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EastEnders: Little Mo's Apology (MF,BDSM,viol,rape)
by Alexia_Fan
based on a fantasy by Subbiemom

Little Mo stood at the front door of the semi-detached house, hesitant and
nervous. She had been OK until she'd pressed the bell, but the innocuous
'ding-dong' sound had filled her with trepidation. She was dressed casually
for the hot evening, but in a manner designed to please: skintight jeans,
tee shirt, light leather jacket and leather boots, no jewellery. Trevor
never liked her wearing jewellery. Though her hair was in its usual simple
style it had a gloss to it that showed she'd taken real care to look her
best. The effort was probably going to prove in vain, she thought glumly,
as the door opened and the man on the other side of the doorway regarded
her with a look he might otherwise reserve for something found on the
bottom of his shoe.

"Trevor..." She began haltingly, then stopped, halted by the cold look in
his eyes. "OK, look," she tried once more, her desperation apparent in her
voice as she tried to fill the vacuum of his silence, "I've come here
because I really miss you and what you to know how sorry I am for leaving
you. I know I was wrong, I should have tried to be a better wife, and I am
sincerely, deeply sorry. I wanted to ask you to please take me back, but
could you at least forgive me before I turn around and go?"

She blinked quickly several times, trying to hold back her tears. He still
wasn't responding in any way, this man who'd meant so much to her over the
years, who'd been her man, the strong, masterful husband who understood her,
ALL of her, better than anyone else ever had. She'd done things wrong many
times, and he had every right to show his anger at her stupidity. He was
always sorry afterward, and she knew she'd driven him to his actions by her
own stupid ways. He got violent when he was angry, but he wasn't to blame,
she thought, she was. He looked at her standing on the doorstep, then
muttered almost under his breath.

"How could you just forget everything I did for you and run off with Billy
Mitchell, Mo? How could you do it after all the loyalty I showed you?"

She looked at the floor. She had no answer for him. All she knew was that she
had no idea she could miss someone so badly. She thought he probably hadn't
missed her, he always had plenty of girls hovering around him, like groupies
or junkies just waiting for him to bestow, like a black rain, drops of his
compelling dark charisma onto them, but she was a different story. She didn't
collect men, it went against her nature to do so, and she didn't form
friendships easily. When she did, they were special, one at a time events,
and while that left her obviously open to hurt if her single friend should
decide to abandon her, it also allowed for the intensity and intimacy that
she craved from friendships, be they with men or women. Well, Little Mo
thought with a heavy-hearted sigh, she'd done all she could here, clearly.
Trevor seemed quite willing to stand in that doorway and stare at her coldly
forever, without a single word or smile or sign that he still remembered what
they had shared between them. She hadn't got the slightest response of
surprise from seeing her there in person, on his doorstep.

"Trevor, please. I wanted to tell you that I'm so sorry. I'd do anything to
undo the hurt I've caused you." She blurted it out quickly, so that she could
turn away from him before her traitor eyes began flowing in earnest. She took
a couple of steps away from the door, finally allowing her tears to flow, but
got no further than raising her foot for the third step, when she felt
herself yanked suddenly and painfully backward by her hair, so suddenly, in
fact, that she lost her balance, and was dragged backward, on her heels,
through his doorway. Once she was inside, the hand let go of her hair and she
fell backwards, landing on her back on the hardwood floor of the small living
room. Her head hit the floor with a painful bang, and as she gasped in shock,
he was down there with her, straddling her hips, and pulling her into a
sitting position on the floor. To her surprise, the intense sorrow she had
just felt moments ago, although still with her, was lending its intensity to
a much more familiar emotion: terror.

"Shit, he's gone crazy with rage," Little Mo thought. "He's out of control!"

Then the slapping began, back and forth rapidly across each side of her face,
while he held her head in place with the other hand.

"So you're sorry, are you, Mo?" he nearly spat at her, a malicious sneer
across his face. "You'd do anything, would you?"

"What are you do..." she began, but was stunned into silence when he
backhanded her savagely across her mouth.

"Shut the FUCK up!" He hissed. "Who said you could talk, you bitch? I should
kill you for what you've done..."

As he spoke Little Mo tasted a salty liquid pooling in one corner of her
mouth where there was also a searing pain. Her tongue, exploring the area,
felt a tooth move under its probe, and the sensation that caused made her
vision go dark for a second.

"I'm sorry," she cried in panic through a mouthful of blood. "Please don't
kill me..."

BOOM! Again came the backhand across her mouth, in the same place, this time
causing her to bite her tongue hard as well.

"I said, shut your fucking mouth! I'll let you know when you can speak!"

He was now yelling, emphasizing the words with more hard slaps, his furious
tone terrorizing her. Not giving her a single chance to rest or even to
think, he ripped off her jacket. As he did so, she spat to one side, and was
shocked to see a tooth slide out with the blood. He saw the tooth, too, and
a look of triumph crossed his face. He grabbed her by her hair again,
bringing her face very close to his.

"Mo, you should feel very lucky if that's the only irrepairable thing that
happens to you, and I am completely sincere about that," he said, his eyes
and voice full of menace. "You've put me in one HELL of a mood..."

He dragged the tee shirt over her head and threw it to one side, then pulled
hard at her bra, causing the catch to break. He threw that to one side also,
exposing her pert breasts in one quick rush. Automatically, Mo tried to cover
herself, but Trevor caught her wrists with one hand and roughly pulled her
arms above her head.

"Well, Mo - why are your nipples so hard, you slut?" he asked mockingly,
gloating as he grabbed the right one and began twisting it viciously. She
answered with a shriek and tried to pull and twist away from his hand. He
kept his grip on it, however, and all her of her twisting just made it hurt
harder. Not daring to speak, she stared wildly into his eyes, begging him
to stop.

He giggled at that. "Oh, no, darlin' Mo," he said, "my fun with you is just
beginning. Since you left me I've waited for this moment, and it's gonna be
a long time before I'm done, so if I was you I'd just relax, and try to enjoy
it."

At that he bent down and bit the breast he was torturing hard. Little Mo
screamed again, and again, as the bite went on. It hurt so bad - she thought
sure he was actually tearing away a piece of her flesh. Then so quickly she
couldn't believe it his fist was pounding into her other breast, very hard,
and then her stomach. She lost her breath and he threw her backwards, hard,
into the floor again. This time she did black out.

When she came to she was still on the wooden floor, but on her belly and she
felt her jeans being yanked down to her ankles.

"Trevor - noooo!" she screamed, only to feel her head yanked up hard by the
hair. He whispered in her ear, his tone cold, vicious.

"What did I tell you about talking, cunt? What did I tell you? Huh?"

He banged her head hard, face-first into the floor, and she felt hot liquid
start to gush from her nose. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt, but enough
other things did, to make her relief about that go by almost unnoticed. In
the meantime, her panties were quickly following the path her jeans had just
taken, and he was talking to her, almost conversationally.

"Nice choice, Mo. Those white knickers make you look so innocent."

When her underwear reached her ankles it was stopped, like her jeans, by
her boots, and she was aware that her entire backside was exposed to him.
She imagined what he was seeing; the soft white skin over perfect unbony
shoulder blades, the deep curve in her lower back just before it met her
hips, the small but shapely arse, that had once won her the local
newspapers 'rear of the year' competition, a rear that, judging by the
way she had often been touched up on the bus or tube, seemed to beckon
to men, seeming to call out, "fondle me, grope me, rub against me." What,
she wondered, must it be saying to Trevor, his anger almost uncontrollable
as it was at the moment? She expected she was about to find out and
cringed, holding her breath. Instead, she heard his voice from somewhere
behind her say, softly and gently, "I really like your back, Mo. It's so
smooth. Such pretty pale skin."

That was all he said for what seemed like fifteen or twenty minutes. She,
too, didn't speak: she hardly dare breathe. Nothing happened during that
time, except her nose bleed finally began to slow, but she expected any
minute to be shocked by pain somewhere. She listened to the sounds of his
house: the ticking of a clock somewhere, the faint sound of outdoor
windchimes, a buzz as the refrigerator turned itself on. She couldn't hear
him behind her, his clothes did not rustle and the floor didn't creak under
shifting weight. She couldn't believe it but lying here on a hard floor in
a pool of her own blood, with terrible aches in her head and on her front,
and expecting more pain any second, she felt like she could fall asleep!

Shock, she thought. Maybe she should try to rest, save her strength, so she
could ride out the next wave of pain. It never came. Instead she felt his
hands placed flat on her buttocks, and although she jumped a little at their
touch, nothing happened. His large hands stayed there on her butt cheeks for
several minutes and just from the slight pressure of that touch, almost
unbelievably, she found herself starting to get aroused. She remembered when
they were married Trevor would sometimes give her a massage before sex. She
always loved that. It used to relax and arouse her in equal measure. Even a
light pat on the bottom could send a shiver of delight through her. She felt
disappointed when, after a while, the hands slowly moved up her back,
pressing hard and gently squeezing, and over her shoulders then back down
her sides, feeling her breasts, ribs, and hips, then up onto her thighs and
buttocks again, to begin their journey once more up her back. The hard
pressure and the squeezes made her very aware that this was not any kind of
massage, nor meant for her sensual pleasure.

Whilst what he was doing to her did not hurt, there was no question at all
about what his hands were saying; this is mine. This body is all mine, my
toy, to do with whatever I want. As the movements continued, they remained
slow but got cruder: fingers sliding slyly into her bottom crack, hands
curling round the breasts to cup them, buttock flesh press forward and up
in obscene mounds, a hand reaching up over a shoulder to firmly squeeze the
back of her neck. No, there was no question at all about the meaning of this.
And although she tried to resist, this was making her hotter. She should
hate and fear him right now, and be trying to watch for an opportunity to
escape and all she could think about was her desire to moan and raise her
hips to meet his hands.

Apparently she did one or both because he suddenly laughed hard and said an
acid, condescending tone, "you SLUT!" He slapped her hard once on her bottom,
which sent shivers of lust through her, then spoke, his voice gentle again.

"We'd better get you cleaned up."

She couldn't believe it! He carefully rolled her over,then stood and grasped
her hands, pulling her to her feet. Suddenly dizzy she leaned against him,
careful to turn her head away so that the blood didn't get on his shirt. She
didn't want to make him angry again.

"Can you walk, Mo?" he asked. "You can speak now, by the way."

She nodded. "I think so. What should I do about my clothes?"

With her jeans and knickers around her ankles she was effectively hobbled.

"Leave them as they are. I like them like that. Hold onto my back and follow
me to the bathroom."

Little Mo reached her arms up and put her hands on his shoulders. That helped
steady her considerably. Trevor started to move slowly and she hobbled after
him.

"Here's the bathroom. Go sit on the toilet," he ordered.

She shuffled in slowly ahead of him, careful not to look at herself in the
mirror, and, closing the lid, lowered herself onto the toilet.

"I'm going to clean you off a little now, Mo," Trevor said, "but first I want
you to see what you look like."

Picking up a hand mirror from off the back of the toilet he held it in front
of her face. She gasped in horror. The blood was absolutely everywhere on her
face and neck! Her lips were caked in it. Red, turning to black where it had
dried on her. Purple swellings and grazes were appearing around her mouth and
on one cheekbone, and, of course, her eye makeup had run badly from the
crying she'd done. She handed the mirror back to him.

"Oh God, Trevor - I look so horrible!"

"You look like you've been beaten up, baby," he replied.

It reminded her of one of the reasons she'd fallen for him all those years
ago. Virtually any other man would have tried to reassure her with a lie at
that moment: 'Nah, you don't look that bad!' Instead, he simply stated the
truth, without exaggeration. He ran some hot water over a wash cloth, then
bent over to wipe her face. She was amazed at how gentle he was with the
more tender areas, almost as if he could feel them himself.

When he finished, he handed her the mirror again. She looked plainer with
most of her makeup gone (more honest, she told herself) but at least she no
longer looked like a victim from a horror movie.

"Come on," he urged, pulling her up by the hand. She followed him, more
quickly, into his bedroom where he pushed her down onto the edge of the bed.
With his hands still on her shoulders, he squatted down in front of her.

"I'm going to make you some tea. I want you to lie here until I return. If
you get bored, the TV remote is on the table." He then did something that
almost made her start crying again, this time in gratitude. He stood up,
and reached a hand to her head and slowly stroked the stray hairs out of
her face. He continued to stroke her hair slowly four or five more times,
and that sensation, of his hand petting her in that way, was so reassuringly
condescending, so wonderfully right, that she grabbed him around his legs
and hugged him tight, her head almost at his crotch. He let her hold him
like that for a few moments, then moved her arms away and left the room,
saying almost with a chuckle in his voice, "there will time for that later,
babydoll."

When he'd gone she tried to arrange herself decorously but comfortably on
the bed within the limits that the clothing at her ankles allowed. Their
bed was one of those old-fashioned types with the iron-barred headboard,
but there were plentiful pillows, so she propped most of them up against
the bars, so there would be room for them both to sit. She was no longer
so sleepy, so after a few minutes had passed without his returning, she
took up the TV remote and began switching idly through the channels. As
usual, she became "caught" by the shopping channel. Unconsciously, she
had pulled her knees up to her chest as she sat back against the pillows,
hiding her nakedness effectively and when he came in, bearing a tray he
said "Uh uh. Spread out on the bed on your side. I want to look at your
flesh, see the curve of your hip and your pussy."

Blushing hard, she did as she was told, raising herself on one elbow to take
the first sip of her tea. It was soothing, although she had to be careful to
keep the hot liquid away from spot in her mouth where the tooth had come out.
He sat with his back against the pillows, legs spread in front of him,
munching on a piece of toast and staring at her, looking her up and down. She
knew he was doing it on purpose to make her uncomfortably self-conscious, but
it worked well, nonetheless.

She couldn't look him in the eye, although she kept glancing up quickly to
see if he was still looking. He was. It was a few minutes before he noticed
what was on the TV.

"What is this crap?" he asked, laughing.

"It's the shopping channel. I always get caught by it," she replied.

He snorted. "You get caught by trash like THIS?"

"But Trevor, they've got some really nice things. Don't you watch it?"

"I watch the educational stuff, like the History Channel or the Discovery
Channel," he answered scornfully, "who wants to see a lot of stuck up sluts
pushing tat like they've got? They just suck up to you, trying to get your
money."

She blushed, a little shocked even after all this time by his crude
references to women "I like the things they sell," she said simply. "So
what if they suck up to you?"

"You could do that job better than them," he said, laying back on the bed.
"Come here, Mo, right now, and suck up to me."

Mo felt excited at his suggestion. Did it mean he'd forgiven her and wanted
her back?

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he replied, laying back and stretching out.

She felt a thrill run through her as she quickly pushed the tray to the far
side of the large bed. She then crawled over to where he reclined, suddenly
unconcerned about her nakedness, or maybe just concerned about accenting it.
He was already unzipping his pants and pulling his cock and balls out. It
was stiff. The reality of this moment hit her then, the reality of him, of
not only being back in the same bedroom as him, but of his aroused and
waiting cock staring her in the face, the reality of the horrible brutality
she'd undergone just a few moments ago, and memories of all the times in the
past she'd been in exactly this position, on her knees bending over his eager
and erect cock. With the shopping channel playing in the background it all
seemed surreal.

"Well?"

His question reminded her that she was supposed to do more than just stare at
him. She lowered her head over his cock and opened her mouth wide, thinking
about how she first wanted to caress him, when he spoke.

"What you thinking of babe?"

"I was thinking how badly this evening started," she whispered against his
prick.

"Oh yes," he replied, "Very badly. And you know, the evening's only just
begun."

She wondered - was there a threat in those words? Then she felt his hand
softly guiding her head onto him, not pushing or ramming, letting her find a
way that didn't hurt her too bad, and she decided he was simply talking about
the sexual foreplay they had begun. He was clearly trying to make up for the
viciousness he had visited upon her earlier. A small part of her brain told
her, however, that if she saw an opportunity to get him to come quickly, she
should seize it, as it would lower the likelihood than anything else bad
might happen. He began to groan in pleasure as her mouth and hands did their
usual creative magic. She didn't feel as though she did that much, just
tried not to do the same old boring things over and over, but Trevor always
responded to it as if she was painting a masterpiece. Then she forgot to
think, as she got lost in the sensations of her mouth and tongue and what
they were doing to him.

While she pleasured him, she was faintly aware that he was talking
sarcastically, and then, as he became more aroused, with increasing malice
about the women on the shopping channel. But since he wasn't talking directly
to her, she didn't split her attention to listen; she assumed he was speaking
like this because it excited him to do so. She was only partially right, she
soon discovered, as the references began to slowly turn to her, first in
comparisons he drew between the "stuck up bitches'" bodies and her own, then
slowly to include mostly her, then pretty soon it was just her:

"You fucking cunt Mo, you'd better suck me good, or I'll throw you against
the wall.

"You are such a bitch and a slut, just a hot little fuckdoll, with warm wet
holes."

"I didn't say you could stop and rest, get back on it you lazy cunt and
SUCK." And, "what a nice round ass you've got - I'm going to stick it up
there later and hurt you very, very bad. You'll scream for mercy then,
bitch!"

These hard, rough words, so familiar as she'd heard him say them to her
hundreds of times, turned her on, as they always did.

"I love you, Trevor," she murmured as she sucked him. She could feel, in that
way you can if you're sensitive to the signs, how close he was getting to
orgasm, and while she fully expected that when he came she'd be hurt when he
rammed her down on his cock (she was certain he'd forcibly deepthroat her, he
usually did), she was not in the least bit ready for what actually did
happen.

"Get off it, bitch!" he suddenly snarled, and being so used to obeying his
voice she immediately pulled away, panting a little in frustration. He had
been so close, and it would have felt so good to feel him exploding in her,
the cum shooting far down her throat. She then remembered, now that it was
too late, that her original goal had been to make him cum, and that she
should have stayed on him. Well maybe if she got back down on it right now,
she could quickly get him off. He must still be very excited. She imagined
he wouldn't even protest once he felt her hot mouth tighten around the
head...

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing?"

His outraged voice boomed over the television and shattered her mood. Once
more his hand grabbed a bunch of her hair and jerked her head up hard, so
that she was staring straight into his eyes which were once again cold and
remote.

"Not so fast, you sneaky cunt," he said softly but in a tone far more
frightening than the yelling had been. "You don't think you're getting off
that easy, do you? I told you, bitch, the night was just beginning. You
should have listened to me. You've pissed me off, Mo, by trying that sneaky
whore trick just now. I know you were trying to get me off, and you're going
to PAY for that."

As he said the word "pay" his left hand lashed out quickly and punched her
just below the ribs.

"No, Trevor, please - not again!" she gasped, wondering how something so
simple could hurt so bad. "I won't do it no more - unh!"

Another fist landed in her stomach. He let her fall sideways onto the bed
then swiftly rolled her over on her belly.

"It's time for some good old-fashioned discipline, Mo," he said in a gloating
tone.

"Move the pillows and grab the bars of the bed. That's it."

She heard a jingle and then whimpered as he cuffed her left wrist, ran the
chain behind the intervening iron bars, the snapped the empty cuff shut on
her right wrist, and tightened it down. She probably should have tried to
resist, but she couldn't stand the thought of another punch like the last
two. She was living right in the moment, thinking no more than a few seconds
ahead and how to make those seconds easier, which, she realized with a start,
was probably exactly where he wanted her to be. He'd gone behind her, she
could no longer see him without turning around, and she was too frightened
to do that, afraid that any motion on her part might set him off.

Again, a long, long time seemed to pass, with only the fast, inane babble of
the shopping channel to distract her. Suddenly his voice. Behind her. Cold
and emotionless.

"You know what I'm doing right now?"

"No..."

"I'm sitting in the chair by my desk, looking at your ass, thinking about
what I'm going to be doing to you in a few seconds, and jerking off."

She then heard a slap-slap-slap noise.

"Know what that is?" He didn't wait for her answer. "It's my cock, Mo. I'm
pulling it back and slapping it against my hand. Hard. You are so lucky,
baby, that it isn't a rubber police baton."

"Yes," she barely whispered.

Both the image in her head of what he was doing with his cock plus the threat
of beating her with that brutally sadistic stick were getting her hot again.
Why, when she knew the reality of pain was so very different did thinking
about being beaten make her so excited? She wasn't left long to those
musings. Another jingle, this one very familiar sounding.

"Know what this is?" he asked again.

"Yes, Trevor. It's a belt buckle..."she replied, her voice faint.

"Good. I'm glad you still remember," he said, very softly.

A thrill, half terror, half lust ran through her at hearing that. He turned
up the volume on the TV set. It was only after the fifth or sixth lick of the
belt that her sexual rush subsided and the agony took over. She twisted and
turned and wiggled and screamed, trying in futility, to avoid the belt.

"Fuck you, Mo, hold fucking still!" he yelled in a rage, sounding almost like
the way her uncle used to yell at her; 'If you don't stop crying I won't stop
spanking!'

She tried to hold and succeeded for a while, but she couldn't stop her
shrieks. She got a brief reprieve when he stopped, tore her boots, jeans and
knickers from her, then stuffed the crumpled knickers in her mouth.

"Now hold that arse of yours still."

The belting began again, the blows raining down harder than before. She was
beginning to cry and screaming through the improvised gag for him to stop,
STOP!

The pain was incredible; how could she suffer this much and not pass out?
Usually, she'd lose her self-control and try to squirm away, or at least
get the blows to land somewhere else. But now, every time she did this,
he stopped whipping her with the belt and hurt her harder with his hands,
somewhere on her body. Once, when he was particularly enraged with her
moving, he stood on the bed and kicked her between the legs, three or four
times. She was able to keep herself still after that although her body
shuddered with the effort under the rain of blows, although that didn't
seem to affect his anger any. The "terms of endearment" that she had found
so arousing earlier when she was sucking his dick, sounded very, very
different when being beaten. They terrified her, as the pain went on and
on. She was soon covered in sweat, and remained so long after she had
stopped trying to move away. Although toward the end she just lay there
limply not even crying much, she still felt every sharp cut with the belt.
It was particularly hard when he hit her over and over on the same place,
the skin getting raw, supperating. Finally, after three or four very hard
cuts on her vagina, he stopped. She didn't dare move a muscle. She heard
what sounded like him taking off his clothes and shuddered inside, afraid
of what was to come next. But all he did at first was lie entirely on top
of her body, completely covering it with his own.

"You're so hot, so hot" he whispered in her ear. "And so bloodied and cut up.
Did you know you're oozing blood all over your ass and thighs?"

She shook her head no. She hadn't.

"Yeah, my belt cut you pretty bad. I'm thinking about taking the buckle to
your front, in a few minutes."

She couldn't stop herself from moaning in fear.

"So you like that idea do you, Mo?" he asked then laughed evilly. "Or I could
just fuck you up the ass for a while - it would hurt much worse than it had
to because I'd be pulling in and out very hard and fast so I could feel your
sucking little sphincter spasming along my cock."

She held her breath. No response to this, no response, and maybe he'd move on
to another idea.

"Or maybe I'll just roll you over and have a cigarette, put it out on your
tits when I'm done."

She made a high keening noise in response, again she couldn't help it.
Nothing terrified her more, and nothing felt worse to her than the pain
from fire. He chuckled and continued, "Course, if I got tired of smoking
it halfway through, I could just set it down on your belly and watch it
burn down, while I held your body still. That might be fun, what do you
think, Mo?"

She responded instinctively, she couldn't think straight then. She started
twisting and turning with little muffled screams, raising herself up on her
arms, trying to get him off her, trying to get away. She just had to get
away from him, this was too much, too extreme, she couldn't take it. He was
gasping with laughter, with his arms around her waist, hanging on, damn it!
She couldn't free herself from the man! She tried kicking backwards at him
but wasn't able to find any good targets. Without the use of her hands, she
couldn't get his arms from around her, but she managed to kneel up, facing
the head of the bed and dragging his weight behind her. He let go of her
then, and a few seconds later she felt a very hard fist smash into her upper
buttock. The impact knocked her over and sent pain shooting all the way down
her leg.

"Do that again, and I'll hurt you much worse," he said softly as she gasped
in pain.

Apparently he had decided what he wanted from her, because he quickly
uncuffed her arms and maneuvered a pillow under her stomach.

"Arch your back," he said sharply and she did her best to comply, even
though it sent those spasms of pain down her leg again. She felt a cold
narrow nozzle being inserted roughly up her ass and felt some cold
substance squirting up there. Lubrication. Now she knew what was coming
next.

"Just basting the turkey, Mo," he said cheerfully. "This time," he told her,
his voice turning harsh and cold, "if you try to wiggle away or do anything
else stupid, cunt, I'll beat you until you stop moving. This is GOING to
hurt. Just take it like the good little fucktoy that you are, and know that
the more it hurts, and the more you scream and cry from the pain, the harder
my cock will be getting, and the harder I'll rape you in this most painful
and humiliating of ways."

She knew a lose-lose proposition when she heard one. If she didn't respond at
all, he'd double his efforts to get a scream out of her. If she did respond
naturally to the excruciating pain, he'd hurt her even more because it would
arouse him to do so.

Maybe he'd be quick, she thought, since he'd already had considerable
stimulation this evening. Although it was the last hope she had to cling to,
her honesty wouldn't even allow her this. She knew how long and carefully
he'd trained himself to control his orgasms, to NOT come unless he really
wanted to. He used his control to ride her ass long and well. Every so often,
she'd get a small reprieve from the pain when he'd bury himself to the hilt
and then pull her up by the hair to turn her face toward him and slap her
silly. She was getting so weak and distracted that she didn't even notice
when he removed her underwear from her mouth, as she was no longer able to
scream loud enough to make it necessary. She'd never ever felt this much
horrible pain in her life. Especially pain that didn't fade away but kept
scraping at her like a sharp blade twisting inside, and scraping the scrapes
until she was sure she was just a raw bloody pulp inside her ass. But finally
it stopped, and she gasped and sobbed in relief. The relief didn't last long
because after releasing the handcuffs he had her by the hair again, pulling
her upon her feet. He then propelled her, ahead of him very very quickly into
his living room. They were heading right for one wall, of painted brick.
About six feet from it, he pushed hard on her back to bend her over and
propelled her directly into it. She couldn't stop herself, she crashed head
first against it, and blessedly, blacked out again.

When she awoke she was sitting up, her forehead throbbing in pain, her back
supported by the wall, and he was shoving his cock deep inside her mouth with
hard thrusts, shaking her head and yelling at her to suck it. The place where
she'd lost the tooth was also throbbing from the friction of his dick against
it and she began to scream and push him out of her mouth. A brutal slap
against one side of her face stopped her and she did her best to suck him
despite the pain. She couldn't think straight though, everything seemed to
be moving in slow motion. Suddenly she felt his groin crush into her face
cutting off her air supply as he came deep and hard in her throat.

As he came she heard him as if from the end of a long tunnel telling her
that she was just a worthless slut, good for only one thing. He kept himself
crushed against her after he came as she struggled to get a breath, then,
when she felt the blackness coming on again, pulled back so she could take
in a ragged breath.

"Swallow my come, bitch!" he ordered, shoving his cock back deep in her
throat, and she swallowed and swallowed, even though most of it was already
in her stomach.

After the flow of his sperm had subsided he spoke.

"Alright, I know you probably can't stand, so I want you to crawl into the
bedroom, NOW, and crawl up on top of the bed."

She crawled as best she could toward the bedroom, head down, steering by
leaning her shoulder along the walls. Once on the bed, he yanked her to a
sitting up position once more, but it was so that he could get her to
swallow some painkillers. He directed her to the head of the bed and she
managed to crawl there and slip under the covers.

"You're really going to ache in the morning, babe. Take it slow and easy,
and keep taking these pills. I'll see you when I get back from work."

She was exhausted. As her head hit the pillow she felt herself falling
asleep, but she forced herself to stay awake long enough to say, "Trevor,
I'm so sorry for what I did. Do you forgive me now?"

He smiled, leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Of course,
Mo. I forgave you as soon as I saw you on the doorstep."

She had no energy left to think about that, she was too worn out. As she
drifted off to sleep she felt warm and secure, happy inside that he had
accepted her apology and they were together again. She was back where she
belonged.

Any feedback? Email me: [email protected] - you WILL gt a reply!



    

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