/lit/ - Literature

Password (For file deletion.)


First time posting but quite old lurker, I make a lot of these and will post more here if you like. I just started a personal kinky blog if you're interested too.

When I left the club, I had barely drunk my first glass of vodka. Being the only single in the group sucks, and even more so when I have to fend off douchebags trying to grope me while my two friends are busy making out with their guys.

My own dress is also betraying me; while perfectly suited to the stuffy air and the dancing, in all its glistening golden glory, it now seems way too inadequate against the spring night breeze. As I’m walking the street, my heels loudly warn everyone in a two-block radius of my coming. I guess I must be walking as angrily as I am looking right now.

Suddenly, the click-clack stops, as I see in the corner of my eye a neon sign signaling “OPEN”. It’s not a bar, or a club, just a regular diner-late night coffee heaven kind of place. What I wouldn’t give right now for a cup of coffee. Sure, the place looks empty – I’m not sure I can see an employee inside actually – but hell, I can even brew it myself. And it will give me some respite from my broody, cold walk home.

Crossing the side street, I push the glass door open. Almost all of the lights are off, and the beer fridge next to the counter gives out a blue light that provides most of the illumination to the room devoid of people. “Hello!”, I shout, scanning the place with my gaze. A slow, almost distant jazz mix tape is playing from behind the bar.

A guy comes out from the kitchen door. He looks just as surprised to see a customer at this hour as he is to see a brunette in a short, shiny golden dress and black heels walking in here alone for a cup of coffee. I can imagine it looks quite comical, in a weird-movie-from-the-50s way. I keep my eyes on him as I come closer to the bar. “Can I actually get a cup of coffee, please?”, I ask, smiling wide with my red, pleading lips. The guy, a tanned man in his forties in a black T-shirt, looks baffled, but nods affirmatively.

I can feel him glancing at me, while he’s brewing my coffee, as he brings the cup in front of me on the counter, and while I’m drinking and he’s pretending to be drying some glasses. He hasn’t spoken a word, but I can identify with him; it’s like, 3 AM, he was probably sleeping before I disturbed him.

With my cup half-finished, I can feel the need for a break. “Can I use the restroom?”, I ask him, already standing up so that he can’t refuse and make me find a bush. Once again, he nods. I leave my phone and my clutch next to my cup and head to the back. The restroom is probably the shiniest space in the whole shop, and the bright white light hurts my eyes until I’m sheltered inside the booth.

I get my panties around my ankles and sit down, but don’t even manage to take in a breath before the door violently swings open, crashing onto the wall next to me with a heavy thud. I curl up instinctively and gasp, closing my eyes. The man that just shattered the lock with one blow reaches and grabs me by my hair. I’m in such shock that I start shrieking and try slapping his hand off. His hold is strong, and he shoves my head to the side, banging it once against the wooden booth wall. With my shrieking momentarily paused, he pulls me off the toilet seat and onto the floor. I fall down awkwardly, swinging around and kicking randomly with my heels.

“Quit screaming you cunt, or I’ll throw you in the fucking garbage”, he growls. The first time I hear his deep, raspy, threatening voice. Something in the tone sends a chill down my spine, even through my panic. But of course, I can’t stop screaming, I can’t. He seems to disregard it, though, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. Sadly, my panicking brain doesn’t register the object until I’ve tried again to slap him. He lets go of my hair and grabs my hand instead and, with an expert move, the cuff is around my right wrist. Fuck. My screaming dies down as the realization of my predicament is clearer, and is now replaced by rapid, terrified breathing.

He pulls me again, this time back to the toilet. He pulls the handcuff chain behind a pipe and locks my other hand there too, securing me in place with my face next to the bowl. However much I try, and I do try, I cannot break the chain or the pipe, hurting my wrists instead. I pause my struggling as he’s gazing down at me, his figure shielding me from the bright lights.

“Please let me go, I didn’t do anything”, I say in between my gasps. “I swear I won’t speak, I swear I’ll forget this, I—I won’t go to the police, please let me go”. I plead and plead, as my gasps turn into cries and dry heaving. My voice finally stops, the fear drowning it out, as I just lie there on the restroom floor. Even as he bends down and jerks my dress off of my body, I say nothing, and refuse to open my eyes. Maybe if I stand here and let him take what he wants, he’ll let me go. There is no reason not to. But I don’t want to see him, not while he’s looking at me, observing me. I think of his eyes fixed on my tits, or my hairless genitals, and I just want to throw up.

Then, suddenly, a stream of hot liquid hits my face, catching me completely by surprise. I throw open my mouth and eyes, and the piss gets inside both, choking and blinding me for some seconds. As I cough, he keeps pissing on my face, on my hair, then moving down as I feel the disgusting stream hit my exposed breasts, then my stomach, then… As he’s aiming for my pussy, I start yelling again, along with thrashing around violently. Please god, make him stop this, the humiliation…

When he’s done, the final drops find their way on my toes. Out of breath and exhausted, my arms and shoulders hurting from the struggle, I swallow hard, forgetting for a moment the vile taste in my throat. I squeeze my eyes momentarily, then open them again to take in the scene. The smell of urine overwhelms me, as my whole body is drenched and feels as cold as the white tiles under me. In the silence, every small move I make disturbs the puddle formed around me with a tiny splashing noise. I keep my eyes straight ahead, through my hardening nipples, my extended legs and my crimson toenails, through his unmoving legs and across the floor, on which my dress and my g-string lie, like a final nail on the coffin of my dignity.

My eyes move up on their own, to meet his own, but not before breaking into tears, tears that run down my cheeks along with the piss and, I guess, what remains of my makeup.

He doesn’t say a word; just stares at me with a smugness that causes me to grimace. I keep crying as he unlocks the handcuff and drags me out of the booth into the main part of the restroom. I have no strength to resist. These tiles look like the operating room, is the only thought I can muster. Maybe keeping my mind into a normal day will make this disappear. Maybe it’s just a nightmare.

“Stand up”, he barks. I keep crying. A kick lands on my side, making me slide on my wet back. I keep crying. “Stand up”, he repeats, pulling me up by both hands. I try to comply, remembering the garbage bin. He shoves me towards the sinks, and I keep my head down. I can’t stand looking at the mirror, not like this. He locks my wrists in the handcuffs again, this time securing it through a hole in the tap handle. My legs feel unsteady enough on their own, and the heels on the wet tiles are not helping.

I keep crying. And thinking about the tiles, and the OR, and me in my scrubs instead of me naked in a toilet, and how I will just take a shower and it will all be over, it’s just a bit of piss after all, and…

My eyes grow wide, as the pain shoots from my anus to my whole body, tensing up every muscle fiber available. I grab the sink as tightly as possible, and even though I’m facing the mirror, I cannot comprehend the image in front of me. The only thing I can think is, my ass is on fire.

The blood-curling shriek that left my lungs left me breathless, not only because of the volume, but also because he immediately smashed my head against the mirror. Pressing my cheek on the glass, he is grabbing my hips and entering me a little bit more, and a little bit more. Then I feel him pulling out, only to go just a centimeter further the next time. Every tiny thrust can be felt, as my tight hole is violated and forced open.

I try focusing elsewhere again, but this time, it doesn’t work. All I can think about is my ass. How I had tried experimenting with it in my teens, first with a pen and then with my finger. How my first times trying anal with my first boyfriend, after his begging, ended in me hurting too much and refusing. How I had tried fingering myself for two weeks before allowing my next one to finally take my anal virginity, and how much he had tried making it comfortable and romantic for me, leading to one of my best orgasms.

And how this was just the second time in my life getting fucked in my asshole – raped in my asshole. Like a cheap whore, or worse, like a piece of meat, with the same value as a condom. This special “place” of mine, torn apart by this thick cock…

The pain is just too much, and the degradation even worse. I want to throw up again, but all I can do is cry. He is picking up the pace, making disgusting sounds as he forces himself deeper in me every time. Suddenly, he moves my head so that my face is against the mirror instead of my cheek.

My face is just like I had imagined: mascara running down the cheeks, lipstick smeared around, bloodshot eyes with a glimpse of green in them. Like a cheap whore indeed, a streetwalker outside a motel. Behind me, I see the black t-shirt moving back and forth.

“Make out with the mirror, cunt”

“What?”, I ask in between my tears, honestly unable to understand.

“I said, make out with the mirror, cunt! Make out with yourself like the slut you are!”, he yells, slapping my ass to make his point.

I start kissing my own lips at the mirror. This has to be a nightmare, it’s too crazy. As the lipstick, tears, piss and saliva mix on the smeared shiny surface, any memory of scrubs is deleted from my mind. A cheap whore. He is obviously loving the show, as he is going ever faster, now taking his hand from my hair to grab my hips better. I keep going, more afraid of his reaction than disgusted. The sound of fucking is interspersed with the slobbering of Lia making out with Lia.

He picks up the pace again. Then, I feel him going deeper rather than faster, stretching my asshole with the base of his cock, as I feel his balls slamming against my bald pussy. He must be coming close. Please god, yes.

Then, in an instant, he pulls out entirely, causing my torn asshole to let out an embarrassing farting sound. But he’s not out for long, as he slams back into me, though this time not in my ass. I find myself almost thanking him for the inhuman pain in my sphincter, as it makes the entering and stretching of my young pussy almost bearable in comparison, although once again I tense up and shriek in agony. Then, the full wave of pain hits me, and I almost pass out.

As I recover, I realise that he hasn’t thrust in or out of my pussy. He’s still inside, and pulsating. Oh god. He’s cumming in my pussy.

“NO NO PLEASE NO!”, I yell and beg. “I’m not on the pill, PLEASE PULL OUT!”

Another slap against my head. I’m so dizzy, and spent, and hurting. And broken.

When he pulls out finally, he lets go of my body, and I collapse, hitting my head on the sink as I drop down, still half-hanging from the handcuffs with my ass centimeters above the floor. My head swings around, and my vision is blurry. I can manage to see a bloody spot on the floor, obviously below where my ass was a minute ago. It’s good that the damn tiles are white, so I can’t see the cum dripping.

I try to adjust my legs, meekly moving them around, in order to find some support for my aching arms. He comes in front of me and steps in between them, stepping on the pooled ass blood, and then all of a sudden, a kick lands right on my violated pussy. I gasp with a wet sound and cough from the ever-increasing pain between my legs. Doubling down, I lose any footing I have as I kick my legs instinctively, and I find myself even more uncomfortable than before, still hanging from my arms with my back against the counter and my legs sprawled out in front. My joints hurt almost as bad as my genitals, stretching so much that I could swear they’re breaking.

He looks around, notices my black panties on the floor a couple meters away and grabs them. Ironic, my clothes are the only dry thing on the floor. Then, he comes close again. He ties one band of the g-string on the tap and pulls the other one, seemingly testing how much it can stretch. Apparently, the answer is “far enough”.

“I warned you to not scream, fuckpig. Now it’s time for the garbage”, he told me in a low, grating voice, before pulling the band down and around my throat. Letting it go, the tiny garment digs into the soft sides of my throat, resting against my jaw. What was once a fairly expensive undergarment had now been transformed into an even more disgracing noose.

Even through the past torment, I hadn’t expected that. I panic, seriously panic, and try to take in rapid, shallow breaths, but I find myself struggling. The panties are stretched too taut, and the fabric feels like steel against my throat. I shake violently, rattling the handcuffs against the tap and swinging around, still levitating off the tiles. Sit up Lia sit up, I command myself, but my jolting legs cannot find the strength to push me upwards. Every time I try thrusting myself off the ground, my heels slip on the floor still wet with his piss.

Somewhere through the chaos of my mind that is gradually getting hypoxic, I can distinguish a couple of thoughts more clearly than the rest. I am remembering all those times I had sex with hands around my neck, at that moment an exhilarating, dirty thing that got me cumming so much. I can’t help but compare it with now, getting strangled by my own fucking panties, with cum inside me and a bleeding asshole. I will die here, won’t I?

I will die like this. Like a cheap whore. Worse than a cheap whore.

That phrase is still on mind, but not much else is. I’m not moving around as much now. I don’t have the energy. My vision grows dark on the sides, and my eyes are just focused on his shoes now, on the red puddle. My legs are numb. Tingling. Through the buzzing in my ears, I can hear liquid flowing. I know that I’m pissing myself, but I cannot control it.

Cheap whore.

Rasps and wet sounds come out of my mouth. I’m trying to mumble, plead again, but it’s only vowels that can be heard. But the very notion that I try to speak earn me another kick, this time right in between my tits. A weird sound. I think he broke a rib. He’s going away now. I splutter, and a couple of bloody drops fly out of my lips. He’s back now, standing over me. A sharp, burning, stinging pain starts from my right breast, engulfing my tit and nipple in it as very hot liquid runs down my body from above. I can smell it; the coffee I had earlier, fresh from the heating pad. He moves to my left tit. Burning again, like hundreds of needles in my sensitive flesh. But no reaction, just some short breaths.

I can’t hold my head up. I let it go. I’m looking directly down. My body is still glistening, from piss and sweat and boiling coffee. My bald mound is looking swollen and as red as my aching tits. The pool of liquid beneath me is still expanding, now a mix between my yellow piss, the brown coffee and the crimson of my wounded body. I close my eyes. Another breath, shorter one. I feel his hand, on me, on my tit, right one I think. He’s fondling my pussy. It hurts, so bad. His fingers brush my clit. I twitch.

Cheap. My arms drop to my sides. I think he has unlocked the handcuffs. My ass falls down on the puddle. It feels cold. I feel cold. I imagine myself. I chuckle. Or maybe I don’t. I only focus on the one last thought. Whore.

He leaves her body there, and goes to get a cigarette. Coming back, he’s smoking it in the toilet, right in front of her. His cock is getting back up with every slow drag. The panties keep stretching, as the body is slowly succumbing to gravity and sliding sideways next to the counter. Suddenly, the fabric snaps close to the tap; with a low but audible splash, she falls down on the floor, the remains of her underwear still around her neck.

He bends down to put out the cigarette on her stomach. He looks at his watch; still an hour until he has to go. Wrapping his hand around his fat cock, he marvels at her battered, abused curves in front of him. It doesn’t take long until a second round of thick cum splatters on her messed-up makeup, her neck, her tits and even finds its way through her previously dark red lips.

He takes a few moments to rest. Then, time to go. He grabs a handful of hair and starts dragging, out of the restroom, through the kitchen, out of the back door. He walks down the steps, with disturbing thumps following every time a bone touches the concrete.

He opens the dumpster. Plenty of space inside. He pauses, getting some final good looks. He thinks of taking the panties off the neck, but decides against it. This is the most fitting place for them. Then, accompanied with a few grunts, he lifts her up and throws her in. Her feet, with heels still on like a bad joke, are hanging out, and he slaps them to get them inside. Pausing for a moment, he then reaches inside the dumpster, takes her right hand off of a leaking garbage bag and places one of her fingers inside her cunt. It slides in very easily. He throws in the clutch as well, minus the money, and closes the dumpster lid with a loud bang.

Back inside the shop, her dressed is sprawled on a coffee table while he’s sitting in front of it, looking through her phone. Some nudes, some other cute stuff, her name, her friends, the pictures he took while she was choking, all in there. He put it in his pocket and got up. Before leaving, he finds a bag to carry the dress in. It will look so good on his next girl.

Exiting into the street, with the first sun rays vaguely appearing on the horizon behind the buildings, he recalls the phrase she kept repeating while dying. “Cheap whore, cheap whore, cheap whore…” He wondered what that meant, and if she knew she was saying that, but only for a moment. He had to start walking. After all, the garbage truck would be there soon, and when it does, it’s better to be away from cheap whores.

[Return][Go to top] [Catalog] [Post a Reply]
Delete Post [ ]