The following day passed quickly, seen as brief flashes of growing, bright, and then fading sunlight whenever I'd open my eyes to guzzle bottled water between bouts of deep and dreamless sleep. It was a lucky thing the day was a holiday, for none of the construction workers showed up to hammer away at the houses or tell me to get lost. Every part of me was throbbing there in the isolated shade of the van, especially my bowels. My entire body was practically humming as it recovered from the night's ordeal, wanting only water and darkness and empty thoughts. When evening slunk in I pulled on some clothes and crawled painfully into the driver's seat, then drove off into the city to lose myself.

I stewed in a creeping pool of dread for the next few days, eating and drinking what I could, sleeping more than I needed to, and healing as quickly as my body would allow. I went to the clinic the following week, where they told me what I'd hoped to be true. Whatever Guerrero was, he hadn't lied to me. I was clean.

Everything else crashed in around me like a falling curtain upon hearing that good news, and I finally felt as if I could process all that had happened. “Until the end of the month,” Pendrick had said. I had until the end of the month to leave the city I'd called home for nearly half my life. When it had been my own idea, it'd seemed like a great plan. Now that it was being forced on me, like everything hands were sweating. My balls were sweating. The future poured out before me like a wide river, rushing over rapids toward a starless void beyond the vanishing sunset, where it fell off a great waterfall into an unknowable darkness that I had no hope of surviving. I didn't know how to be anything other than a hired thief for Pendrick and his associates. I certainly couldn't put that on a resume...I couldn't work for any of Pendrick's rivals… I shook my head. No use having a nervous breakdown. That could wait. I went about tying up the very few loose ends of my life – all but one.

I found myself parked across the street from Ben's house the following week, with only a few days to go before the end of the month was upon me. I should have left days earlier, but I hadn't. I couldn't. I had to see him again, one last time, but I'd been putting it off. I had to tell him...not that I was sorry, but...that I knew what a piece of garbage I'd been to him. I knew I had to offer him a way to make things even, though I couldn't be sure if he'd accept. The thought of it both scared me and made my cock grow stiff in my jeans. I didn't know if I'd have the balls to do it – or even to talk to him face to face at all, after everything I'd put him through…

Early evening was settling in, the sun sinking unseen behind the trees, staining the sky purple and red as it went. The neighborhood was eerily quiet in the gathering blue shadows. More than one of the houses fluttered with muffled life, windows lit with golden glow, but his house was dark. There was no car in the driveway, and no signs of movement past the curtains that covered the windows. I fiddled with my phone, staring at his name in the contact list, trying to build up my courage. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to notice it: a moderately sized plastic sign, propped up in the grass in front of his house. FOR SALE.

He was gone, then. My heart sank into my stomach as my mouth went dry. I sat in silence for many long minutes as a cold grief crept into my limbs. There had been many men who'd either bullied their way into my life, or had been invited into it for a brief time, only to slip away whenever chance had a mind to take them...but I'd never felt this way about any of them once they were gone. It was horrible, to feel this much. My insides were numb, as if they were about to crack.

I fished my laptop out from under the passenger seat, my movements rigid and robotic. I balanced the laptop on my knees and propped it open. I had to see him one last time. One way or another. I pulled up the program that linked to the camera that was, for all I knew, still hidden in his empty bedroom. There I found a huge cache of files that had downloaded remotely over the weeks – hours and hours of silent digital video that I hadn't wanted to watch, or bothered to erase. I glanced at the dark house again, still and lifeless, and began to sift through them, playing them back at high speeds as the silver light of the screen filled the cab.

Most of it was nothing special at first: scenes of Ben and his wife lying in bed, talking, putting laundry away and rolling around as they went to sleep – but never fucking, or kissing, or even cuddling that I could see. I skipped ahead an entire week, and things got more interesting.

The first thing I saw was a fight between them. Ben was the calmer one, but they were both yelling at each other. His wife threw something at him, then immediately ran to him and buried her face in his chest, crying. He held her for awhile, staring at the wall. I skipped ahead.

It was green, night vision. Ben was lying on his side, facing away from the camera. He was shirtless, his broad, muscled back filling a third of the screen above the sagging seam of his pajama bottoms. His ribs were rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He was sleeping soundly. His wife was hovering over him, tracing the curve of his spine with the tips of her fingers without actually touching his skin. It was apparent, after a moment, that she was using her other hand to masturbate. I skipped ahead.

They were sitting on the bed. Ben was explaining something, using his hands and talking rapidly as his wife held a pillow and listened with a vaguely disgusted look on her face. In the end she nodded absently, agreeing, and he grinned wildly with oblivious excitement. I skipped ahead, but not much.

Ben was lying on the bed the following evening. He was splayed on his back, fully nude, with his knees bent and his ass hanging off the foot of the bed. My cock got hard just looking at it. His wife was hovering over him, nude as well. She was running her hands over his body and devouring him with her eyes. She stroked his hard cock, cupped his balls, and sucked on his nipples while he swooned. When she got up I saw it – a massive strap-on cock, black and bobbing stiffly between her legs. He was fingering himself and spreading his thighs, in heat. She was awkward and unsure at first, taking hold of his thighs with ginger, manicured fingers, rubbing the tip of the fake cock against his taint, his hole…

He grabbed her hips and guided her into him lustily, talking dirty, and the thick head of the rubber cock disappeared into his prepared ass with ease. He arched his back on the bed in front of her, shutting his eyes and smiling as he groaned soundlessly. He loved it. I could tell. She could tell, as well. He was being sloppy, not thinking. He was taking it like a person who'd been fucked before – a person who'd been fucked many times before. I watched waves of distinct emotions wash over her face as she realized this. First was confusion, then surprise...then fear...then rage.

She began to fuck him roughly, sneering and biting her lip. He tried to like it at first, but then she got too rough. Such a delicate thing she was, but it turned out she had a mean streak. With a few angry thrusts she'd hurt him. He tried to close his legs against her, shouting and grimacing and reaching to ward off her hips. She punched him – right in the nutsack –and pulled out of him. She was crying again. She unstrapped the fake cock from her waist and threw it across the room before shutting herself away in the bathroom. Ben rolled around on the bed for a moment in a fetal position, clutching his bruised balls and groaning, before he peeled himself off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom door, banging on it, shouting...

I skipped ahead.

I didn't see Ben's wife again after that. Just Ben. He was checking his phone, wrapped in blankets. Sleeping. Woke up in the middle of the night, checked his phone again. Slept through the next day…woke up, checked his phone...sleeping...

The screen went black. The camera's batteries had finally run out. I closed the laptop, feeling ill, and listened to my own breathing. I looked up at his house again a moment later. A light was on in the front room.

Knuckles rapped on the window next to my head, curt and insistent. If I hadn't been strapped into the seat I may have jettisoned myself out the passenger window. I turned my head and saw him there on the other side of the glass, tall and clean and strikingly handsome in the flesh. He wasn't wearing his glasses. I let the laptop fall out of my lap and onto the floor as I rolled the window down. He wore a simple shirt, wrinkled and tight over the sloping hills of his lush muscles. It stopped just above the waist of his loose pants, and I willed myself to look away from his crotch, bringing my eyes to his face. His unkempt, wavy auburn hair was a bit long, frayed just past the tip of his ears. His square jaw was was unshaven, all but bearded. His blue eyes met mine, pink and rimmed with red, and my stomach lurched. Was it shame, this feeling? Nerves? I couldn't tell.

“You may as well just come in,” he said flatly, his voice gravelly and monotone. His thick eyebrows raised as he glanced around the inside of the van. “Oh…you can have this back.” He tossed my camera into the van, cords and motion sensor and all. It bounced off my knee a bit painfully before clattering onto the floor. I did nothing to catch it. I could only stare at him, trying to read him and failing. Something was different about him this time. Very different.

His eyes found mine again, but he didn't hold them for long. He pointed at his driveway. “Just go ahead and park next to the house. No need to worry anymore.”

“Ben...” I already hated the way I sounded.

He shook his head and started to cross the street, heading back to his house. “Come, if you're coming,” was all he said.

I started the van after a moment and let it roll forward. I parked it in his driveway and got out, feeling strangely exposed. He was standing on his little front porch, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants. The plants hadn't been watered in a while, each of them shriveling up into the clay pots that held them. He watched my shoes as I approached him, then turned around and opened his front door. The house beyond was dimly lit, and it smelled heavily of old pot and burning incense. He waved his hand lazily, inviting me in. I crossed the threshold, and he shut the door behind me. Locked it.

The living room was dark and barren, much different than the last time I'd seen it. Gone were the indoor plants and the piles of pillows and the animal print throws. Gone were all but one of the hanging tapestries, which hung on the wall behind the aging hulk of a sofa, the only large piece of furniture left in the room. The other was the low coffee table, upon which half a stick of incense burned. The tiny ember at its tip flickered in the low light like a firefly. Next to this was a bag of cheap-smelling weed and aglass pipe caked in black resin.

“She took pretty much everything,” he said conversationally, as if I'd asked a polite question. “Shoes off, by the way. Don't think I told you about that rule...before.” He slipped out of his sandals and crossed the room into the kitchen, where most of the light was coming from. The clinical florescents displayed a room as stripped of personality as the one I was standing in, dismantled down to the bare minimum.

I fumbled with my heavy shoes until I freed my feet of them, then I just stood mutely by the door. I had no idea what to say to him now that we were finally, after nearly a month, standing in the same space again. I knew what I had to do, but...where to start?

He emerged from the kitchen with two glasses in hand. He stopped next to the sofa and held one out, beckoning me. I crossed the room and took it, sniffed. It was filled with strong bourbon, and no ice. “Thought you could use a stiff drink,” he said dryly, sitting down on the sofa. “I know I could. I mean, I've been drinking all day...among other things...but when I saw your damned van sitting out there I knew...knew I'd...” He shook his head, looking at the floor. Then he leaned back and downed his entire glass in a single gulp, closing his eyes tightly, broad chest heaving in a way that made me want to bury myself in. When he opened his eyes again he looked right at me, unblinking. “What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly.

I still didn't know what to say. I took a sip of my drink, hissing softly at the sting of it, and sat down on the other side of the sofa, well away from him. “I've done...I've gone through a lot since...since we last...” I grimaced inwardly at my own rambling. “I've been thinking.”

“Have you?” he asked, feigning surprise. He was staring at me now, but I couldn't look at him. I traced the rim of my glass with my fingers, watching the bourbon ripple and wishing I could fall into it.

“Yeah...yeah. Look, I...” I turned my head and looked at him. It took effort, since my body suddenly felt as if it were made of stone. His face was slack, expressionless, waiting. “I'm leaving town soon.” He blinked. “For good, I mean, and I...I wanted to talk to you before I left. I...I owe you.” I sighed. My hands were shaking. “I've come to realize what...what a bastard I've been to you. I never should have...” I took another swig, bigger this time. It burned its way down my throat, the first real gulp of liquor I'd had since my last visit to Pendrick's two weeks before. It did the trick. “I never should have done what I did. I'm just...I'm fucked up, Ben. Really fucked up. I think I finally started to realize how much, after I did...what I did to you. That last time. After...” I took a deep breath, willing my voice to remain steady. “After some things happened to me.”

He said nothing. A silence poured in, deep and wide, enveloping the entirety of the empty house.

He leaned forward and slammed his glass loudly onto the coffee table, making me jump. He glared at me, suddenly animated, suddenly brimming with raw emotion. “That's it?” he demanded.

I shrugged, feeling lamer than lame. I finished off my bourbon and set the glass on the table next to his with barely a clacking sound. I leaned forward, clasping my fingers together over my knees, not feeling like a man at all. The anger was radiating from him, burning my skin. This wasn't a slave, wasn't a toy. His sheer personhood was deafening, blinding, nearly striking me mute. I'd easily and willfully ignored it before, when I'd held so much over him, when I'd been able to command him – before I'd admitted to myself that I loved the way his reedy voice sounded when he said my name...but that was all over now. No wonder I couldn't look at him. “I'm sorry, Ben.”

“You might have noticed something,” he said calmly, without missing a beat, back to his plastic, conversational tone. He was only barely holding it together. “My wife left me. I don't know how much of my fucking personal life you saw on your shitty little hidden camera – you pervert– but you should've guessed that much by now.” I kept my eyes glued to the floor, feet melting into it through my socks. His voice kept coming, like a flood. “She figured it out, eventually. Probably should have happened sooner. She doesn't know any details, but she didn't need to. We're getting a divorce. Her brothers – fucking big bastards, Boston donkey-men – they came by and took pretty much everything I own and put it into a truck. They moved it all across town, to wherever she's living now. Wouldn't tell me where. I don't know, maybe she just burned it all – you should have seen her, man. Her donkey-man brothers pretty much dared me to try and stop them. I think they wanted an excuse to put me in the hospital.” His voice was wavering, but it wasn't weakness. It was anger. “One of them had a baseball bat. They made me hand over the keys to my car before they left – my fucking car, Johnny. Haven't seen them, or her, since. Couldn't find the...motivation to take the bus to work. Can't afford to live here without her – really can't, not now. I kind of...” He laughed bitterly, the lost sound of it stabbing into my ears. “I kind of lost my job after that, Johnny. Slept too much, missed too much work, let a couple deadlines slip by...didn't return any calls. Never thought I'd do a thing like that...never thought I'd ever get so depressed I'd lose control of my life, like some my dad...”

“I'm so sorry, B– ”

Shut up,” he growled, and I did. I could feel him staring me down even as his voice droned on. “I was sleeping all day, drinking...calling up old buddies for pot...letting them look at me like I was some...some kinda sad clown. She told everybody all about why she left me. All the nitty gritty details. Her family, all of our friends – even my own damn parents. Everybody. No one's talking to me now. Never thought it was a bad thing, not being too close to anybody, but now...” He stopped for a moment, composing himself. His voice had come dangerously close to breaking. “You know the shittiest thing about all that, though? It wasn't because of her leaving me that I got depressed. It was...I kept checking my phone. I was waiting to see a missed call from you, a text – anything at all. It was all I thought about for a while there. I was so pathetic, I really was. The lowest I've ever been in my life, and all I wanted was to hear from...from some...” He kicked the coffee table across the room in a great burst of violence. The incense and the pipe tumbled into the corner. The glasses shattered, and the weed went everywhere.

He leaned back into the cushions of the sofa and went on as if nothing had happened. “All I wanted was to feel your hands on me. I wanted to feel your dick filling me up. Even if you treated me like shit – absolute shit – at least you wanted me. I was a cheating bastard before I ever even met you, and now everybody knows it. You were the only person I could imagine...can imagine...wanting me around. Which is sadder than everything else combined.” He put his hands over his face. “That was it, I think.That was all of it. That's everything you did to me.”

“Jesus, man...” I glanced at him. He was laying back, elbows in the air, hiding his face in his hands. His shirt had lifted up, exposing the fur at the base of his firm stomach. His cock was hard, I realized with a start. It was bulging in his pants, snaking its way down his thigh. I didn't mention it.

“I wish you'd talked to me,” he said softly, sounding as if he'd start crying at any moment. “I wish you'd sent just one message to me, just one. Even if it was just to let me know you were done with me...”

My hand was on his thigh before I knew what I was doing. I wanted to comfort him – almost as much as I wanted to suck his cock right then and there. “I didn't know. I didn't think you'd want to talk to me again, not after...”

He took his hands off his face and let his strong arms drift down to his sides, resting a hand on my wrist where is touched his thigh. It didn't feel friendly. I looked at him. He'd turned his face toward mine, narrowing his eyes as his mouth twisted into a silent snarl. “Say it.”

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “Not after I...uh...”

“If you can't say it, you can get the fuck out of my house.”

My shoulders sagged, and I took my hand off his thigh. “After I raped you.”

He was silent a moment longer, then he sat up. Our knees touched. “I don't think I've ever hated anybody as much as I hate you right now,” he whispered harshly, hugging his waist and rocking forward. I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He smashed it out of the air in a flash of brute strength, nearly crushing my fingers in the process. I stood up, rubbing my knuckles. He didn't look up.

“I...” My voice was shaking again. I rubbed the back of my neck, felt my skin go cold. “I didn't just come here to say I was...sorry.” He turned his head sharply, listening. “Like I said, I...some things happened to me, and I've been thinking. A lot.” The strength was returning to my voice. I took deep breath. “I think I know how to make things right between us, before I go. It won't undo anything, but...”

“What?” he barked.

God, this is stupid. He's going to laugh in my face, or attack me – or both. “I was a real bastard to you. Especially that...that last time. I thought if...” The strength had left me as soon as it had appeared. I stepped away from him nervously, not sure I even wanted to say it now. “I thought if, for one night, you a bastard to me, you know, turn the might make things even. It you to...forgive me?” I was a pathetic creature. I knew it. “ least give you a reason to.”

His face was still slack and devoid of emotion as he pondered my offer. He was looking forward, seeming to forget I existed outside of his mind. “You want me to...what, force myself on you? That what you're offering? Doesn't work that way, 'buddy.'”

“Well, I...” I was blubbering. “I mean, I guess it wouldn't be the same, not really. But I'd let you...” Ridiculous to explain it this way, but here I was, doing it. “I'd let you call all the shots. For a whole night. Do what you want. You whatever I've done to you. Whatever gets you off. Tie me up. And...”

He raised his eyebrows, still not looking at me. “And…?” He knew it. He wanted me to say it.

I sighed. “And fuck me. U..use me. Anything you want. Tit for tat.”

“Okay,” he said quickly.

“Okay...yes?” I still couldn't read his face. He was just staring at the wall.

“Yeah. Yes. I accept. It's a deal – officially. How's that?” He finally turned his eyes to me, bloodshot and bright and a little scarier than I'd ever seen them. There was no fear in him, and certainly not a drop of submission. It sent a chill down my spine, but I ignored it.

I crossed my arms. “All...all right, then. I guess...” I shrugged again, unbearably nervous. He was glaring at me, and I looked away. He didn't.

“We'll start right now,” he said darkly, firmly. There was no more discussion after that.

He launched himself from the couch in a blinding rush of movement that took me completely by surprise, and before I could blink his hand was clamping down around my throat. We were the same height, more or less, but he was looming over me like a giant. His eyes were burning into mine, and he squeezed. He was strong.

I choked and tried to suck in a breath, but nothing came. No air. No air in my lungs. Instinct took over, and I clawed at his hand. It didn't budge. “Anything I want?” he taunted, and I made myself stop struggling. I could feel my eyes bulging, my face getting hot with red blood that had nowhere to go...

He let go just as I was really starting to panic. He took a step back and looked me over as I fell forward, hands on my knees, gasping for breath as precious air filled my lungs. He was smirking absently. “What the fuck!” I managed to choke out after a moment, rubbing my throat. I think I was in shock.

“Shut up.” He was on me again, lifting me by my shirt and pulling me across the room. A moment later he'd tossed me against the far wall like a sack of grain, knocking the wind out of me. I nearly crumpled to the floor in a heap, but I caught myself, staggering shakily. I'd bested men bigger and more skilled than Ben with fists and worse, but I didn't even try to fight back. I knew this was what I deserved. What he deserved. One night of this, I thought. One last night, and this is all over. New city, clean slate. Just one night...

He was unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed the room towards me, exposing blushing skin and flexing muscle. Not long ago I'd have seen a lush landscape, ready to be pillaged, but now I only saw power. The shirt was completely open by the time he got to me. I was still leaning forward, trying to catch my breath. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face into his chest. The smell of his sweat was still the same, sweet and musky and deep. “Suck on it.”

“What?” I asked, voice muffled by the furred mounds of his pecs. I was overcome by the feel of his naked skin on my face after all this time. I was getting very hard.

His hand squeezed, pulling my hair.“My nipple. Suck on it – slowly. No teeth.” His voice was dripping venom, full of scorn. I knew he hated me.

I braced myself on his hips, ignoring my now-raging erection, and found his nipple not far from my mouth. I put my lips around its heat, flicked it with my tongue, and started to suck on it. “That's it, buddy,” he snarled from somewhere above me. “Nice and slow like that.” I could only comply. The nipple got hard under my tongue, and his breathing quickened. His fingers tightened around my scalp. “The other one.” He pulled my head to his other meaty pec, and I repeated the process. I could feel his heart beating beneath my chin where it was pressed into his flesh. It was fast – fast, but steady. I didn't dare put my hand on his crotch to see if he was still hard, but I didn't need to. I was scared – exhilarated.

He sighed and growled at the same time, a rumbling thunder that vibrated under my lips like a steam engine. “That's good.” He pulled my head away from the heat of his bosom and shoved me into the wall again. His big hand pressed into my chest. I knew he could feel my heart beating rapidly through my t-shirt. He was smirking again, and then he slapped me - hard - across the face. “You're good at that!” he exclaimed happily through the ringing in my ears.

I just looked at him, shocked and apprehensive and ready for the worst. He laughed. “I like you this way,” he said nastily, rubbing the stubble of my stinging cheek with his hand. “I think I'm starting to get why you did what you did. It's fun, having a bitch. A man-bitch.” His other hand worked its way up my body, feeling me up through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. It sent tingles across my skin and made my muscles flex, but I wasn't sure I liked it anymore. He noticed, and his hand moved to my crotch. I was only semi-hard.

His smirk vanished, and his eyes grew dark. “So you'll get hard when a wrinkled old man fucks you, but you won't get hard for me?”

“I'm...” What could I say? That I was sorry? He might hit me again if I said that. “I'm just – you're just scaring me a little, man.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice was wavering wetly. God, I was pathetic.

His fingers tapped my chest as he mulled this over for a moment. “Good.”

He grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head an instant later. He yanked it behind my neck without taking it all the way off, blinding me while leaving my lean torso exposed. “Leave it like that,” he ordered. He took my wrists and crossed them above my head. I could feel the muscles of my midsection stretching as my spine arched, just as I could feel his eyes on my skin. “Leave your arms up there. Just like that.”

His hands took hold of my pecs, grabbed them like they were tits on a woman, and squeezed. It hurt, and I groaned. “That hurt?” he asked, and I nodded through the constricting shirt. “Well, too bad. I like the way it looks. I like the way you feel. You said it, right? Anything I want.” His voice was overflowing with sadistic excitement, as if a dam somewhere inside of him had broke.

I shivered under his hands as they left my aching chest and wrapped themselves around my trunk. He pulled my body into his, pushing his naked chest and stomach against my own. The firm planes of his muscled torso glided over me and pressed into me, fur on fur. His hands were clamped over my back, not letting me move an inch, and then he was rubbing against me, grinding his crotch into mine. I was instantly hard again. This doesn't have to be an ordeal, I thought. This was Ben. “God, you're so warm...” he whispered huskily into my throat, mostly to himself. I sighed into his hair, smelling deeply, remembering his scent.

He pulled away and drove my body into the wall. He held my arms in place above my head as his knee rose and pushed into the back of my hips, turning my lower body to the right. His other hand was feeling its way down my ribs, my stomach, and then it was at my hip. It undid the button of my jeans, the zipper splitting open as he invaded the warmth of my crotch. He had my throbbing cock pulsing in his solid grip an instant later, the waistband of my moist boxers twisted around his wrist. “There you go,” he breathed lustily. He squeezed my cock and pulled it free of the boxers, thumbed the underside of the glans. It was sopping wet with precum, and the sensation was intense. I stifled a moan, biting my lip.

“Don't do that,” he ordered sharply, and squeezed harder. “I want to hear it.” He was thumbing my wet glans again, forcefully, but just lightly enough to drive me crazy. My cock got even harder, growing in his grip. I let my gasping moan push through the t-shirt that was wrapped around my face, and this encouraged him. The pace of his thumb quickened, and the sensation increased drastically in the space of an instant. It was too much.

My next gasps came out desperate and shrill, and my body jerked and twisted in his grip as it tried to escape the extreme sensation. He simply leaned into me with all his superior weight and strength, pinning my body between the wall and his chest. My arms were still useless, crossed above my head with his hand clamping down on my wrists. I couldn't move, could barely breath. Still, the kneading of my cock continued. It was a pleasure so extreme it was almost a bright, burning pain. It consumed me, dominated my senses. I could barely hear myself, but what I did hear were breathless, shrieking gasps of some strange and terrible ecstasy.

After some time of this he stopped and stepped away, leaving my slick, throbbing cock to bob freely above the sinking waistband of my jeans. My legs were rubbery and trembling, robbed of all strength. I collapsed to my knees, still gasping into my shirt. Somehow I remained upright, though I wanted to curl up into a ball. My arms were numb and aching and limp, pulled slightly away from my sides by the bunching fabric beneath my armpits. My jeans had slipped down to my knees, leaving my entire midsection bare except for my twisted boxers that were even now sinking just below the base of my aching cock. I could still feel his eyes on me.

“Not sure you deserved that,” he said from somewhere in front of me. “Though I guess if I'm supposed to pay you back, in full...I can't lie. You did do some awesome things for me, along with all the shit. Taught me a lot about myself.” He was pacing. I could feel the floor shivering under my knees. “So...I guess you did deserve that? In a way.”

“It's wha...” My voice was trembling, airy. I could barely control my mouth. “It's whatever you want, Ben.”

Two thundering strides, and he was on me again. He yanked the t-shirt off my head, and the dim light of the room almost blinded me. His face was inches from mine, and his eyes were bright and angry again. “You don't get to say my name, buddy.” He stripped the shirt off my body and hauled me to my feet. I stumbled out of my jeans as he pulled me across the living room. He tossed me over the arm of the sofa and pulled my socks off my feet. “Fucking bastard...” I found myself bent over beneath him, face pressing into the musty cushions of the sofa, ass pointing upward and only half covered by my stretched boxers.

I felt two of his fingers push into the cleft of my ass, where they hooked the band of my boxers and yanked them down and out, exposing my hole to him. I tried to turn my head to see him, but his other hand grabbed the back of my neck and pushed my face further into the cushions. “I wish I could fuck you on the bed – my bed, I mean, the same one you...” He let the boxers snap back into place, and the elastic band whipped sharply against my balls with a loud slap and an instant ache. I groaned at the sudden pain, and I heard him laugh like a little kid torturing a frog. “She took the bed, though, so that's that. Shame. Might have let me keep it, if she'd know what happened on it.” He pulled at the boxers again, and then yanked them hard with a straining grunt. The fabric snapped and ripped, nearly shredding the skin of my hips, and then they were gone and I was completely naked under him. The air seemed much colder now, even if they'd only been boxers.

He got up, leaving me splayed over the side of the couch. I didn't dare move. I heard his shirt hit the floor, heard him unzip his pants and step out of them as they fell. A moment later I felt his hands gripping my hips as he guided the hard, thick rod of his cock to rest in the vulnerable crevice between my ass cheeks, bathing both regions in the other's heat. I could feel the pulse of his heart through his cock where it grinded against the soft skin of my inner ass cheeks. His velvety balls were gliding over my sensitive taint, which only served to make my cock harder where it was pinned beneath my hips. This is Ben, I kept reminding myself, trying not to give in to the growing dread I was feeling. Whatever he does to me, it'll still be Ben, and no one else. At least there's that.

“Yeah...I'm gonna fuck you,” Ben said calmly, decisively. His fingers were digging into the firm flesh of my ass, and I felt the head of his cock rubbing against my hole as it puckered of its own volition. I knew he was watching every twitch of my intimate parts, pulling my ass cheeks apart to get a better view. I silently cursed myself for allowing this to happen at all, so soon after I'd recovered from the last time. I must have been insane, I realized. I should have just left town a week ago... “I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you...”

I gulped. “It's whatever – ”

His hands left my ass cheeks for an instant before crashing back into them full force, a ringing pair of slaps that seemed to echo throughout the house. The pain was sharp and bright and instant, and I cried out. “Don't you dare say 'whatever I want.' I'm tired of hearing that. I fucking get it – but I don't think you do. Not really.” His voice was creeping closer as he spoke, until it was right in my ear. “I was scared of you when you were yanking me around, tying me up. You don't seem scared at all.” His breath was hot on my neck. “Not scared enough, anyway.”

My body was shivering from the shock of his blow. “O – okay...”

“Shut up.” He pulled my head back, and I opened my eyes. His other hand was hovering beneath my mouth, cupped and open. “Spit. And Johnny...” His knuckles tightened around my scalp. “Make it a good, big one. It's all the lube I'm giving you.”

My stomach sank at this revelation, my entire body swimming sickly in its dread. I tried to say something, but nothing came out. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. There wasn't a single drop of the old Ben left in him. I had no way to control him – not anymore. I knew he was going to do it, whether or not we pretended I was allowing it. I couldn't blame him, I really couldn't. I filled my mouth with saliva, even pulled mucus from my throat, and spat the glistening wad of it into his palm.

“Ugh, you're a fucking dirty bastard,” Ben exclaimed, though he was nearly laughing. I felt the warm wetness of it wash over my hole a second later, and then a sharp pain as he pushed a slick finger into my ass. It was slow, forceful, and steady – and then it was pushing in and out, filling my ass with stinging pain. I gripped the cushions above my head, grunting unhappily. He ignored me and pushed another finger into me, pulling me apart, widening me out. I could feel my cock getting softer.

“Don't act like you're not used to this sort of thing,” he said with disdain as he stretched my hole with his fingers. “I heard enough from the old pervert that night at the club. I know you're not the big deal you're always pretending to be. Tell me – how many times did that old perv fuck you? Go on – you can talk.”

“Can't say,” I grunted through gritted teeth. I could feel my face heating up, reddening with blush, and it wasn't the pain that was doing it. “Plenty.”

“Shit answer.” His fingers went in to the knuckles, brushing against the base of my cock, and I gasped like a school girl. My own spit had eased the way somewhat, but it wasn't nearly enough to dampen the pain. This would be bad. “Bet you've taken it more than you've given it.”

I didn't have time to think about answering that before he pulled his fingers out of me, took my hips in his hands, and shoved the head of his cock against the rim of my hole. I had no time to prepare myself for what came next – but there was no time to pucker either, which I should have been grateful for. "Waitwaitwait -" 

He punched the head of his cock past the tight ring of my hole, fingers digging into my skin. My ass caved in under the sudden force of it, quivering and twitching, then clamping down unwillingly. I bellowed and arched my back against the roaring pain that was flowering to life in my ass, but he didn't seem to care. “Fuck – please,” I gasped, reaching behind me and pushing uselessly against his strong hips. “Please go slower! It's just spit, for fuck's sake!” How desperate I sounded.

“Oh, don't worry buddy. I'll take it slow.” I could hear a smile in his voice. I braced myself and turned to look back at him. He was naked, glorious and terrible, like beautiful god. His golden skin was starting to glisten with a light sheen of sweat, but mine was sweating more beneath it. He had stopped pushing into me, his hips hovering just over my swiftly reddening ass. “I want to you feel this. Just like I did. 'Every inch of it.'”

I guess I could have stopped it right then. I could have pushed him off of me, beat him into submission despite his greater size – but that was the furthest thing from my mind. I only whimpered, resigned, and turned away from him. I'd offered him this. I'd asked for it, because I knew it needed to be done. I buried my face in my hands, in the cushions, biting down on the fabric as he slowly, inevitably, pushed his cock into my ill-prepared hole. “Fuck, yeah...make me feel it...” The pain kept flowering as his cock punctured me, growing hotter and more terrible until it had enveloped everything bellow my hips. I was groaning loudly, shrieking, I think. He was being just as gentle as I'd been with him in my own fit of careful rage.

At some point he pushed a wad of wet cloth into my mouth to stifle the noise I was making. It took some time to realize it was my own sweaty, balled-up boxers. My nostrils were filled with my own scent. By then his hips were grinding into my quivering ass cheeks, and his balls were rubbing up against my own.He was finally all the way in. I could feel all of him inside of me, a thick rod of fire. I was quaking with pain. It was something I'd never get used to, I realized.

“Damn,” he grunted. He sounded out of breath. “This is harder than I thought it'd be!” His hands were touching me, eagerly feeling up my defenseless body as I sweated and strained, but I was only dimly aware of it. “Feels amazing, though. Your body feels fucking amazing. I like the way you clench. Did I clench up this much? No...don't answer that. Tell me this, though – how is it for you?” He was smirking. I knew he was smirking.

I could only moan pitifully into my own boxers. I'd drooled through them in my delirium, a pool of it growing cold under my cheek as it soaked into the fabric of the sofa. He pinched my ass, and I jerked, kicked. “Figured as much,” he said smartly. His fingers slipped beneath my hips and found my soft cock, grabbed hold of it. He pulled back let it lay pinned beneath my balls and his. “I didn't like it either, you know. When you did this tome. You remember that?”

I nodded into the sofa. He slapped my ass again, the entire thing vibrating around the thick pole that was impaling my innards. It's sheer hardness told me how much he was enjoying himself. “Speak up, trash.”

“I remember,” I cried through the boxers, but all that came out was a muffled, useless groan.

“Good.” He was moving inside of me. His cock was inching its way out, leaving a fresh trail of fire in its wake. Each move he made sent jolts of pain up my spine, deep into my stomach. Even in the most violent of my past encounters, the cocks that taken me did so with ample lube and prodding, as a simple way to make things easier and smoother for the aggressor. Never before had anyone done this to me with the express purpose of causing me pain. It was so much worse than I ever could have expected. I knew then that I'd totally underestimated what Ben was capable of - even if it was simply what I myself was capable of.

His cock finally squished out of me, and everything below my hips sagged and tightened at once, nearly making me sick. I felt his fingers at my rear again, spreading my cheeks – fingering me, inspecting me. It hurt, but mostly it was just numb. “Huh.” He sounded unsure. “A little blood there. Not much, though – I thought there'd be more. Huh. Doesn't matter...I think you got the message anyhow.” He fingered my limp cock and stepped away from the sofa as I whimpered through my nose. “Don't go anywhere. Don't even move.”

He left the room and went into the kitchen, where I heard the cabinets open with a crash. I realized I'd been holding my breath, and I let my body relax for the moment, panting through my nose and sinking into the sofa. I remember being angry at myself for healing so quickly. My insides were throbbing, as if they'd never been raped before.

He was back a moment later. “Hold still.” He pulled my arms behind my back. I felt the bite of hard plastic against my skin as he pulled a zip-tie around my wrists and tied it off, binding them together. It wasn't the pleasantly soft grip of knotted cloth, or even the cold binding of handcuffs, with their generous inches of slack. It was sharp and merciless, just shy of cutting off circulation to my fingers. My hands weren't going anywhere now. It was fast, and I'd had no time to question it. I was just a naked man-bitch draped over the edge of a sofa, letting him do what he would. Just one night of this, I thought yet again, fooling myself. Then it's over. Even scales, clean slate. One night…

I heard a lid snap open as I tried to steady my breathing. His fingers were at my ass again, and they were filled with something slick and greasy that he pushed firmly into my hole. I knew it was the same shortening I'd used on him weeks before. “Don't think this means I'm going easy on you,” he growled. His fingers left my chute even as he said this – he'd lubed me up, but I knew it wouldn't be nearly enough to ease much of the coming pain. It was only there to ease his reentry. “I don't want to spend all my energy breaking you in...I also don't want to have to take you to the hospital later.” His slick hand gripped my ass cheek and pinched. Hard. “What do you say, buddy?”

“Thank you,” I grumbled wordlessly into the boxers, and his fingers let me be.

“Good.” Again there was no warning for what came next, no fingering, no coaxing. He simply grabbed my hips with his slippery hands and rammed his cock back in to my ass, every inch of it. One moment I was empty and aching, and the next his pubes were grinding into my ass cheeks while the girth of his cock split my hole wide open. I was right – it wasn't nearly enough lube. I shrieked into the boxers as my body convulsed against the brutal invasion, clenching despite myself – but he was already fucking me, already hammering his cock into my burning asshole with the blunt rhythm of a piston, as if I were nothing to him but a hole to be used.

I twisted my body, trying to push his hips and his stomach away from me – but the zip-tie held tight, and my straining muscles did nothing to loosen them. He held my hips down against the arm of the sofa with one strong hand and grabbed the back of my neck with the other, squeezing hard, keeping me pinned down. “The fuck you think you're going...not going anywhere...” He was breathing hard, growling his words through clenched teeth, the sound of a man hard at work. All the while his hips pounded against my ass, stabbing deep into me with brutish glee. I felt his eyes pouring over my naked, sweaty body as I thrashed and wailed uselessly beneath him, wracked with penetrating pain. I felt a hot splash of wetness hit my back, then another – he was spitting on me.

I eventually caught my breath between the muffled shrieks that were pouring out of throat, and somewhere above the quick swells of feverish pain I found my thoughts again. There was no fighting this, not now. Maybe I could have fought him off before he'd pinned me down and tied my wrists together, but now…? I had to adapt, or suffer. 

I forced myself to relax from the waist down, made my hole open up and let him in as best I could. The piercing friction of his rigid, semi-dry cock as it tunneled into me was terrible, but I had to bare it somehow. Had to make myself do it. It was the only thing I could control at that point. I knew these things, deep down. I'd learned these lessons years before. I couldn't clench against a brutal fucking; there was no real defense against it, and it would only make it hurt more. I had to meet the attack head on with my own pathetic form of aggression: pushing my fuck-chute out to meet it.

I couldn't even take a full breath between each merciless thrust, much less concentrate, but I did it. Soon enough the sound of his fucking shifted from sharp, angry slaps to smashing, semi-sloppy thuds as I pushed my agonized sphincter out against the onslaught. Between this maneuver, the spreading slickness of the grease, and our own sweat, the pain began to subside – but only barely.

This is just the same as any other time you got it bad, I told myself as he pounded me into the sofa, but I knew it wasn't. I'd been used by strangers and bad men, exploited, thrashed...but I'd never been fucked – hard – by someone who knew me well enough to hate me this much. I didn't know what he'd do, how far he would take it. I was scared of him, and I couldn't hide it. I knew he could feel my fear as it quaked through my body and around his pummeling cock. I was gasping through my nose, practically crying. Though I was keeping myself open to his fucking, my whole body was instinctively shying away from every thrust he made, trying to wriggle through the couch and finding nowhere to go. His hold on my my neck only intensified, and his thrusts punched into me as deep as he could get them. He was grunting and growling like a bear, enjoying being on top just as much as I ever had.

The pain was fading now, as it always did, no matter how ravenous the fucking. The soothing numbness was settling into my bowels and my hole, despite the fact that he was still fucking me rotten. The numbness left room for the other sensations that had been fluttering deep inside of me for some time now – the piercing pleasure of his cock slamming into and over my swollen prostate. Each pained shriek I made became more and more forced as the pleasure grew and took over, and it became a chore not to let it seep into my voice.

His hand left my neck and he shoved it underneath our hips. I felt it close around my cock – my rock hard cock. Fuck. I may have been lost in pain and even fear, but my body had been enjoying itself the entire time. For some reason, I didn't think he'd be appreciative if this in his current mood. I was right.

“God-fucking-damn it,” Ben snapped above me, out of breath. “I knew I should've just fucked you dry...”

“I can't help it –” I started, before I remembered my words were nothing but muddled grunts vanishing into the boxers that had been shoved into my mouth. Despite this, he pulled my cock hard enough to melt my grunts into a muffled scream. Even that wasn't enough to make me soft again – not with the tip of his hot cock pinning my sweet spot against the base of my stomach, creating electric webs of pleasure that rippled into the core of my being with each small movement he made. My scream shifted back into breathless groans as soon as his hand left my cock alone.

“I didn't want you to like this!” he roared, like an child throwing a tantrum. White-hot anger was dripping from him along with the spit that flecked across my back.

His cock tore its way out of me as quickly and brutally as it had entered, leaving my hole throbbing with searing ache and traitorous bliss. He grabbed my ankles and wrenched me around onto my back, facing him. I couldn't resist him; I was little more than a breathing sex doll. The living room was completely dark, now that night had fallen behind the closed curtains. The only light came from the harsh bulbs in the kitchen behind him. Their glow enveloped his powerful frame from behind even as he obscured it, creating a soft, cold halo that accentuated every bulge and slope of his muscled arms and shoulders and hips. He was shining with the sweat of his exertion, absolutely covered in it, just as I was. The finer bits of his features were largely bathed in shadow between the rays of white light, the same shadow that fell over my own quivering body beneath him.

Where his shadow shifted over my form I saw pale skin alight with red blush and shimmering sweat. The room smelled of sweat and fear, sharp and sour. My bruised ass was resting on the arm of the sofa, pushing my hips up toward his and putting my cock on display over my flat, heaving stomach. It was indeed hard – as hard as I'd ever seen it. It bobbed lewdly above my naval with each hitched breath I took through my strained nostrils, a pearl of smeared precum glistening at the tip. It filled me with equal parts shame, pride, and fear. His eyes were on it, and his brow narrowed. He sneered, and he was still, somehow, handsome for it. “I should have been meaner,” he said softly. He touched my cock, running his fingers up and down the length of the shaft. Gripped it. The hard edges of his face melted for just a moment, filling with a softer lust and even a wispy sort of wonder. It brought a quiet moment with it, silent but for our ragged breathing as he held my engorged sex in his strong hand and watched me tremble beneath him. Our eyes were vanishing into one another's during those long, searing seconds, unblinking and without shame. He almost looked...pleased.

His eyes fluttered, and he blinked. He pushed my thighs apart and towered over me, leaned into me until his face was lost in shadow. “Gonna fix this real quick...” My ass had been so thoroughly ravaged that I almost didn't notice when he shoved his cock back back into it. Instead of pummeling me this time, be began to slowly roll his hips into me. It made the heated pleasure in my gut grow steadily. He was humping right into my prostate, my sweet spot, and I began to writhe beneath his hands. My cock was straining for release, thrumming with a pleasure so sharp and intense that it felt like a dull needle was punching deep into my throbbing piss slit with each slow, deliberate thrust he took. I moaned desperately into the boxers and clenched my eyes shut. The skin of my wrists pulsed around the zip-tie as my heart beat even faster. I grabbed the sofa beneath my raised hips with white knuckles as every sinew between my jaw and my knees tensed in ignorant anticipation.

“Don't know why you fucked me for so long, if you like it this much,” he whispered harshly between his labored grunts of effort. He took hold of my cock and began to jerk me off. It wasn't sweet, wasn't tender. It was fast and urgent and methodical, a firm grip that was still light enough to glide over the velvet skin of my swollen sex. I jerked and spasmed in his hands as the pleasure enveloped every part of me, making sounds not unlike the mewling of a muzzled cow. “Then again, I can see why you did it now.” I felt a glowing ball of heat and ecstasy grow deep in my gut, and my cock stiffened in his gliding grip. He was still fucking me, still massaging my prostate with his cock. “I've never been this – this fucking turned on before. I can do anything I like to you...” My balls shrank up into my body as my hips pumped desperately into his waiting hand. “Anything I want...” I felt my bowels and my hole clench tightly around every inch of his kneading cock, felt every tube of my groin pulse – and then I was coming, hard, into his hand. I bellowed deeply into the boxers, every muscle of my body straining to push the river of jism up the length of my hard cock. It spurt through his fingers in steaming white ropes, showering my flexing stomach and chest and neck with a massive load of hot cum.

I collapsed backward onto the sofa with a weak moan as the spasms of my orgasm subsided, seeing white light at the edges of my vision as my blood roared in my ears. His hips were still pumping, and his was still gliding over my cock. “Damn, you came a lot. You liked that, buddy?” His voice seemed very far away.

I only nodded, eyes half shut. So spent was I that my ass had all but fallen open around his cock. It was still hard after all this time, as girthy as it was long. Still fucking me, slowly. His fingers were gripping my wet, slick cock as the hypersensitivity of post-orgasm crept into it. His other hand was at the head of my cock, where his palm pushed down into it...and began to polish it in slow, circular motions. The pleasure intensified, until it had morphed into something altogether different. I twitched, my eyes suddenly open wide as I looked him over, hoping he would see what he was doing to me.

He could see it, all right. He was watching me closely, intently and with pleasure. The involuntary jerking of my body, the desperate, confused expressions rippling across my features as his hands did their work. When my eyes met his, his mouth widened into a malicious grin. It transformed his lovely face into something menacing and strange, like Lucifer in his angelic form. “What – you've never had anybody do this to you before?” He laughed shortly, because he already knew the answer. No one had ever paid this much attention to my cock. “Damn, you're in for a treat. Say what you want about Tammy, but she knew how to make me beg...” His tongue passed over his lips. How could someone so gorgeous want me this badly? “You think you're gonna beg?” he asked. His slippery palm quickened in its polishing, sliding easily over the head of my cock and its thick, slippery layer of wet cum. “I do.” It was an impossibly slick, extreme sensation that was now much closer to pain than it was to pleasure. My cock remained hard by way of sheer physical stimulus, shooting bolts of razor-sharp bliss into my groin and stomach and up my spine.

It was too much – way too much. I'd never felt anything close to this intensity before. My body was twisting away from his hands now, flopping like a worm. My mind was reeling, thoughts dissolving into basic swells of instinct, fear, pain. I yelped hysterically into my boxers, tears streaming down my cheeks. He was turning me into a frantic animal, and he knew it. He grinned down at me, polishing faster and faster, pinching the base of my cock between long, merciless pulls. His hard tool grew inside of me as he tortured my cock, filling me up to the brim, and the slow pace of his fucking began to quicken.

I tried to beg, tried to scream, but – even if I hadn't been gagged with my own boxers – all I could produce were frantic wails that escaped through my flaring nostrils like sonic, shrieking eels. I couldn't think, couldn't breath. Every part of me, body and soul, had fused into the fiery knot of sensation that was my crotch. My back arched violently and my legs thrashed and jerked on either side of his rolling hips, but he held me still. How long this went on I couldn't say, but it could have been hours. My cock went limp at some point, but still he polished its burning red head, and still it screamed its anguish into my bowels. He was squeezing my balls as well, pulling them just hard enough to ache tremendously, creating a dull pain amidst the acute, torturous storm of sensation that was like a drop of milk clouding a jug of water. How he kept fucking me, with all the attention he paid to the methodical torture of my intimate parts, I'll never know. I was far beyond caring.

In a single, imperceptible instant, his hands had left my tormented cock and balls and slammed into my chest, pinning me down again. His hips and his tool were pummeling my enslaved man-cunt as hard as before – harder. He was leaning over my body now, folding me in half – crushing me, pushing the air out of my lungs. He pushed my thighs toward my face, stretching my ass open while he fucked it. The intense blooms of pleasure were long gone, leaving only the familiar violation of his cock bursting into my semi-slick bowels and sliding out again, over and over and over. My ass was inflamed, gaping and loose, all but collapsed from my exhaustion and the abuse it had suffered. I felt like a hole, a thing – physically and mentally. I was a toy, getting used, and the fact that it was Ben doing the using made it all the more humiliating. There was no armor of anger to hide behind with Ben – only guilt. Only shame.

As the pain of the torture faded from my groin, my thoughts began to reform in my head. I could see my feet far above me caught in the light of the distant kitchen, hairy toes curling on either side of his head. His features were smeared in shadow, making a monster out of him. I wasn't just scared of him anymore. I was terrified.

“Tighten up,” he growled, and slapped my ass. “Go on. You can't be done yet. Make me feel it. Make me fill you up.” I tried, but I couldn't tell if it was working. He began to slap my thighs, stomach, balls, ass, invoking a rain of fresh, sharp pain. “I'm gonna keep doing this until you tighten'll be over nice and quick if you'd just tighten up...” 

His face darkened when this didn't work. His hand slid up my spent body and closed around my throat. He squeezed, and I was quite suddenly unable to breath. “Make it tight, Johnny. Not gonna ask again...” His voice was dead with loathing, but I knew the threat was real. This was vengeance. He was still thirsty for it - a thirst I knew then was too great to be quenched in a single night.

I choked for air, and I finally found the muscles I needed. I made them obey me for survival's sake, and I felt the rim of my ass pucker around his cock. He purred happily at the newfound friction just as I whimpered at the return of the pain, and his hand left my throat. The wet wad of my boxers fell out of my mouth as I gasped for breath between aching jaws, clear, miserable moans dropping from my lips that sounded more like sobbing. He didn't seem to care. He leaned back and turned my body to the side, finding a new position to fuck me to completion.“Fuck man, I don't think I'm ever gonna untie you...”

A sudden rush of adrenaline shot through me as his cock found new, biting places to invade, and I finally remembered who I was. This had gone too far, become much more than we'd agreed on, and I didn't know where he would draw the line – or if he even planned to draw one at all.

I assessed the situation through the congested physical haze of the assault. He was lost in the sensation of fucking me, eyes closed, mouth half-open, pelvis butting into my tailbone. He had me turned nearly onto my side, pushing one leg up to my chin and leaving the other to dangle on the carpet below my limp cock. I braced myself and bent my free leg at the knee, pulled it back, and kicked him in the chest. Hard.

His eyes opened wide as I used every ounce of my remaining strength to propel him off of me – which was considerable enough to launch him across the room and into the far wall. He grunted and lost his balance, nearly fell. My feet were on the floor by then, and I was pushing myself up, and then I was standing. My arms were still zip-tied behind my back, but I could run. I lurched for the front door, legs drained of strength and wobbling beneath my hips. I didn't care that I was naked – in fact, I wanted the neighbors to see me. I wanted them to know I was there, tied up and in danger. I wanted them to call the police, wanted them to save me. I was delirious from my ordeal, not thinking straight at all.

I hit the door hard. I turned my body, trying to get at the knob with my bound hands. It was locked. I was screaming for help, but my voice was thin, throat numb.

He was on me in no time, pulling my hair, wrenching my arms, yanking me away from the door. “You fucking bitch!” he shouted. He flung me back onto the sofa. The fabric burned my bare skin as I slid across it. “I'm not fucking done!” He was fully illuminated by the light from the kitchen as he rushed at me, hands in fists, his handsome face a mask of rage. His cock was hard and huge and red, stiff and angry as it shook between his sinewy hips. “Couldn't take it for just one night? After all the shit you put me through?” His open hand crashed down into my face with a crushing slap, making my ears ring. His face was inches from mine a moment later, blue eyes all but glowing. “You ruined my life!”

I kneed him in the gut, and his breath left him in a single, rushing whoosh. I shouldered him off of me and stumbled toward the kitchen, the back door. I'd only made it two steps into the white light when his thick forearm wrapped around my throat, pulling me back into the living room while I thrashed and wailed impotently. I stomped on his foot with my heel, and he shouted obscenities – but he didn't let go. He punched me in the ribs, hard enough to knock the fight out of me for more than a moment. His skin was on fire against mine, alight with adrenaline and anger and whatever else he had in store for me. He wasn't speaking anymore – just snarling, manhandling me like an unruly child.

He shoved me down onto my back over the edge of the sweat-soaked sofa, and then he punched me in the stomach. The pain and shock that followed made my body go limp, made the world dissolve into a fog of grays and browns. He pushed my legs apart and grabbed them at the back of the knees, holding me firmly in place as he grunted and slid his cock home one last time. When I started to recover from his blow, I started to fight back as well as I could, which wasn't much. He simply punched me again – in the face. I saw stars.

I was only dimly aware of all that came after that, though I got the impression he took his time. I remember laying limp and dazed after the second or third time he hit me, legs bobbing lifelessly above me as he dug his fingers into my thighs and plowed my utterly conquered hole with a lusty snarl on his sweaty face. I remember seeing my own cock grow as it was pushed into my face by his brutal fucking, hard again with a life of its own, thought he was ignoring it altogether and letting it flop. He began to choke me toward the end of it, until I began to lose consciousness. He didn't seem to notice. He was saying something, panting an unending string of venomous verbal abuse, as much for his own pleasure as to humiliate me. “I knew it...knew you couldn't take more than you dished out...knew I could give you more than you could handle, even a professional bitch boy like you...fucking badass thief, give me a fucking break...fucking shit-talker...fucking faggot...”

There was an explosion of wet heat deep inside of me, and his hard body was quaking against mine as he moaned almost angrily, rutting deeply with a roaring finality as the darkness took me completely. Then...well, I don't remember anything after that. I was out like a light.




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