There was an excited buzz running through me, my pussy growing wet in anticipation. Angry, rough sex was the best.
From upside down I watched him undo his belt, then pull it through each loop of his jeans. I licked my lips, the excitement kicking up. But that soon began to fade as he kept it in his hand and folded it over.
Stepping closer, he popped the button and dropped the zipper, shuffling both his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips.
“I think you need a reminder of the stakes, because you’ve been acting like you can do and say anything and I’ll do nothing.” His cock popped out and smacked against my forehead. “That,” he tapped it a few times, “is where I’m going to put a bullet and snuff out your life.”
I giggled again and angled my head, flicking my tongue against the head of his dick.
Then screamed after a snap filled my ears before pain radiated just above my hip. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I wanted to turn onto my side but was trapped on my back.
“What the fuck?” My brain cleared, the fuzz the wine created disappearing with the surprising pain.
“Don’t speak,” he said through clenched teeth, slapping his belt down again, this time landing on my pussy and clit.
With the hit, there was an odd spark of pleasure mixed in, lessening the intensity. But it didn’t stop the whimper of pain.
He tapped on my mouth with his cock and pressed it between my parted lips. “Open.”
With a flex of his hips he shoved his cock all the way to the back of my mouth, making me gag as he hit the entrance to my throat. The leather snapped against my thigh and I screamed, but it was muffled with my mouth full.
“I’m the fucking king, you are the pawn. Do you understand, Lacey? This game you’re playing ends the same way no matter what.”
I cried out, muscles tensing, back arching as he landed another strike to my stomach, sobbing and choking around his cock as his belt bit into my skin.
Each spot he hit burned.
“Come in.”
Come in?
I hadn’t heard the knock on the door, but I did catch, “Good afternoon, sir. I have the…” The next words were gibberish and French sounding.
However, even if I did know any French, I doubted I’d be able to understand him in my predicament.
Some stranger had just seen me completely naked and completely helpless as a man force-fed me his dick.
Mortification set in, especially when Six directed him on where to put the bottle I’d ordered.
“Set it over there.”
A few thrusts gagged me, and there was a slam, then another smack to my pussy.
“Whining and crying just makes me want to do it harder.”
He was breathing harder, and I prayed he was close to coming, to ending the torture. Saliva and slime slid down my face as he abused my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but take it.
I couldn’t see, but there was a sound I couldn’t identify, then the hand that had been dealing the damage was squeezing my tit, followed by his other hand.
At least he stopped whipping me, but I was barely getting any air as he crammed his cock, forcing it as far into my throat as he could.
“You like to show off, like to argue. I’m your ruler. You want to keep breathing, you will do exactly as I say.”
He pulled out and I gulped air, filling my lungs. Grabbing hold of my hair, he lifted my head just as hot beads of come landed on my cheeks, lips, hair, forehead, nose. Basically, the entirety of my face with a few drops from the first spurt landing on my chest.
Every part of him receded, leaving me lying there in complete humiliation.
“Are you still so sure that any life is better than death?”
Tears streamed down the side of my face, and I chocked on my own restricted sobs.
He stuffed his dick back in his jeans. “Fucking stay.”
Where was I going to go?
I was covered in semen, spit, and tears. Left abandoned. Strapped down to a bed.
The come on my face cooled while the welts on my body ached.
Six was not a nice guy. Six was a monster.
Four hours I laid there with multiple fluids drying on my face. I was freezing cold, needed to pee, but at least the pain had subsided. I had a feeling the last one would change when I was able to move again.
Four hours of reflection, of suffering the humiliation and pain and fear. How had I found pleasure in the man before?
I gave in to the hopelessness after the first hour. That was when the depression set in.
Damsels in distress were only in fairy tales and romance books. While I may have fit the bill of a damsel and distress, Six was no prince.
I wasn’t in a love story.
I was in a death story.
There would be no one swooping in to save the day. No Superman to fly me away.
I’d accepted my fate, and maybe become a little too cavalier in what I believed I could get away with.
But it wasn’t in my nature to be the crying, wimpy, pathetic captive, even though I did have tons of dried tears on my face.