Lost the Battle, Won the Whore

Note: so I just threw this together pretty quickly, inspired by an arrogant bastard of a dom that I know. Also I haven't written anything non-academic in years, so I'm not entirely happy with it, but I think it's good enough to get off to, so enjoy it;

*****

"I knew you'd show up." His gaze strayed from the rim of his coffee cup to give her a quick glance up and down. "I was right. You haven't changed a bit."

He hadn't changed either, judging by the arrogance dripping from his tone. It infuriated her. He infuriated her, from the way he passively inspected her body - as if he had the right to judge her - to the way that the mere sound of his voice made excited little bumps rise up on her skin. She wanted to shove them back down. He didn't deserve that kind of reaction out of her and she absolutely hated that he got it, no matter how much she tried to suppress it, no matter how long she had conditioned herself to hate him. One glance-over from those deceptively clear and bright blue eyes and all her efforts had been obliterated.

No. Not this time, she told herself, hardening her resolve. He will not get the better of me this time. She straightened her spine and tightened the sweaty but firm grip she had on the purse strap slung over her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she flashed him her steeliest expression. "Well, you're wrong about that. I have changed."

"Well, we'll see about that." He smirked and looked back down at his coffee cup. Damn him! That stupid, blood-boiling lip curl. How could one simple twitch of the facial muscles be so ferociously arrogant? It made her want to rip her hair out. No, scratch that, she wanted him to rip her hair out. Tugging her head back, tangling his fingers through her hair as he - no. She wasn't going to go there. Not this time.

"Sit down." He nodded towards the cracked red vinyl booth seat across from him as if he was offering. As if he was being polite.

She wanted to continue to standing, but she had come to the unfortunate realization that having the physical high ground did nothing to diminish his power over her. She tried not to let her mind stray to the things he could make her do with just a murmur of his voice, the things he could physically force her into even if she tried to resist... Or at least, that's how it used to be. But things were different now. They were. She reluctantly slid into the booth seat. I'm sitting because I want to, not because he told me to, she told herself. Even without hearing it out loud she knew how childish it was, but she was grasping at straws.

The two of them had barely spoken but already things were not going as she had planned. She wanted to sweep into that tiny street corner diner like a force of nature, full of feminine energy and strength. She wanted to show him that he did not own her - not anymore. She wanted to make him feel the same vast emotional emptiness he had forced upon her, make him regret the way he had treated her. She wanted to extinguish the knowing glint in his eyes, to metaphorically smack the grin off his face. But one minute in his presence and she was already losing control.

Clenching her muscles to stop herself from shaking of nerves, she folded her hands on the Formica tabletop, doing her best to put up a powerful front. If there was anything she had learned over the course of their "relationship", it was that every interaction with him was a fight, a struggle for dominance. She had been retreating for days, weeks, months, but today, this crappy diner, with its stale coffee smell and stubbly green-grey carpeting, would become a battlefield. She had spent too long surrendering to him, battle after battle, but not today. Today it was different. She had lost to his strategies before, but today the war would end - and victory was so close she could almost taste it. Or maybe that was dried maple syrup that had transferred from the surface of the table to her fingers. Either way, she was going to win.

Neither of them spoke as the classic diner sounds of dishes clanging and old men coughing filled the air. She had never been one for staring contests, but her eyes narrowed with determination as she glared daggers at him across the table. He lifted his coffee cup to take a slow sip as he met her gaze with not only calmness, but amusement. It pissed her the fuck off, and her eyes slowly began to water until she couldn't hold back anymore and blinked, breaking the eye contact with a silent exhale of defeat.

The old, stained ceramic mug clinked as he set it back on the table. She tried to avoid looking at the way his fingers curled around the mug handle; they were slender but strong and perfect for choking the life out of someone - she could almost feel herself gasping for air as the intrusive memory butted into the forefront of her mind. Fuck! He does not get to do this. Not today.

"You look good, little girl."

Her eyes snapped up from their fixation on her hands (which she really, really hoped he hadn't noticed, but judging by the ghost of a smirk on his lips, he probably had) to meet his.

"I'm not your little girl anymore." She raised her chin proudly and puffed out her chest to prove her point.

"Oh really? Then why is it that you came here to meet me, little slut?"

She resisted the urge to pout - only little girls pout. She forced the words out as strongly and as tremble-free as she was able: "Stop that. You don't get to call me that anymore."

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. The movement caused the neckline of his t-shirt to be tugged down, exposing his collarbone. Before she could stop herself, her tongue had flicked out to lick her lips. "Oh, I see. What should I call you, then?" he asked, faux-concerned.

She sat up as tall as she could and wrenched her gaze away from his forearms - which she swore had gotten veinier since she last saw them - and up to his (beautiful, god-like) face. "You can call me by my name, just like everybody else does."

"Hmm. Your name." He raised a finger to his lips, deep in mock thought. "Well, according to the tag on your old collar, your name is Cumslut." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "Or should I be looking at that little scar carved on your back? Because according to that one, your name is Whore."

"That's not my name. You know my real name and you need to... you need to call me by my proper name. And you need to treat me with respect."

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised. "Is that so? Because if I recall correctly, you used to prefer anything but respect."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, just the first thing that comes to mind here... Remember that time outside the park when you were just begging me to rape your mouth? Your pussy dripped all over the sidewalk because you knew that one of your neighbors could come by at any moment and see what a slut you are?" He lowered his voice slightly, feigning discretion.

She felt her face burn bright red in embarrassment, and a bit of arousal at the memory. "I don't recall."

"That one doesn't ring a bell? Okay, hmmm, what about that time I couldn't make rent so you sucked off my landlord while I fucked you from behind, and you begged the both of us to cover you in our cum?"

The fucking nerve. She wanted to scream. She wanted to stand up and slap the smug expression off his face, so hard that some of his freckles would get knocked off with it. She wanted to kiss him hard and ask him to make her his slut in front of the whole diner. But she couldn't give him the satisfaction. She couldn't show him how much he got to her. She swallowed hard. "That's not who I am anymore."

"Oh, you and I both know that's not true. You can point that little chin to the ceiling all you want, tell me all this bullshit about how much you've 'changed.' About how you're a good girl now. You can cut me off, tell me you're done with me. But I know that's not true." He leaned in, motioning her forward as if he were about to confide in her a secret. His blue eyes stared through her, made her feel somehow simultaneously special and invisible in the way that only he could do. She tried to shake off the feeling, tried to sit up straighter and taller, but her spine was already at attention. She racked her brain to think of her next counterattack, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't quite through with his siege yet.

"I know that for the past few months you've been going out with your perfect gentlemen dates. Respectable, handsome guys who treated you real nice. Bought you dinner, asked about your day, maybe even ate you out a little after the third date. And I know that after you got home from a night of being respected and treated like a good girl, you were completely frustrated, unsatisfied. You and I both know you threw yourself down on the bed and brutally fucked that tight little cunt with your toy while you thought about being beaten and spit on like the little whore you are." His voice had been steadily decrescendoing, forcing her to lean closer and closer to make out his words. Her teeth were clenched tight and her nails dug into her thighs in a last ditch effort to retain her self control. Her mind scrambled: how should she strike back - what should she do? Her heart began to sink as she realized the better question: what could she do? How long should she try to fight back when he had already won? How much of her dignity could she hold onto while she negotiated surrender?

"You're a little slut. You're nothing but a set of holes waiting to please the next cock. You live for the next load to be unloaded all over your cute little face and your pathetic porn star body." He was practically whispering at this point - she was so close that she was sure he could feel her breath, so heavy it was almost panting, up against his cheek. Sure that he could hear her heart pounding. "So you can pretend to be a good girl all you want. You can pretend you don't want me, that the only reason you came here is to tell me to fuck off. But we both know that's not true. You were born to be a whore. You know it. I know it. The whole world knows it." Suddenly he leaned back in his seat, leaving her halfway-collapsed over the tabletop and gasping for air. He looked down at her, smirking. "So you might as well... lean into it."

She hadn't realized she had been biting her lip until the taste of blood bloomed on her tongue. She had tried so hard - to resist him, to be good, to tame this horribly voracious thing inside of her that begged for abuse. But he had beaten down her defenses, raped and pillaged her willpower, coerced her inner monster out of its hibernation, and left her utterly destroyed, taking her pride with him. What could she do? What option did she have but to wave her white flag and surrender it all?

He watched her inner turmoil with a wicked smile on his face. Digging a dollar bill out of his pocket, he tossed it on the table next to his half-empty coffee cup and stood up. For a moment she thought he was going to walk away and leave her there, broken down and humiliated, that all he had wanted from her was to simply know that he still had such power over her - but after a few steps, he turned back to look at her. "Are you coming?"

Mouth still agape from residual arousal, she snapped out of her trance to meet his gaze. Closing her lips in shame, she cast her eyes downward in defeat and nodded, clutching her purse as she hurriedly stood from the booth to follow at his heels. Though no blood had yet been shed, the battle was over. She had been defeated, and she could not begrudge him what he had won.

"Are you really going to leave it so messy, nasty whore? You've left the seat soaking wet. Go clean it up, and try to control yourself next time." He didn't bother to lower his voice this time and the diner patrons, young and old, stared in shocked silence. Face burning in shame, she went back to the table. Glancing about for a napkin, she came up empty and wiped the seat clean of her cunt juices with the hem of her skirt.

"Good girl," he said upon her return, giving her hair a little tug, and though his voice dripped with condescension, her heart skipped a beat at the demeaning praise.

He turned to smile at the older woman at the register. "Thanks for the coffee," he told her. "Best cup I've had in a long time." Before the woman could answer he had pushed through the old swinging doors, his little girl trailing silently behind.

She assumed they were going to head back to his truck in the parking lot, but upon exiting the diner he turned the corner and headed towards the alley behind the building. It wasn't anything too decrepit, just a slightly shaded area with a dumpster up against a fence, with a view of the parking lot to one side. He stopped a few feet from the dumpster, leaned up against the diner's back wall and lit a cigarette, apparently carefree.

"Um... sir..." she began, hesitant to say anything that might get her into trouble. "What should I - I mean, where are we -"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up, bitch, wait for me on your knees over there." He waved his cigarette in the general direction of the dumpster. The ground was littered with garbage that had spilled over the side or dragged out by scavengers; evidently it had not been emptied in a while.

"But... it's so..." She gulped, knowing how quickly his nonchalance could turn to anger. "...What if there are cockroaches?" He took another drag, staring silently in the opposite direction.

Stepping cautiously into the mess of garbage, she looked for a patch of clean ground on which to kneel. The smell of rotting food permeated the air around her and she struggled not to gag.

"...Daddy?" she whimpered.

Finally he glanced in her direction. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" It was clearly not a question but a challenge.

She shook her head violently. "Oh no, daddy, I'm sorry. I was just... nothing." Swallowing the tiny morsel of pride she had left, she got down on her knees in the muck and bowed her head.

"That's what I thought." He took one more drag before tossing the cigarette to the ground.

She didn't dare look up from her position of submission to watch him make his way over to her; she knew he had arrived when she saw his feet in her limited field of vision on the ground. She knew she was allowed to look up only when she felt his hand in her hair, yanking her head upwards so her eyes could meet his.

"That's a good girl," he said softly, reaching out with his other hand to caress her cheek. She leaned into the touch - she savored any tiny shred of affection he would give her, and even though she anticipated the hot sting of the slap that immediately followed, leaving a bright red mark on her skin, this was no exception. She inhaled sharply as the blow landed. He knew the effect that a good hard smack to the face could have on her.

As if he read her thoughts, he roughly shoved the top of his shoe up into her crotch under her skirt; she bit her lip to stifle a whimper as he brought his foot away, the canvas top of the shoe soaked from her wet cunt. Using her hair as a handle, he shoved her head down so she could see.

"Lying little whore." He laughed as her face flushed red. "You claim to be a good girl and you get this soaked from a smack? Or did it turn you on to be humiliated in front of all those people in the diner too?" When she remained silent, he smacked her face again, and unable to keep it in this time, she let out a yelp. "I asked you a question, stupid slut, I expect an answer."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes? Yes what?" he demanded, tightening his grip in her hair.

"Y- yes daddy, it turned me on. It made me so wet." She bit her lip.

"What made you wet, whore?"

"Having all those people see... having them all see how pathetic I am."

"Mmm, so what does that make you?" He released her hair roughly, his hands straying instead to the crotch of his jeans.

"It makes me a dirty whore." She moaned, her eyes glued to his fingers as he undid the button on his pants and dragged the zipper down; each movement seemed agonizingly slow as she salivated for a glimpse of what lay underneath.

"That's right. You're a dirty, pathetic whore, and you've got my shoe all soaked." As his jeans fell open, she could see his cock straining against the grey material of his boxer briefs and she felt a tiny glimmer of satisfaction as she noticed a little spot of precum that had soaked into the fabric. At least she had gotten to him too.

"But I guess it's your lucky day, I'm not gonna make you lick it clean. I've got a better use for your mouth." He peeled the final layer off, revealing his hard cock to her ravenous gaze. "I want you to service my cock, and if you do a good enough job I might even let you taste my cum." He gave her a pat on the cheek before he nudged her lips open with his thumb and fed her the tip of his cock.

For all her resistance inside the diner, when he gave her that command he didn't have to ask twice. She dipped her head down to accept his full length into her mouth, savoring the taste of his precum on her tongue. This was no time for teasing, for caressing or for long, slow licks. She devoured his cock like she was starving. She sucked it with the desperation of a drowning woman swallowing oxygen, pleasured it like it was her whole world. He threw his head back from the intensity, and rested a hand on the back of her head while he let her do the work she loved to do. She couldn't help moaning on his shaft - she had missed serving him, had missed it so terribly.

"Oh fuck, you are a good little cocksucker, aren't you," he asked in a half-growl. "I bet you want daddy to fuck your slutty face, don't you?"

She reluctantly released his cock from her mouth, gasping for air before she answered. "Oh yes, daddy, please fuck my face. I want it, please daddy, I -"

Before she could finish her final plea of desperation he had shoved his cock back in her mouth, causing her to gag and let out a muffled cry of surprise. Tangling both of his hands in her hair, he fucked her throat hard and rough - raping her mouth with the same voracity with which he tore up her pussy. Tears began to stream down her face and the alley was silent but for her quiet gurgling sounds as she struggled to breathe around his violation of her mouth.

"Oh, bitch, you like this, don't you," he spat the words down at her. "You nasty fucking stuck up whore. You can act like you're an innocent little girl all you want but you fucking love this, don't you?"

He slammed her lips down to the base of his cock particularly hard and held her there, pinching her nostrils closed. "I asked you a fucking question!" Her muffled response was punctuated by gags and her increasing desperation to get free. She frantically whimpered sounds of affirmation around the dick in her mouth as she jerked her head around in an attempt to get free, face flooding with color as she attempted to breathe. "I can't hear you, dumb slut," he said, pushing her down one last second before yanking her mouth off and letting her gulp down air.

"I said yes! Yes, I love it! I'm... I'm a filthy slut," she gasped out.

"You want my cum then, filthy slut?" he demanded.

"Oh fuck yes, please daddy, give me your big load," she begged, still breathless. Any semblance of resistance, any shred of pride had been obliterated. On her knees, being used as a cocksleeve, she felt right. She could hardly remember why she had protested in the first place. She had been born to serve this man.

Using her hair as a handle, he yanked her mouth up and down on his shaft, barraging her with abuse. "You worthless cunt." Breathless, and close to cumming, he laughed. "Open your mouth for my load, little cumdumpster." He pushed her mouth off his cock just as the first shot of cum was released, landing squarely on her forehead. His eyes closed in pleasure as strings of cum landed on her face, catching in her lashes, painting her cheeks. She kept her own eyes wide open, staring up at him in adoration.