s how this works. You don’t get to come today, bad girl. You’re just gonna lay underneath me and get fucked, and fucked, and fucked.” He punctuated each word with a balls-deep thrust.

“Please stop,” I said. “I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel good.”

“That doesn’t matter, does it? If you don’t get to come?”

His scent surrounded me, the scent I had come to equate with W and sex and terror. I dreamed about the smell of him sometimes, in sex-soaked reveries and nightmares. I hated that he would probably find that funny or pathetic. I dreamed way too often about the feeling of him fucking me and hurting me.

When all the fight went out of me, when I’d been fucked just that long and hard, he finally released my wrists. He unwrapped his arm from my neck and used it to brace himself over me. I didn’t want him over me. I wanted him closer to me. I needed comforting. I needed to be touched and given pleasure as he reamed out my ass, so I slid my hand down and fingered my pussy. I was still so wet.

“Don’t you dare make yourself come,” he said. “Not today.”

“I want to,” I whined.

“No. I’ll beat you into next week if you make yourself come after I told you not to.”

I didn’t hear what he was saying, or maybe I did and I just didn’t want to believe him. I was so hot by now, so wrought up with anger and lust. His pounding thrusts had driven my clit against the bed over and over, and I felt like a big, seething volcano of need.