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You tell me you have something special planned You tell me that you know I won't disappoint you. You tell me that you know that I don't like pain, but that you know I will endure anything to make you happy. You tell me that you know I don't really want to be touched, to be fucked by anyone but you now, but that you know that I will do anything to make you proud. We arrive at a warehouse. You watch me stare wide eyed at the grim industrial space, fidgeting nervously. You usher me into a large room empty but for a table in the centre. You unzip my dress and help me out of it, gesturing that I should climb onto the table on all fours. You tell me that whatever happens I am to stay on the table. I nod, frowning at the thought of what might happen. You step back and lean against the wall in front of me. Other men enter the room. Four, five, I lose count. You smirk at the first and he steps up to the table. Another steps up beside him and they take hold of me together. I gasp and whimper as fingers and hands and tongues and cocks invade me. For hours all of the men touch, fondle, fuck and use my body. You watch impassively. Eventually they begin to slow in their sexual exploitation of my body. You nod when one of the men gestures to the bag that has somehow appeared. He reaches inside and removes a cane, flexes it and takes a first swipe at my thighs. I scream. The others each draw tools from the bag. Now they cycle between beating me and fucking me. Blood smears across my back from their canes and crops and whips and across my ass and legs from their cocks tearing me open. I don't know how much time passes. I cry and shake and sob and beg you to tell them to stop. I don't get off the table. I want to please you more than I want to survive this. They are destroying me and I am letting them because you want me to. Eventually a signal from you and finally the men step back from me, turn and leave the room. You help me off the table. I sob into your arms. You stroke my hair, tell me I have done so well. You guide me to the car outside and help me into the back. You pull away and nod to me that my dress is on the back seat. I begin to pull it on, wincing as it touches my body. You watch me closely in the mirror, drinking my pain. You ask me where I would like you to drop me off. I frown and stare mutely in reply. You offer to take me back to my parents. You tell me that of course it has been so long since I left them to be with you. And well, look at me now. Perhaps it would be better if you left me on a corner somewhere instead? I stammer that I thought I would stay with you. Can't I please stay with you? I did everything you wanted, didn't I? You smile, gentle and condescending. You tell me that I have indeed done everything you asked of me. But well, you only really have space for sweet, innocent, nice girls in your life. Not nasty, filthy girls who let men do terrible things to them. And I did let those do men do such terrible things, didn't I? All the disgusting, perverted, violent things they wanted to do. I let them do all of them. So I'm not really a nice, innocent girl now, am I? You pull to a stop and nod that I should get out now. Dazed I stumble onto the pavement, tears streaming. You drive away without a backward glance. |
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lovely story
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Very powerful, gut-wrenching writing. If your intention was to capture and hold the reader's attention, you certainly succeeded brilliantly.  
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Sometimes I am ashamed on behalf of men. I guess this is something you have experienced? No one can go through life without scars. I hope you have had better luck with partners after this. Tor
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