Beth Likes It Ch. 02

When I awoke, it was early in the morning, but Ben was already up, and he had a fire burning in the fireplace downstairs. "Get your clothes out of the closet," he said. "And get 'em out of the drawers too. Get everything."

I was still in my lingerie nighty, which was torn from the rough fucking and whipping he had given me last night, so I just decided not to change, and just to do what he told me to do. So I ran back upstairs and grabbed everything I owned off the hangars in the closet. There were a lot of clothes, and I just threw them on the bed, and I was able to carry about half of them downstairs in one load. I could see what Ben was doing, he was preparing the fireplace to burn my clothes. But I at least expected him to go through them first!

Instead, Ben just looked at me and said "Well, put 'em in there. Throw 'em in the fire. All of 'em. Do it!" He stood there pointing with his little black shovel. I could barely believe it.

"Um... Are you sure?" I asked him. Ben made pretty good money as a heating and ventilation specialist, but it wasn't going to be easy to replace my entire wardrobe.

"Start with those" he said, and pointed at my most expensive jackets. I started to cry.

"Do it," said Ben, and I bent over to pick up my nicest, fur-lined coat. It was mostly soft, brushed leather on the outside, and I think we had spent close to four hundred dollars on it last Christmas. He stared at me as I picked it up, crying softly, and put it in the fire.

"Now that one," he said, pointing at my favorite long green silk dress. I did not have occasion to wear it regularly, as it was too fancy to wear even to an upscale restaurant... It was basically only for special occasions. But I knew I looked great in it, and I knew he liked me in it. But as I picked it up, I cast a glance back at him and I could see a strange and sadistic grin on his face, and his eyes were intense and glowing, drilling holes in me as I moved. All I had on was a ripped, translucent frilly teddy, originally from Victoria's Secret, but it was no longer new since I wore it almost every night to bed, and especially since last night when he ripped it as he fucked and whipped my poor tender bottom from behind.

"Ben...?" I looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would relent. "Can we talk about this?"

"Beth. You stupid, nasty slut. Do you think everything is just going to be the same? Is that what you think?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry, Ben." I started to cry openly as I continued to throw one item after another into the flames.

"The thing is, what are you, Beth? What are you? Are you my wife?"

I wanted to say "Yes", or "I want to be", or "I hope so", but none of those answers seemed right. They seemed dishonest, and although I desperately wanted some sort of answer like that to be true, for there to be some way, or something I could say, some right answer that could make things go back to normal, I just couldn't think of anything. Nothing that was at all true, even to me. I couldn't even look at him, and I couldn't seem to swallow the huge lump in my throat.

"You can't be my wife anymore, Beth. You know that, right?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "I know."

"I cannot have a whore for a wife."

"I know. I am too... too..." I broke off, unable to say it.

"You are too disgusting, Beth. You are too depraved."

He was so right, it felt like a punch in the stomach.

And I wanted to be punched in the stomach, all of a sudden. I wanted to be hurt. I picked up three more dresses from the floor where I had dumped them, three of my favorites, and I threw all three of them into the fire at once. Then I turned towards him, and lifted the front of my nighty.

"You are right, Ben." My pussy was wet as a mop, red and drooling "See?"

I thrust it out for him. I wanted him to know how this whole situation really made me feel. I couldn't find the words, but I wanted him to know. My clitoris was peeking through the folds at the top of my vulva, all swollen red, glistening with moisture. He stared at me as I gyrated, grinding my pelvis up at him uncontrollably. I was smiling through my tears. "See Daddy?"

He stared at me for a long time. Then he asked, "Do you like being raped?"

My face instantly flamed hot with insane shame. I felt like I was sinking into a hole. But also, I was tingling all over, my skin felt like it was aflame with need. "Yes," I said. "I like it." I could hear the sound of the words coming out of my mouth, and they sounded a little funny. They felt true, absolutely true, and that was important to me, that was the most important thing. I could not stand to lie to Ben. But the way I was talking was a bit funny. I realized I was lisping just a little bit, and my voice was just a little more breathy and high-pitched than usual. It struck me suddenly that I sounded like a little girl. "Yes sir," I said, unable to look at him. "Yes sir, I very much like it. My little pussy... likes... (I I started panting)... to be raped."

"Go get the rest of your clothes," said Ben. And I found myself bounding up the stairs giddily, and emptying my drawers in a heap onto the floor, throwing myself onto the pile and grabbing an enormous load, too many to carry, but trying anyway, bounding down the stairs with them, dropping underwear and socks along the way. I ran up to Ben and said "Is this good?" And when he nodded I wheeled around and heaved a tremendous armful into the fire. My pussy was throbbing, and I was filled with embarrassing glee. I had to pee, but I felt like I didn't have time, and as I bounded back up the stairs I worried a little about what would happen if I peed on myself right in front of Ben. Then I had a strange thought: what if my needing to be fucked so hard, to be raped so hard, to be punished so hard, what if all this was really just a need to go to the bathroom? It was a crazy thought, and followed by another one: did I want to go pee in front of the guys at the bar? My mind was racing: did I want to be punched in the bladder, so that my pee would squirt out everywhere? Did I want to be punched in the pussy? Would I cum from being punched there? What if Ben could get his whole huge fist up into my pussy, and punch me inside? Would I be damaged? Would I cum? Would I have a squirting orgasm?

I thought I would, maybe. I had squirted only once, ever, but I knew that if Ben fist-fucked me roughly, if he held me down and punch-fucked me with his huge balled-up fist, that I would squirt again. The thought made me very excited, overwhelmingly so. I couldn't think straight.

I was back downstairs, and throwing all my bras and panties into the fire. I could feel Ben's disgusted eyes on my ass as I excitedly destroyed my entire wardrobe. I ran back upstairs to grab the last of my clothes, and a thought struck me like a lightening bolt: I should burn my nighty too! I should burn everything for him. I should have nothing left to wear!

And that's what I did. I threw in my shoes, every pair, along with the last few items, my last fuzzy sweater, my last pair of panties. I ran up to the mouth of the fire and peered into it. It was like the pit of hell, and I was excited by it, I briefly thought of jumping into it along with my last garments. I turned towards Ben and slithered out of my nighty, and wiggled my hips like a stripper as I tossed it into the flames. Then the strangest words came out of my mouth. I looked at Ben's knees ( I still could not meet his eyes), and once again, in my strange new little girl's voice, I said "Thank you Daddy."

Then I suddenly felt so small, and so ashamed I could barely breathe. I could feel Ben stare at me in utter disgust.

"I am not your 'Daddy,' you perverted little twat." His words were like a punch in the face. I didn't know what to do, how to escape this horrible shame. It was too much for me. I started to cry and hyperventilate at the same time, and I choked and couldn't stop coughing. I fell on the floor, and I suddenly realized I needed to pee so bad that I probably would be unable to make it to the bathroom, I was probably about to have an accident, right in front of Ben.

"I really have to pee!" I yelped, groaning and clutching my crotch with both hands as I squirmed, naked, in front of the fireplace.

"You are sick" said Ben. I watched him as he stood up, removing his leather belt from the loops of his jeans. He walked over to me, towering above me. I watched him lift his arm above his head, holding the belt so it dangled behind him. I was in a fetal position with my hands between my legs. A disjointed thought flashed through my mind, a realization that I now did not own any clothes. What kind a woman does not own any clothes? Then the belt came down.

Ben didn't care where it landed. He was repulsed by me, he was angry, he wanted to hurt me, and he did not hold back.

But to me, the lashes felt like kisses from God. I don't know how else to explain it. They felt cleansing. They felt horribly painful, but also deeply satisfying, like scratching an insane itch. And the strokes that bit especially deep were like orgasms in and of themselves. Yes, I am sure I orgasmed, repeatedly, from the whipping. At a certain point I had peed all over myself, I was rolling around in it, and I remember splaying my thighs for the whip, thrusting up for it, and as Ben slashed my wide-open vulva with stroke after vicious downstroke, I believe he tore right into the flesh of my inner lips. I believe something blistered and split, layers of skin were torn and shredded, and that somehow the injurious depth of those insane, angry strikes threw me into a state of orgasmic overload so intense that I eventually went into convulsions, and he had to stop for fear of causing a seizure.

But when Ben realized that I had not bitten my tongue off, and that my heart was still beating and I was still breathing, he left me in my own pool of piss and blood. And when he came home, he had picked out a whole new wardrobe for me.