You have come to me exactly knowing what will happen next. You know that I'm not interested in your soul, your inner world. I don't want just usual sex. I love coercion. You agreed to my terms: I do to you whatever I want, no matter what you say and no matter how hard you resist. Deep inside you want to be treated rude. Bitch! Understanding this makes my pervert brain even more turned on...
Seeing you at the door of my bachelor apartment I evaluate you every time. Shamelessly staring at you, imagining myself ripping off all your clothes piece by piece, how loud you scream begging me to stop.
— Come on in, bitch! - I say. Your ears burned red, but deep breath helps you to come in. “Well, let's play bitch!” I decided with a sly smile and locking the door.
— Tea or coffee? — I offered, assuming you’d refuse. Your choice of "tea" surprised me a little, but did not make me confused. I came into the kitchen, casually threw a tea bag in a cup and I poured some water right from the faucet. Handed the cup to you. “Come on, bitch, drink it” — I think.
— I can't drink that, — you said and crossed your arms.
The answer was the tea splashed on you. It was slowly dripping over the face, the hands, the chest… the cup flew down to the floor, having broken into pieces.
— As you want, bitch! - I said.
Anger was boiling in you. You whispered that your visit was probably a mistake. But you failed to leave... you needed to have thought over it before, bitch!
A fight that started between us in the kitchen slowly moved into the living room. You did not give up, and even two slaps did not pacify you. The torn blouse that exposed your breasts didn't embarrass you. Kicking and struggling, you swear, curse, but do not yell. So you like it, I won’t even gag your mouth. Leaning on you with my whole body, one hand taking off my shirt first, and then the jeans...
— I hate you! I hate you!! - you are saying, but I don't want to listen to you. I shove my briefs in your mouth. With anger in your eyes, you take the element of my underwear I pulled off a minute ago.
Realizing the first line is passed, I let you go, stand up and say loud and clear:
— Bitch! On your knees! Quicker!
You are slowly doing what I told you.
- Okay. Hands behind the back.
Also doing, at that sticking out your chest and looking straight into my eyes. As if you want to burn a hole in me…
— Look down at the floor!
You don't look away.
Okay bitch! I’m not going to play a staring game with you.
I punch you on the chest with my palm.
You howled. Your hand tried to touch the burning boob.
— Hands behind your back, bitch! Eyes to the floor.
This time, you did the right thing.
I notice a black marker lying on the floor. I’m writing on your belly:
You read it and begin breathing heavier and heavier. You don't look up, you are afraid. That's right! Okay, you’ve come to me not to waste time. You’ve come to be fucked. That’s what I’m going down to now…
I’m driving into your hot inside, I see the pupils of your eyes widened. Your hair is wound on my hand. With my pace increasing, your resistance is getting subsided. You’ve become quite obedient, and you do what I tell.
But no, bitch! That won’t do... I’m getting out of you, you are looking at me with no understanding. I’m stepping into the corridor and coming back with your handbag, and shaking out all the contents. Hair brush, a cell phone, a lipstick, a tampon, two paper clips... As always, in the vast array of women's stuff you can find something worthwhile. I take paper clips in my hand and show them to you. I love to use the means at hand...
Uncomprehendingly you are flapping with your eyelashes, breathing languidly, and waiting for me to satisfy your lust.
I’m making a picture of you on your phone. That’s for you to remember, bitch! And there really is something to admire. Hot, naked, the hair is disheveled, my briefs in your mouth and a clip on the nipple — you suffer the pain silently, clenching your teeth. And despite all this, you're not trying to get away, just lying on the floor watching my every move. “Have you given up, bitch?!”.
— Spread your legs, bitch!
You are not responding. Your pride holds you. Or the pain from paper clips gave you you new strength to resist?! Okay, let's see who will win. I take a tennis racket from the table. Slap myrself on the hand, showing how I am going to educate your miserable self. You know how it would end, and you spread the legs. I’m shaking my head, begging me not to beat you...
Too late, my dear bitch! You earned five hard blows on the ass from me. You asked me not to do that, assuring that you'd do anything I say.
— Spread your legs, bitch!
You did not lie, you do everything as you have to.
You're standing outside my door. Half-naked, with the remnants of clothing, torn blouse, the panties in the pocket of the jacket, your hands are tightly holding the contents of your handbag you collected crawling on all your fours before leaving. Your belly is smeared with my semen. You are shaking, being in some kind of prostration. Exactly in that condition I pushed you out the door, saying:
— Fuck off bitch, I'll call you if I need you again.
I’m standing on the opposite side of the door, drunk with my power. Pleased with how it’s all done. Back in the living room, where five minutes ago I ruthlessly fucked your flesh. Your scent still lingers in the air. I look at the floor. You seem to have nothing forgotten here. You’ve even taken the clips. Well done! What are you going to feel looking at them next time, I wonder?! Remember me?! Or, throw’em away at the first opportunity. Ah, Yes! There is a photo in the phone. I guess, you I will not forget me soon. Smiling…
Only at midnight I got a text message you.
“Thank you, I loved it”!!!
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