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I'm kneeling on the floor, my knees aching from the thin carpet covering the concrete, the tops of the stockings tight on my thighs and her pussy cream slowly drying to a crust on my face. How did I end up like this? I'd cry, but there are no tears left in me, and making matters worse, the final degradation, the feeling of wetness even now sliding down my thighs to slowly soak into the stocking. I was beginning to get turned on by her abuse, my humiliation and the degrading acts she makes me perform.
It wasn't always this way. Graduating high school I'd looked forward to university, a new start far from home. It wasn't that I was mistreated or picked on in high school, just overlooked. I didn't really date, spent most of my time studying, and didn't really have any close friends. At an age when most of my peers were running around partying and hooking up I was largely below the radar. I'm not bad looking, blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a tight body from gymnastics. Its just I never really felt comfortable with people in my school. Every once in a while I'd try to go out on a date, but after shutting down every attempt to feel me up or anything beyond a quick hug the guys began to just leave me alone.
Finally, university! I was looking forward to moving into my res room and meeting my new roommate. Well...I was looking forward to moving into my new res room at least. When I arrived she was already there, her stuff laid out on the bed closest to the window, some kind of industrial/trance remix blasting while she threw things into the drawers on her side of the room. Hardly an auspicious start, I was revolted by her music, she was making a mess all over, and she looked at me as I walked in without the slightest indication of welcome, or even interest.
I knew the type, always dressed in ragged black, army boots, chip on her shoulder two miles wide, black lipstick, nail polish, the whole nine yards. Somehow I'd managed to get paired up with a goth urban death ghoul, I'd seen her kind in my high school, always wondered if they were about to go Columbine on us.
I managed a smile, walking over and holding out my hand. "Cheryl" I introduced myself, waiting with my hand outstretched. She grunted and carried on unpacking her things. I didn't bother trying again, just turned back to my side and began my own unpacking. This was to be the gist of our relationship during the first two months we shared the room, indifference weighted with moments of active dislike.
For my part this period was one of escalating anger as I found the environment impossible to study when she was home blasting her god-awful "music", but fortunately she was rarely in the room. Often I wouldn't see her for days, which was great for me as I enjoyed the solitude, but when she came home it was seldom alone. The girl was such a whore! There was a different guy with her weekly, sometimes more often than that. In the one conversation we had had in two months together she informed me that if there was a post-it on the door it meant stay out.
It was mid-October when it all came to a head. For the third day in a row I came back from dinner to find a post-it on the door. I'm not trying to be a bitch about this, but I figured enough was enough, I wasn't spending another evening in the library because my roommate was a slut. I jammed my key in the lock and swung the door open.
She was on top, her skirt still on, her shirt off, pinching her nipples as she rode the guy lying below her on the bed. As I walked in she spun to look at me, hand covering her breasts as the guy below her pushed her off and to the side.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" she screamed, jumping off the bed and walking towards me, "You didn't see the fucking post-it?"
I looked at her, "I'm not staying out of my room just because you'll fuck anything with a penis", I snarled back, though backing of a step as she continued to advance. "If you want to be a whore do it somewhere else"
She stopped, her lips white with fury, neither of us noticing the guy slipping out of bed and out of the room closing the door behind him. "What did you call me?" she asked, her voice soft but colder than a winter wind.
"I called you a fucking slut" I responded, noticing the quaver in my voice as my back hit the closed door behind me, "This is my room too."
She stepped forward again, standing so close her bare nipples were almost brushing my shirt. "What did you call me? A slut? A whore?" Before I could even respond she slapped me, the sound banging through the room like the crack of a whip, a red hot pain spreading across my cheek. Even as I was raising my hand to my cheek a second slap hit the other side.
"Say it again," she snarled, "Come on bitch, show me how tough you are." I was holding my hands up in front of my face, trying to protect myself, sobbing and mumbling for her to leave me alone. Out of nowhere she punched me, the closed fist striking my unprotected stomach and doubling me over with pain. I'd never been in a fight, never been punched before, and as the air rushed out of my lungs I nearly fell to the ground.
A searing pain in my scalp brought me back up as she pulled me upright by a handful of hair and slapped my face again. "What's wrong bitch, not feeling so shit hot now?" she mocked me, dragging me by my hair to the middle of the room. A second punch to the stomach sent me tumbling to the ground, and a well placed kick kept me there, even bare footed the pain of her kick lanced trough my side like a bullet.
"What?" she asked, walking slowly around my prostrate form, "I can't hear you, maybe you need some help speaking up." She drew her foot back for another kick as I instinctively curled up in a ball.
"Stop, don't" I pleaded, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again." I was sobbing on the ground, all anger washed away in my terror of her hitting me again. She crouched down beside my head, grabbing a handful of my hair and lifting my head up. Through tear blurred eyes I could see her matted pubic hair under her black skirt, I could smell her sex even through my running nose as I sobbed.
She leaned forward, and suddenly spat in my face. I swatted at her from my prone position, hitting her arm but with little force. Her eyes widened, pure rage flowing across them as she hauled her arm back and slapped me across the face while still holding my head up by my hair. The pain was incredible, the force of the blow far beyond her earlier slaps, my scalp feeling as though the handful of hair had been ripped out by its roots. I tried to scream, but she'd already let my head drop, stood and drawn her foot back. Even as I prepared to shriek the kick landed on my side and I curled around the ball of fire it released in my guts. A second kick smacked into my back, straightening me back out in a rigid pose of pure agony, before a third straight to the lower belly finished the job and I fainted.
I awoke to her prodding me with her toe, the pain in my back and stomach barely diminished from the initial blows. Terror slammed through me like another one of her kicks, she was going to keep beating me, she was going to beat me to death.
If I had any fight in me it was gone, all I wanted was to not be hit again. Catching my breath and gasping through the sobs I began to beg her not to hurt me any more, pleading with her to stop.
She stood above me, her breasts heaving with the exertion of beating me. "You want me to stop, bitch? You've had enough?" she taunted me, prodding me with her toes again eliciting another whimper. "You want to say sorry now, apologize for what you did?"
I was beyond caring, beyond pride, I was mumbling my apologies through my sobs, incoherently promises that I would respect her, anything else that came to mind. Nonetheless, as thoroughly defeated as I was I still hesitated when she said "I want you to apologize properly, I want you to kiss my feet" she smiled, a vile mocking smirk as she moved one foot towards my face.
My hesitation must have been obvious as she stopped where she was and then kicked me in the head instead. It wasn't a hard blow, she knew she had already won, just enough to remind me of how terrified I really was and to start my begging all over again.
As the foot moved forward again I wasted no time, rolling onto my stomach, groveling before her as I leaned forward and kissed her bare foot. "I'll tell you when to stop", she said, a smile playing evilly across her face as she demeaned me, "You have a lot to make up for."
I said nothing, crying as I played my lips across her bare feet, kissing her toes and foot as she presented them. Drawing back she moved to sit on her bed, I began to stand up, the ordeal finally over.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, "Did I tell you to stand? Did I tell you to move?" I froze, anger welling up in me again. Who did she think she was? I began to stand again, when, like a shot from a sniper's rifle a fist struck the side of my face, ringing my ear with a circle of flame and filling my mouth with the taste of blood.
"You are a stupid cunt," she swore at me, kicking me repeatedly as I writhed "Haven't you figured out yet who's the boss here?" She punctuated each work with another kick, as I lay there. I reached out, grabbing her ankle, and before she could wrench her foot out from my hands I drew it to my lips and began to rain kisses on it, mumbling I'm sorry.
She finally pulled her foot free, spitting something like "That's more like it" at me as she strode back to sit on her bed again. "Come here" she snapped, beckoning me imperiously, "Crawl over to me." Without a moment's hesitation I crawled like an animal to her, bending down to kiss her feet again as soon as I arrived. For a while she sat there, watching me kiss her feet, occasionally telling me to switch feet or kiss a particular toe. Finally, placing a foot on my forehead, she pushed my head back making me look up.
I was shocked to see her skirt was above her waist and she was stroking her clit, the hair on her pubis matted and damp. "I'm glad to see you've figured out what happens when you don't do what I say," she looked into my eyes, a smirk on her face, "But I really think the apology isn't enough. You see, I was having a really good time until you decided to barge in and fuck up my night, and so I think you should make it up to me."
She looked at me, her finger moving faster across the top of her pussy as she watched the impact of what she said slowly making its way through my mind. I couldn't, I wouldn't, and yet if I didn't she would only beat me until I did it anyway. Tentatively I reached up, prepared to do what I had to to end this.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she spat, watching as I pulled my hand back like I was burned.
"I thought you wanted me to..." I trailed off as I stammered, unable to say what I thought.
"You thought I wanted you to what?" she demanded, obviously enjoying my discomfort, enjoying the view of me on my knees before her dying of shame as I prepared to tell her what I thought she wanted.
"I thought you wanted me to...touch you...uh, masturbate you." I choked it out, my face hot and red.
She laughed, "Stupid girl," she snickered, as relief ran through me, she didn't want me to do it, "Its not your fingers I'm expecting you to use." She continued, the smirk growing wider on her face as what she said sank in.
Quick as lightning her fingers were intertwined in my hair, drawing my head back so I was staring straight into her eyes. "You know what happens if you don't do what you're told, don't you?" she asked, all saccharine sweetness. I nodded, numb and broken, already knowing I was about to do the unthinkable for her (little did I know how far from the truly unthinkable this was).
She kept her eyes locked on mine as she drew my unresisting head forward, taking her time, letting me feel each moment as her wetness and scent grew closer. Suddenly she stopped, dragging again on my hair to hold me in place. Her pussy was two inches away, I could see every detail of the puffy reddened lips, the bead of cream glistening on the damp pubic hair surrounding those lips, the clitoris standing like a tiny penis, pink and wet.
"I want you to kiss it," she murmured, her voice husky with excitement, "I want you to lean forward, and slowly kiss my pussy. Kiss your new owner." Revulsion swept through me at the idea, so strongly I was almost nauseated, and yet, somewhere in the darkest depth of my soul something must've clicked as I felt the slightest warmth in my own pussy even as she said it.
I leaned forward, the marine scent of her sex mixed with a musky smell I would later learn was the smell of a man's cock. I paused, hesitating, she didn't force me further. She knew I was going to obey, knew I was too afraid of what she would do to me not to. Rather than make me perform this demeaning act she was willing to wait, to have me do it on my own, to savour the act of submission she knew would break my will.
I did it, my lips caressed her wetness, unbidden my tongue touched them, my first taste of a woman. "Nice," she murmured, her hands returning to my head, "Now please me, and do it slowly. I want you to realize every moment exactly what you're doing. I want you to kneel here between my legs licking my pussy, while I cum in your face, knowing that this is your life from now on."
I went cold at this, at the idea that this was not a one time thing, that she would expect me to do this again and again, and yet I didn't stop. Deep down inside I had known the moment I kissed her foot she was going to use me from then on. As her thighs clenched around my head and the wetness of her first orgasm of the night smeared my face and coated my tongue I knew she had won.
Tonight I am dressed in the stockings she likes and was wearing a teddy style nightie that matched until she pulled it off of me as she threw me face down over the bed. I heard the belt sliding out of her pants, but have learned that its worse if I struggle. With a whistle the belt sailed down, lashing across my quivering ass, a second and a third followed before I lost count and just began begging. It never helps, she punishes me as she sees fit and stops when she feels like it.
She saw me last night, talking to a guy from one of my classes. I'm not permitted to date, and she felt I was too close to him. She had gone out, she's seeing some guy from one of the local garage bands, I'm guessing she had sex since she likes to hurt me after she's gotten laid. Says it reminds her of how we first hooked up (her term for enslaving, degrading and torturing me).
I know what comes next anyway, she's had me lick her pussy clean, the taste of his semen still fresh in my mouth, she's gone down the hall to buy some bottled water, when she gets back she'll probably want me to tongue her asshole. So I kneel here waiting, knowing the truth. As my wet pussy shows, even if I could escape her, I'll never escape what she's made me.