Escape

As his weight pressed against her, into the chilly hardness of the porcelain sink, she felt him grip her hair. As he tugged her head back, he found her lips with his free hand and parted them, forcing 3 of his fingers in her mouth, then deeper. It was a game he played, they played, where every inch of her body was his, to control, to manipulate, to own. And own it, he did. The streaks of red on her pale white skin, the purples, blues, and blacks, all signified that ownership. He kissed her body with his lips, his cock, his fists, belts, canes, and whips, each strike, each blow, making her more beautiful. He controlled every element of her, not only her skin, but her breathing, her food, and her clothing. He loved seeing her convulse and shake. As his cock ground against her ass, he pressed his weight harder into her, mashing her against the sink. Then he pulled her head back painfully far and gagged her with his fingers.

In the small bathroom, the only sound was his panting and the gurgling of a cunt desperate to breathe and not throw up. It was a losing battle, and she knew he savored every sound her throat made as she struggled more and more. Finally, her body rebelled and she puked, uncontrollably, over herself and her chest. She could hear his smile as she shook violently, throwing up the nice breakfast he'd made for her. He did that a lot, thought it was funny, to give her something nice to eat and then expel it. Then he'd punish her with dog food or something later for "not appreciating" his meal. He kicked her legs apart, spread her ass cheeks, and shoved inside her ass in one painful thrust. He pounded her hard, using his hand to smear the filth all over her face and chest. He called her a cheap little whore who was lucky to have him, reaming her already broken ass for all it was worth. He gripped her hair, slammed her cheek against the mirror, and spasmed as he filled her bowels with his seed.

After shaking against her, he jerked her backward hard into the wall behind them and laughed when she slumped down, holding the back of her head. When he presented her with his filthy cock, since he never allowed her to prep, she opened her mouth reflexively and began cleaning him. She only got sick once, and he helped to smear it over her face and tits before letting her resume cleaning him. He then told her to get them drinks as soon as she was done cleaning up her ass. The puke and vomit got to stay. She whimpered as she pushed out a mix of his cum and her shit, wiping well before washing her hands. She looked at the broken messy thing in the mirror and smiled. She had spent the morning struggling with dark thoughts but now, they were exorcised, gone. She felt alive as only she could after being used.

She got them their drinks and let the men there watching the game grope her. Their fingers crudely explored every inch of her body, her holes. Some slapped her, bit her, not hard, just relishing the chance to let off some steam. She was only there for them, at that moment, to be pushed around and treated like shit. In the hours that followed, every man there would fuck her, fist her, and most would hit her as well. They would kiss every inch of her but her face, leaving it intact for the world to see. The rest she could cover in what others would call shame, but what she called pride. She would drink with them until all she remembered were moments, flickering in and out. Pain as her ass was taken, screaming when someone punched her tit, throwing up cum and piss from a bloated stomach, and then, when the night was done, the belt around her neck, choking the air and fight out of her. Her Daddy kissed her goodnight, pulling tighter, as she pissed herself and everything went away.

When she finally woke, she was alone in bed and it was almost 1pm on Sunday. She smelled foul and slowly walked to the shower, crying as the hot water poured over the bruises and marks that crisscrossed her body. Slowly, she washed her body and got out, moving tenderly. Then she applied cream to any scrapes or places where she'd had light bleeding. She glanced in the bedroom and saw the bed had been stripped, likely to wash away her stink. She brushed her teeth and rinsed twice, before combing her hair straight. She picked up the big t-shirt set out for her, smelling of his cologne, and headed into the living room. Food was waiting for her, as he kissed her head, and squeezed her tight.

"How are you feeling? Are you ok? I know last night got wild," he said to her.

"No, no it was perfect," she said, with a weak, raspy voice. "You made me feel like I was with him again, but, the mornings after, they never felt like this," she said, holding onto him. She cried a bit, but it was a cry of release, happy and safe. He kissed her tears and wiped her face for her, carefully massaging the places where she was bruised the most. She ate in silence, only making soft grunts, as he kneaded her battered body. After she was done, he lifted her up and carried her to bed. There, they quietly made love, gently, but it still hurt. But again, the difference was the love. She wanted him in her after he came, his weight on her. Everything was the same as the dark times before, except with him, he held and loved her after. She dozed back asleep, spooned, where she belonged.