Whip & Anal for Old & Ugly Slut

"You ask me if I love you -- I don't, and never will. You ask me if there's a future for us -- I haven't a clue. Who knows what's going to happen? Shit most likely. Shit'll happen, so make the most of what time you've got in this world."

I was standing just inside her house, her rundown little house, her untidy little house: shabby décor, peeling wallpaper, damp and mouldy in places. Neglected, overgrown front garden.

All she was wearing was a cream-coloured flannel dressing gown spotted randomly with unidentifiable stains -- she was naked underneath, naked for me.

She, Millie, was early forties, pretty much middle-aged, pale, overweight, lonely, depressed most of the time, and plain to the point of being ugly: beady little brown eyes too close together set in a pudgy round face with a snub nose and flared nostrils with a double chin. Her hair was mousey brown, badly styled, lank and shoulder length. She had a large pale-brown age spot on her right cheek.

"Okay, you want to talk, want to know where you stand, want to know what I really think. Alright I'll tell you," I said.

She nodded.

"Well, the truth of the matter is that I think you're an aging desperate slut who gets fucked when she can, as often as she can, and with whomever she can. You're also a masochist who craves being beaten and shagged up the arse which you're probably highly embarrassed or ashamed about..."

I watched her face redden.

"But I like whipping and degrading you because I have a sadistic side to me. Also, I don't have to try with you, impress you or be false with you. It's purely carnal and depraved. I don't care if you say you're going to dump me because you never will, you'll always come back because you need what I do to you. You're like a drug addict, and I'm the drug. Neither of us will ever be faithful to each other nor anyone else for that matter. Domestic and monogamous bliss doesn't happen to people like us. This is as good, or as bad, as it gets. Understand?"

A tear ran down her cheek, but I never gave a damn. Never really gave a damn about anything except the moment.

"Right, let's get on with it, I haven't got all day. Get upstairs and take your dressing gown off -- I'm going to thrash the hell out of you, you... slut."

She turned and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. I followed behind.

The bedroom smelt of damp and was quite cluttered with cardboard boxes except for a small, cleared area where a footstool had been placed.

In front of me she removed her dressing gown whilst I watched, and she watched me watch. Her body was pale and flabby, and her large shapeless tits with long extended puffy nipples hung almost down to her navel. Her limbs were quite podgy -- she clearly had never exercised a day in her life. She had more than her fair share of moles too of varying sizes distributed all over her skin.

From where I was standing, I could also smell stale sweat -- she only showered about once a week. I could also detect a 'ripe' aroma emanating from her hairy and unkempt vagina. She knew I hated her lack of hygiene, so I guess she did it to wind me up, to make me beat her harder -- and her ploy, if it was a ploy, worked.

She was revolting and I could see why she targeted drunk, desperate, and older guys who had no scruples or standards. I also wondered if underneath a part of me hated a part of myself, that maybe God was laughing at me, at us all...

I shook myself out of my reverie and picked up the leather flogger, her prized possession, from the top of the peeling, white painted, bedroom drawers.

"Get into position," I ordered. "I'm going to fucking hurt you, you worthless, fat and ugly bitch."

She complied with my orders, got down on her knees and shifted awkwardly into position with her flabby white arms supporting her fat upper body that appeared more slumped than resting on the blue cushion of the footrest.

I then brought the flogger down with full force across her expansive pale back.

She flinched with the pain, but didn't yell out, and red fingers from the leather falls slowly appeared across her flesh. It made me feel good, very good -- I loved hurting her.

I raised the flogger again and savoured the momentary hiss before I delivered it a second time hard upon her skin. This time she cried out and shifted slightly on the stool. I started to become aroused.

I then lay ten lashes, all hard, in swift succession across her bare back.

She had screamed and cried, twisted with the agony yet had remained in position.

Angry welts had risen but all it did was make me thirst for more. More pain.

In the background I heard banging on the wall and a loud muffled female voice shout out from next door: "Keep the bloody noise down!"

I ignored it.

I whipped her now without respite -- her screaming and sobbing merging into a constant wail interrupted only by the faltering catching of her breath.

And then she became silent, her body like a tenderized slab of meat.

I lowered my face to the left of hers and said: "Get up you worthless and ugly piece of shit, I'm going to fuck you hard up the arse now."

I knew she was ready because the bedroom stank of her musky hormones, and I could also see little glistening strands of juice slowly dripping between her fat thighs.

She struggled to her feet, wheezing heavily, and kind of collapsed facedown onto the mattress of her bed.

I stripped off, I was as stiff as the proverbial broom stick handle and clambered onto the bed too next to her.

She opened her legs and with her left hand grabbed one of the poles of the headboard. She then tucked her right arm underneath her gross little body, so she was ready to frig herself off.

I then got on top of her and rammed my largish cock into her anus which made her scream out.

There was more banging on the wall followed by the female voice, this time even louder, shouting out: "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO FUCKING CONSIDERATION?"

Apparently not, I thought, and carried on thrusting.

I doubt that it was any more than a minute that Millie started to snort like a pig (so attractive) as she began to orgasm. I also climaxed too as her sphincter muscles spasmed feeling my spunk shoot deep into her tight anal passage.

And that was pretty much it. I rolled off her and onto the side of the mattress. She was still breathing heavily but had a look of bliss on her plain little face. I felt pretty good too -- I absolutely loved thrashing and degrading her.

She closed her eyes and said at the same time: "Thanks for that, Matt. It was really good. Out of all the blokes I've had, you're the best... even though I know you don't love me... or maybe even give a shit about me..."

"Yeah, that's alright... but what's with her next door... she's never complained before..."

"That's Irene, and Bob's taken a turn for the worse. He's been diagnosed with terminal cancer and was sent home so he could die peacefully. In fact, I think I saw the priest go in this morning just before you turned up. I have a feeling he was in the bedroom next to ours."

"Oh," I said.

Millie then rolled over and looked like she needed a kip -- what I'd done to her was probably incredibly draining. And gratifying.

Looking down I saw that my now flaccid cock was smeared in places with shit and spunk, so I discretely wiped it clean with the edge of the duvet cover which probably needed washing soon anyway.

Hearing Millie snoring, and momentarily casting my eyes at her abrased and reddened back, I silently got dressed then walked downstairs before exiting onto the usually quiet suburban street, with its drab properties, in the centre of the small town where I lived. Or maybe 'just existed' would be a more accurate description than 'lived'.

Parked outside was a grey private ambulance and from inside the neighbours' house I could just make out the sound of sobbing.

For some strange reason the lyrics and tune of a Paul Simon song forced themselves into my head: One man's ceiling is another man's floor...