A Visit Pt. 01 - Friday

As hazy as I was, it still felt sterile at first, being pried open like that. There was hardly any pleasure in it. I stayed as rigid as a statue, bent over the countertop, the better part of your hand turning inside me with such purpose. It was embarrassing - enough so that I reached initially toward resentment, reasons to buck you off. I was exhausted. Many parts of me were sore. I'd been denied release time & again. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes as you intently worked your fingers into my asshole. Yet, intellectually, I knew this was part of the design. I was familiar enough with the vicious sting of humiliation to recognize it, and to know, if I managed to let go of myself and lean in, the pleasure in this little game would unlock.

So, that is what I tried to do. I walked backwards in my mind, remembering reading your messages that morning, thinking about how excited I'd been when you had suggested cum in each of my holes. I wanted this. I wanted your cock in my ass. And thus my stiffness gave way. I relaxed, giving into your hand inside me. Sinking further into my submission, I let myself enjoy the sensation, the filthy whore I was. After a few moments like that, I let out a high-pitched whine, my "fuck-me-Sir" beacon - your cue I was ready.

It was straightforward from there. You pulled your fingers out, lubed up once more, and pressed into me. Slowly at first, giving me time to adjust and open up to you. I was grateful for that, and again thanked you for it. Your girth had always been difficult to accommodate, and even more so now, bent over the sink, trying to balance on my tip-toes to offer you the appropriate angle for entry. Mentally relaxed as I was, the position remained awkward enough that there was no real repose to find in it at all.

After a short while, as your thrusts got harder and my quiet grunts grew to loud, hungry moans, you hooked your middle fingers into either side of my mouth and pulled backwards, gently but firmly, pushing your cock deeper into my ass each time your hips pressed into me. I hated that you knew I loved the tactile, humiliating pull in my mouth. I whimpered as you fucked me.

And then, the words I had anticipated since you first bent me over the countertop: "look up in the mirror."

Hearing them now, I hesitated, anxious about what I would see as I looked up. You gave me a moment. I hesitated longer. Too long. You pulled much, much harder on my mouth. The friendly, erotic sensation in my cheeks gave way to searing pain. I whined as you used the leverage to force your cock harder and deeper inside of me, practically lifting me off the floor. You tilted my chin upwards.

What stared back at me was wild & unfamiliar. Much more so than it would have been even a moment prior, before I'd hesitated. My hair was messy, my mascara smudged beneath my eyes. My mouth was pulled open into a snarl, the tendons in my neck straining and forming corniced lines down either side of my throat. The whites of my eyes were visible, eyelids wide from the lurch of pain, my face stretched awkwardly by your fingers.

Instinctively, I tried to adjust myself, to rearrange my features in a more aesthetically pleasing way. But you denied this reclamation of dignity, holding me tight as I wriggled, refusing any give on my cheeks. You thrust into me a few more times like that. And then came your follow-up.

"What are you?"

I shifted my gaze toward your reflection, looking into those eyes that have always undone me, those eyes that send me whirling into subspace the moment they spear into mine. And like I had earlier on in the evening, before your arrival, alone with my nerves in front of this very mirror, I began repeating my mantra. Through your fingers, my words were mostly unintelligible, though as I said it over and over, you dropped your hands from my mouth and relocated them to my hips, holding me in place while you rammed my ass as hard as you could. Bent over the counter, I let the words become a way of begging, thanking, and pleading at once. I felt heat building within me, but remembering your instructions from earlier in the night, I fought it as hard as I could.

And then, right there, sent adrift into subspace, the bough broke. As you destroyed my tightest hole over my repeating verbal profession, I ascended fully. Evolved into my truest self, shedding all inhibitions, breaking through the shame into self-actualization. I exploded as I gripped the counter.

"I'm your whore, Sir. I'm your filthy whore. You fucking own me. You fucking possess me, like a dog, like a thing. I'm your whore. I'm your whore, Sir, please don't ever stop, please don't ever send me away. I'm your bitch, your filthy bitch in heat. I'll do anything, Sir, anything you ever want. Please, Sir, break me. Break me in half. Fuck my ass, Sir. Ruin me. Please Sir, please ruin me. Destroy me. Leave me piled in a heap of cum and sweat and tears. Spit on me, Sir. Please, Sir. Please, Sir. I'm your whore, Sir. I'm your filthy whore."

As I came apart, you came hard. I felt you twitch and flood inside me, gasping and grunting. As you did, I quieted, and then we both stilled, almost collapsing into the vanity, panting.

After we caught our breath, you pulled out of me slowly, righted yourself, and began walking back into the bedroom. You called back at me, still curled over the countertop. "Good, whore. I'm glad you've realized your place. Go clean yourself up."

Legs still trembling slightly, I did as you said. Slipping into the washroom, I felt the warmth of your cum between my legs. I smiled.

I had your cum in all three holes.

***

When I emerged, I did so on my knees. As I crawled into the room, I saw you were in bed.

"Time to sleep, pet. You did well today. Come here."

I climbed up, and let you pull me into you. You held me close for a few minutes as my breath finally leveled. You then kissed my head and began to stroke my hair as you whispered something into my ear. I didn't know it would be the night's end design, a final cruelty before the sandman darkened our doorstep.

"You've done well today rediscovering your place beneath me, pet. You'll sleep at the foot of the bed, tonight, like a good whore. Because you were so well-behaved, I've left you a hoodie of mine to sleep in. When you've gotten your fill of cuddles, hop on down there and get your rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The words hit me like a wall of bricks, as they were designed. You were cementing the hierarchy between us for the week ahead, which at once wrenched my gut into knots and flooded my cunt.

I resented this. But I wanted it more.

I said nothing at first, sitting halfway between stunned silence and subspace. And then, jolting to attention, remembering my manners, I thanked you for the offering of kindness. I snuggled into you for another few minutes before taking a deep breath and climbing down toward the foot of the bed. As I got down off the mattress, I realized you'd laid out for me on the floor a sheet, blanket, and pillow. And as promised, atop them, a dark sweatshirt waited for me, too.

Before laying down, I snuggled into the warm hoodie and breathed in deeply, letting your scent flood my senses. Its effect was deeply calming. Its familiarity was not a surprise, but a welcome comfort after the day's ordeals. My figure was bruised and aching, my orifices sore, my muscles drained. And yet, in this place, beneath you, I felt elated. Peaceful. At home. And horny. Ceaselessly, ceaselessly horny.

From under the blanket on the hard hotel carpet, I called out at you a final devotional of gratitude. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for everything today. Thank you for the cum, thank you for the orgasm, thank you for giving me an opportunity to please you. Thank you for the sweatshirt, thank you for my bed. Thank you for it all."

When you called back at me, your tone was loving and gentle, seemingly dissonant given the circumstances - but we both knew better than that.

"You're welcome, whore. Sweet dreams."

I laid there, spent, on the floor at your feet, until I faded from subspace into dreamspace. Holes finally filled, body drained, repeating my mantra over and over.

The sleep took me as hard as you had, and I was glad for it.