3. #3
"You like that, don't you?" Arthur sneered, twisting my right breast so hard I thought he might tear the skin. "You like being treated like a piece of meat. I really didn't think a girl as pretty as you could be this broken, but you obviously are. You really are a dirty little whore.”
"I am," I sobbed, tears streaming down my face, the pain and the humiliation twisting into a desperate, frantic arousal. "I'm Richard’s whore. I'm yours."
I leaned into it. I abandoned the last shred of my pride. If he wanted pain, I would give him exactly what he needed to get off.
"Hit me," I begged. My voice sounded foreign, raw and desperate. "Please, sir, slap them. Slap my big fat tits."
Arthur's eyes widened slightly in the dim light, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his lined face. Then, a dark smile spread across his lips.
He released my breasts, pulling his hands back.
Smack.
The impact of his hand against my left breast stung. A burning red handprint bloomed on my pale skin.
Smack.
He hit the right one.
I cried out, my hips bucking wildly against him. His cock was fully hard now, rigid and thick, filling me completely.
"Jesus," Arthur grunted, his hips starting to thrust upward, meeting my frantic grinding. "You're a fucking animal. Turn around."
I froze, panting.
"Turn around," he repeated. "I want to see your ass bounce."
I scrambled to obey, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. I lifted myself off his cock and spun around, facing his feet, my back to his chest.
I lowered myself back down, guiding his thick shaft blindly into my cunt. The angle was different and deeper, somehow. I settled my weight, my hands gripping his shins for support.
"Now ride me, you bitch.”
I started to move again, giving him an unobstructed view of my ass, my lower back, and the wet, sloppy connection where his flesh disappeared into mine.
I bounced, trying to create a hard, visual rhythm. I could hear the wet slap-slap-slap of my ass hitting his thighs.
"Yeah, just like that," Arthur rasped, his hands reaching up to grip my waist, his thumbs digging painfully into my sides. "Look at that tight little hole taking it all."
I sped up, leaning forward, my breasts swaying heavily with every thrust, ignoring the stinging pain. I wanted to break him. I wanted to prove that I was the ultimate, indestructible toy.
"Hit my ass," I gasped over my shoulder, my voice a ragged, desperate whine. "Please, sir, spank me. Leave your mark on my ass."
The slap landed hard and flat against my right ass cheek. It wasn't the measured, dominant sting of Richard's hand; it was a cruel, heavy blow meant to hurt.
I cried out, my hips bucking upward instinctively, grinding his thick cock harder against my G-spot.
He hit me again and again, left then right then left, establishing a brutal rhythm that synced with my bounces. The pain flared, a hot, red fire spreading across my pale ass. It was exactly what my broken mind needed.
"Yeah, look at that," Arthur rasped, his hand coming down again. "Look at that red ass. You love it, don't you, slut?”
"Yes," I sobbed, the tears flowing freely now. "Yes, sir, please!"
"Fuck, I'm close," he groaned, his hips thrusting upward with a final, desperate surge of energy, his hand abandoning my spanking to grip my hips tightly. "Fuck. Keep going."
"Give it to me, sir," I wailed, my own body wound so tight it felt like a piano wire ready to snap. “Dump your load in me. It’s what I’m here for.”
He gave a harsh cry and his entire body went rigid beneath me.
I felt the warm, sluggish pulse of his climax spilling into me. It wasn't the violent, high-pressure eruption I was used to from Richard. A meagre leak. A trickle. But it was enough.
The sheer humiliation of taking his cum, combined with the stinging fire on my ass and breasts, and the absolute degradation of his cruelty, hurled me over the precipice.
It hit like a slow-motion car crash. It started deep down at the base of my spine. The first of a series of heavy, dark contractions that seized my body. My wet cunt clamped down around his softening meat, desperately trying to extract every last pathetic drop.
I threw my head back and let out a long, mournful keen.
My thighs began to tremble violently. They’d been working hard. Spasms ripped through me, wave after wave of intense, exhausting pleasure that felt dangerously close to pain. I was sobbing, my tears dripping onto the pristine white sheets.
And as my body convulsed, my mind responded in kind.
Who the actual fuck am I? The question echoed in the chaos of my climax.
I wasn't Sloane Daniels, Cum Laude. I wasn't a student. I wasn't even Richard’s kept woman anymore. I had crossed a threshold. I was kneeling on a bed at forty thousand feet, my ass stinging, my breasts bruised, my cunt taking an old man’s load, and crying because I loved what had I become.
I didn't have to worry. I just had to obey, endure, and be used.
The final, shuddering aftershock rolled through me, leaving me completely drained.
I collapsed forward, my chest heaving, my face pressing into the mattress beside his leg. I couldn't support my own weight anymore. I lay there in a tangle of limbs, sweat, and tears, my ass red and throbbing, my pussy leaking the warm watery proof of what I was.