Lielit
I lay on the bed, fighting to steady my shallow breaths.
The gloves meant touch.
I braced myself for it anyway.
It didn’t stop my heart from stuttering, or my fingers from clutching the bedding until they ached. The fabric bunched beneath my grip, grounding me in the only way I could manage.
The image of his monster rose unbidden in my mind—grey fur, blood, teeth.
I’d obeyed. I’d stayed inside the room.
But this—
This was different.
This was new.
And it terrified me.
The chair creaked behind me, and my ears pricked at the sound. He’d showered, like usual, and wore his shorts and sweatshirt—but that had never meant safety. A soft clicking noise followed before he pressed his knee between my thighs. I clamped them together instinctively.
A low, slow growl rolled out of him, and I gasped.
“Sorry,” I blurted.
The growling stopped.
I dragged in a few shaky breaths and forced my muscles to loosen.
“I won’t harm you,” he murmured as he pried my thighs apart. “Not yet.”
My eyes widened.
For him, that could mean anything.
He’d stripped me of everything I loved, and still he took more. Now he was after what little dignity I had left.
Something cold and wet landed on me as his soft chuckle echoed behind me.
“You might even enjoy it.”
I stared across the bed, fixing on the bathroom door. The thought had never crossed my mind.
I wouldn’t give this to him.
No. I couldn’t.
What if you do?
The doubt slipped in anyway, quiet and insidious.
What if—?
His gloved fingers slid through the wet substance, and my stomach clenched as memories of all those temperature checks surfaced unbidden.
Then his fingers moved lower.
I blinked back the tears as his fingers slid up and down—slow at first—before shifting into small, circular motions. Calculated. Deliberate.
He began to sniff. Not once or twice, but repeatedly, until a strange rumble sounded in his chest. It wasn’t his warning growl. It was something else. Approval.
“You disrupted my life,” he murmured.
How? I wanted to ask—but my mind went blank.
He pushed his thick fingers inside me. I gasped at the intrusion.
“Noooo,” I whispered.
The word didn’t stop him. My mind recoiled, but my body betrayed me, responding despite itself.
“Oh dear,” he said softly, mockery lacing his voice. “I could’ve saved myself some lube.”
The soft fabric of his shorts pressed against my thighs as his fingers pushed back and forth, increasing the friction—accelerating the rhythm.
Spreading me open as he added another finger.
Cracking my heart open. Destroying what remained.
Not him. Anyone but him.
My face fell into the bed. I felt my tears soak into the fabric, silent and helpless.
“I own you. Every last hole of yours is mine,” he hummed, his other hand sliding beneath me. “No one will ever see you—let alone catch the scent of your pussy. This is mine.”
My breath broke into shallow pants as his fingers circled my clit.
His other hand pushed deep inside me until I clenched around him.
I shuddered, a low groan tearing free—animal, ruined.
I struggled to hold myself still, but my hips lifted to meet his touch.
“Yes,” he growled. “Give me that cunt. Offer it to me.”
“Stop it,” I cried, clapping my hands over my ears.
A dark laugh cut straight through my palms, ricocheting inside my skull.
“Yes… quite,” he murmured, satisfaction curling through his voice. “I know exactly what you need.”
Then he pulled his hands away.
Relief didn’t come. It did the opposite—left me hollow, exposed.
I knew what would follow.
And the worst part was the understanding that settled in my chest. That somehow, I was complicit in my own degradation.
He moved behind me, and a moment later, his latex-covered hands closed around my waist, dragging me back against him.
My hands fell from my ears. I kept my eyes shut, as though refusing to look might somehow make me disappear.
The thick heat of him pressed against me.
“Who knew you liked being fucked by a monster,” he mused, rubbing the tip along my opening.
“I hope you burn in hell,” I said, keeping my voice cold and flat.
“Oh, my monster is so horrific that even Hel didn’t want him,” he replied, pride threading through his tone.
He eased himself into me—inch by inch—spreading me open far deeper than his fingers had.
I turned my face into the bedding, trying to separate myself from the sensation.
It was impossible.
He leaned over me until his weight pressed against my back, one hand braced on the bed.
“Now be a good little bitch and take what I give you,” he whispered.
The tension crackled in the air as I waited—trapped between fury, need, and disgrace.
He took a deep breath and pulled back. I barely had time to brace myself before he slammed back inside me with a long, guttural moan.
He was thick, long—I felt every inch as he drove into me with ease, plunging back and forth.
My hips bounced helplessly between him and the bed, matching his relentless rhythm.
I clutched the sheets, panting as my body contracted around him. Something brushed my thighs with every inward thrust. But I lost my train of thought when his hand slid around my hip and burrowed beneath me.
“You’re going to soak my cock, like a good little whore,” he grunted, rubbing me until I shook my head.
He drove into me harder, faster, his fingers working my clit with brutal precision.
The pressure built relentlessly as he ground his hips against me.
I screamed—then he drew back and plunged deep, so deep I felt him in my belly.
The sound died in my throat as my body worked against me. I broke, gushing over him, milking him exactly as he wanted.
His growl was instant. His thrusts turned savage, the bed shaking and groaning beneath us. Each vicious thrust slapped against me until he reared back.
I lay there, gasping, when he finally pulled out. Hot wet struck my back, then again—spattering over my skin. Another sprayed over my buttocks and back. He wiped himself on my flesh, like I was a thing to be used.
I didn't move, trying to comprehend it all.
Time blurred until the sharp snap of his latex gloves cut through the haze.
“Rub it into your skin. I’m going to shower,” he said calmly, cold as ever.
I tilted my head just enough to watch him leave—naked, clothes in hand—his footsteps fading down the hall, the open doorway swallowing him whole.
He left me too numb for tears. I pressed my cheek to the bed and reached back.
Instinct warned me he would know if I rubbed it in—or washed it away. I grimaced as I felt the thick, slimy residue between my fingers, my eyes squeezing shut as I worked it into my skin.
When it was done, I stood and moved into the bathroom.
I couldn’t look at my reflection as I scrubbed my hands.
Couldn’t face what had happened.
Couldn’t bear the truth that he’d taken the last piece of me.
All while knowing this would happen again.