Page 53 of For Cowgirls and Kings

His grip still on my throat, he shakes my head and I snap back to my current reality.

I sob, but nod.

I don’t want to die in this place. Even if I don’t know that I’ll want to live if I ever get out.

Accepting my nod as cooperation, he bends down and makes quick work of the ropes.

“Get on your knees.”

I barely have a second to register his words before he slams a fist into my stomach, causing me to fold over. I wheeze, but bite my tongue again. Screaming now will do me no good. Even as I wonder if Rafael would allow Marco to do this to me. A part of me thinks not, but the greater part—the part ruled by logic and fear—tells me Rafael has about as much say in this as I do.

I get on my knees, snot and tears sticky on my face. He either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care about my appearance, as his zipper drops, the sound sending dread through me like a bolt of lightning.

God, please make this go quickly.

It’s the only thing I can think to pray—the only words that repeat in my mind as he grips the back of my head once more, turning my face upward. I try to pinch my eyes closed quickly, but not quick enough, as I see his cock, gripped in his free hand, surrounded by black, curly hair, dripping in pre-cum coming towards my face.

Instead of fighting, I open my mouth.What else can I do?I’ve spent my whole life pleasing others—how is this any different?

If I do this, maybe he’ll stop here.

The first thing I notice is the saltiness that fills my senses—normally I welcome the taste of cock in my mouth, but this is different. Even with my limited experience, this is more acidic, and putrid, making my eyes water and throat constrict.

No doubt seeing my disgust, he growls, trusting harshly into my gaping jaw.

I know he wants me to suck, to do the work, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if my body—my pride—will allow me to.

“Fuckin’ suck my dick, ya stupid cunt, or I’ll do worse ta ya,” he whispers the words, but I hear the threat as loud as a siren. Swallowing my pride, and the last shred of dignity I have, I close my lips around his dick, and suck.

I don’t move my head, or flick my tongue the way I would if I was enjoying it. I just suck, like my life depends on it, and he does the rest. Luckily he’s not so big that I can’t breathe around him, but it’s enough to make me gag when he goes especially deep.

It begins with grunts, his fist tangled in my hair as his hips and balls slap against my skin, and quickly devolves into panting. He fucks my mouth sloppily and roughly, fueled by anger and hatred. I continue to suck, my cheeks hollow as he fucks and fucks, his chest quivering with the need to burst.

After several minutes, jaw aching, I slacken just slightly, unable to hold it any longer.

Before I can adjust, his free hand smashes against the right side of my face in a closed fist, and then comes across my left side with an open palm. Stunned, I cry out, which gives him enough opening to shove his nasty dick father into my throat.

My jaw quivers, and I fight every instinct to bite down. What I wouldn’t give to bite his dick clean from his body. But I know I wouldn’t get it in the first go, and that’s the only chance I’d have before he murdered me with his own hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pounds harder, and all I can do is hold on. My fists ball painfully in my lap, my nails breaking skin to keep from clawing at him.

Marco grabs both sides of my face now, and grinds his hips against me, his hair filling my nose and mouth, the overwhelming scent of him, filling my head.

I’ll never forget the smell of him as long as I live.

He stills, and I feel the first ribbon of cum hit the back of my throat. I fight off a gag, only to be unsuccessful, my body coiling with disgust. This only infuriates him, and instead of hitting me again, he grips my throat in one hand, and pinches my nose with the other. Suffocating me. Forcing me to swallow him.

After several seconds I start to convulse, my head swimming from the lack of oxygen. His cum keeps filling my mouth, my throat, and I start swallowing, desperate to find oxygen.

He just squeezes tighter and tighter, and stars dance in front of my closed eyes. I open them, looking up at him pleading.

But I’m met with a look so full of hatred, I close them again. If that’s the last face I see before dying, I’ll never know peace again. Instead I picture Queen Tut curled up in a sunny spot, Faith and Stetson giggling over margaritas, Stetson and Gus becoming parents, Mateo dancing in the living room…

Unclenching my fits, I start clawing at his legs. As I fade, I know I have to get air, and soon. I feel like I’m floating, falling, barreling towards a bottom that’ll never be reached.

I feel dead—light but heavy, dark and distant from the top or bottom of anywhere or anything. My body’s gone; my pain is a far away feeling. I’m not here or there, I’m just empty and drifting.

And with my last seconds of consciousness, I pray.