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He finds the end of me with every fucking stroke, the mix of pleasure and pain so close together I lose the ability to tell the difference.
“Scream and I won’t let you breathe,” he threatens, his hand coming back around and clasping my neck.
I can’t control the way my body responds, and when I scream the next time, he presses my face so deep into the lumpy mattress, breathing actually becomes a challenge.
“Fucking hate you,” he growls. “Hate every fucking thing about you. This tight cunt, the way your skin colors under my abuse, the way you tighten with pain. Fucking hate all of it. You stupid fucking addictive bitch. I’m going to kill you one day, and then I’ll fuck your corpse, come into your lifeless eyes. Ah, fuck. The way you take a dick.”
I want to moan, and at this second I’m glad he’s stuffing my face into the bedspread. My body tells him everything he wants to know. I’ll be damned if I want him to hear the truths with my sounds.
“Please,” I beg when he goes back to gripping both hips instead of pinning my face to the bed.
I’m not able to fool him. His chuckle tells me he knows exactly what I’m begging for.
“Don’t stop!” I roar when he slows down, his hips churning more than ramming.
I scramble away from him, knowing I won’t be able to get far but needing to at least try.
Somehow this is more emotional than physical for me, and I fucking hate it.
He hates me? Well, same fucking goes, asshole.
I don’t get far, but when he attempts to grab my throat again, I bite his fucking hand, the tanginess of iron hitting my tongue when he bleeds.
Once again he doesn’t strike me. The psychotic motherfucker laughs, pulling me back to him by the grip of my teeth in his skin.
“So you do have teeth,” he taunts as he licks at the blood on my lips when I release him.
The man is fucking brave, getting his face so close to mine, but the pure filthiness of him tasting his blood on my lips makes me whimper with a need I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.
And maybe he feels exactly the same way because he forces me to my back, my body bent uncomfortably in half as he rams inside of me again.
His thick cockhead strikes at that perfect spot inside of me, and I know it’s just luck, the man doesn’t give a shit about my pleasure.
I lock eyes with him, my expression along with the way my body quickens confessing things I’d never admit out loud.
“You sick fucking whore. Come.”
Jesus save me because I do. The orgasm is so strong I have to lock my eyes closed, lip pinned between my teeth because my first instinct as I come down is to thank him for the gift.
He reads me like an open book, laughing once again as he pulls out and sprays cum all over my skin.
Neither of us speak a fucking word as he crashes to the bed beside me.
It was painful, perfect, leaving me broken as I drift to sleep, but it was nothing compared to the pain I feel when he wakes me in the middle of the night.
***
I swat at the hand running up my thigh.
Sleeping well never happens, and the one fucking time I’m lost in a perfect dreamless sleep, I’m interrupted.
“Fucking quit,” I snap, trying to issue a warning with my tone, but even to my own ears my voice is soft and pleading.
Warmth engulfs my back as that hand continues to wander.
I’m not delusional. I know who I’m in bed with, but his soft touches feel like a branding iron on my skin. It’s another way for him to torture me.
The man is well aware by now what gets me off, and I know any time I push him, he’s only going to push back harder, but I can’t allow this.