Rape Fantasy Pt. 02 - Fundraiser

"He told me you were a cum slut..." Cum slut. The way he says it, separating the two words. Not cumslut, but cum... slut. He savors them. He infuses each word with joy and directs them to me. Cum. Slut. Just as each rape shatters more and more of myself, I see it now, tearing away the civility of the person I was most close to at work; "...but I didn't believe it." When I try to think about it, the thing that scares me the most isn't what he did, but how instinctively more attractive he looked in whatever animal state brought us together.

I can't talk. Looking up at Michael, he's turned from my savior to another entry on the list of my destroyers. You can see his kind, helpful, good guy mask drop down to reveal a cruel abuser underneath.

As he looks down at me, I try to put myself together, cleaning off the cum from my breasts and trying to put my tits back inside the cups of my bra. It doesn't take him a second to snap into action.

Walking over me, he places his crotch directly into my face, unzips his dress pants, and pulls his flaccid sex out from his boxer shorts. I remember vividly stitching the threads, the vivid green of his underwear, the angry red of the head of his cock.

"Get me hard."

I hear his command, and I respond to it, but my first response isn't to wrap my lips around the head of his penis, but, instead, the terror that I might stain his pants with the ropes of cum from J_____ still covering my face and breasts.

I struggle to unbuckle his belt. I've never undressed a man before, so my efforts only frustrate him. Pushing me away and pushes down his pants himself.

The clank of his belt buckle seems so loud as it hits the floor between my legs. I'm sure that everyone in the building can hear it... know what's happening to me.

Grabbing my ponytail, he pulls me up so that I'm back on my knees and presses my lips so that they are unwillingly kissing the head of his cock. "Get. Me. Hard." He's already much larger than he was before. The head of his cock looks like an angry eye.

I can't help but look up into his eyes. As his cock pushes into my mouth, all I can do is kneel in awe at his sudden power over me. At this moment, he is a god, and I am kneeling before him, worshipping him the way I was designed. The feeling electrifies my body, prodding my mouth to suck hard on his cock. Maybe he is God. He's my whole universe. When I kneel and pray, looking up into heaven, I see the faces of all the men who have used me. My rapes haven't stopped my faith in God. It's strengthened it.

The eagerness and desperation of my face to drain his dick seem to come from me empathically picking up his pent-up desire to use me hard. My mouth is not connected directly to my brain, which is a spectator methodically collecting and noting the experiences of the desperate, needy cum slut that has presently taken control of her body. The pain, mixed with the need, combined with the disgust, fuels my mouth's desperation as if by being a good face fuck cunt he will somehow let my needy, dripping sex climax. It's too stupid to understand that he doesn't care at all about my needs. It doesn't seem like I do, that his lack of concern for my pleasure only makes it drip more... leak more... crave more... suck harder.

My body does nothing but adjusts to the cues from the filth quietly pouring out of his mouth, assisted by his hand gripping my ponytail hard, guiding me.

"That's it, choke." My face forces itself deeper onto his cock. I am gagging; an obscene sound forces itself out of my throat. I am pulling the hand gripping my hair with me onto his cock. What is wrong with me? Who am I? I am not a person. I am a mouth.

"No hands. FUCK! No hands facefuck!" My hands instantly drop to my sides as if his cock is on fire. The fact that he is ordering me, controlling me only makes my face force itself down deeper onto his shaft. My throat hurts. The gagging makes me sound like an animal. I am an animal.

"Face. Fuck." Suddenly, his hand grips my hair like a vice, and he starts controlling the pace of my face impaling itself on his cock. It's thinner than J____'s. Longer and thinner. Before he let me set the pace of my face burying itself into his crotch, it smells nice. I can recall right now how clean his crotch smelled... much less musky than J____'s. My body is electrified with how he's suddenly taking control of me. The terror of his brutality is like a current through me. I feel alive. The obscenity is a drug. It's a drug that makes me touch. It's a drug that makes me write this. It's a drug that makes my love him and hate myself. He is raping my face. He is raping my face right now. He is constantly raping my face.

"Stupid FACE FUCK." He's defining me. To him, I'm just a momentary mouth to use. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.. shattering me into smaller pieces... reenforcing J____'s act of turning me into rapemeat. It's different with him, a variation of a theme. For Michael, it's all about my face. We've sat across from each other talking about work for so many hours--his gentle smile. The innocent way he looks at me when he holds open a door for me, "my lady." Like a knight in shining armor.

"Stupid fuckmouth." He's holding my face down deep on his cock. I am choking. He keeps saying it. "Stupid fuckmouth." I can't breathe. "Stupid fucking fuckmouth." My hands start pushing against his legs, trying to push away from him... trying to breathe. "STUPID FUCKING FUCKMOUTH BITCH." He's whispering these words, but it doesn't matter. Coming from him, they burn like a brand. He's so hard. His cock is killing me. God is killing me.

It's hard for me not to stop and just touch myself and repeat his words. "Fuckmouth. Stupid fuckmouth. Stupid fuckmouth bitch." They make my cunt sing. They give me purpose. I'm not me. I'm a stupid fuckmouth. I'm not a person. They make me loath myself, which makes me wet, which makes me edge, which makes me cry, which makes me... on an on in a loop, trapped in my rapes, a prisoner in my mind. Why do I love it? Why do they never tell you how addicting this feeling is?

Suddenly, one of his hands is pulling off the scrunchie, holding my hair into a ponytail. I'm gagging on his cock, spit sputtering out of my face and his letting my hair loose. What is he doing?

Then he pulls my head off of his cock. I look up in terror, gasping as ropes of saliva seem to chain me to his cock. The nicest guy I have ever worked with has become a demon. His expression, looking down at me, is a mixture of disgust and animal lust. He's not the same person, and yet he is.

I'm not the same person, either. Yet I am.

And then it happens.

J_____ always cums in my mouth. I can feel its pulse. It connects us. It's a kind of love. He's flooding my mouth with his cum. He pulls out to paint my face, but I'm making his cock pump into me. It's somehow romantic, although he'd laugh and call me stupid if I ever said this. "Cunt. Ass to mouth CUNT! Clean my cock. Ass mouth. Stupid ass mouth." What's wrong with me?

Cum starts spewing out of Michael's cock. He's forcing my face down so that it starts coating my loose, dark blond hair. Marking me. Ropes of his cum defining me. Ensuring that his mouth rape is prominently on display when we go back out for anyone observant enough to notice. As disgusted with myself as I am, and as much as it excites me thinking about it now, I know that powerful men don't see me, so they won't notice. I don't matter. I never have. My rapists have taught me that.

I'm shaking. I'm crying and shaking. The flood of disgust is overwhelming. I've only been in one "relationship." It was caring and loving and everything a girl is supposed to want. And yet, I've never once gotten wet thinking about anything we ever did. Looking into each other's eyes, promising we'll love each other forever. I feel nothing for him. I feel for Micheal. For the first time, I see him.

He throws something down at me. "Here's your sewing kit."

Grabbing several liquor bottles, he says to me, "clean yourself up."

His tone says everything. I may be his boss, but now he's my superior. In the weeks and months ahead, we will never talk about this. It never happens again, but he's different. People around the office are drawn to him. The girls he dates are more attractive. He's openly looking for better jobs, taking calls from recruiters, speaking to them with a tone of supreme confidence. In meetings, I stammer to get thoughts out when he's in the room. Michael freely interrupts me and is brilliant. Clients love him. They often mistake him for the boss. When I task him with something, a flash of disgust passes his face. He's a new man now. Still, I don't feel the same thing with him. The taste of J_____'s pungent cum mixed with my ass still floods my senses.

Back at the reception, I'm a ghost. Every person seems to focus on my lips as if they can see the cocks sawing in and out of them. This is where cocks go. They can tell. "Thank you for coming tonight." FUCK FACE. "Can I get you something to drink?" ASS TO MOUTH FUCK FACE. "We're really excited about things this year." STUPID COCK SUCKING CUNT. "I just love your dress!" STUPID SLUT. "Your help has been essential to our work." ASS MOUTH. "I swear you look younger every year." CUM WHORE. STUPID SLUT WHORE!

Just them J______'s fiancé grabs my arm. "H_______, I just had the most wonderful idea! You have to be one of my bridesmaids! We owe you so much. J_______ agrees. You have to be one of my bridesmaids!" She squeals in excitement. All I can do is nod, stunned, looking at my rapist smiling his perfect smile.