You’re pinned under me. I’ve got you prone. One of my hands has your face pinned to the bed. My fingers are wrapped around your head like a vice, grinding your opposite cheek into the wet spot you left when you first started crying for me. You started the night so sure of yourself; of your strength and cunning. I wonder if you can see my smug smile through your tear filled eyes, through the mat of sweat soaked hair.
I’m tracing the lines of your back with my eyes the way a butcher might. Your muscles play so beautifully as you heave for breath. I’m counting the bruises I left on you. I’m admiring all the bite marks I made while the defensive wounds you left on me throb.
My legs are settled around your own. The strength in my thighs and where I’ve settled my weight are keeping you from taking advantage of any real leverage. The bed’s too soft to push against, my body keeps you from slipping out either way, and any part of me you might reach you’re not strong enough to pry away from you. As the helplessness of your situation is reinforced, your panic mounts and builds. You’ve become little more than a prey animal desperate to run that can do nothing but shake.
I’m not wasting this opportunity. Something about you has driven me to this point, I’m sure. Some smart remark, some challenge, some bit of ego I wanted to squish. You’ve been beaten but I want something deeper than that. I want the memory of this humiliation leaking down your leg the next day.
My free hand drops to spread your ass cheeks. You hear me spit a moment before you feel the warm thud of my saliva against you. I watch the cold realization course through you like a wet towel had been settled across your body. You fight anew, struggle, kick your feet behind you to no avail. You earn another bruise against your ribs; my fist leaving behind a smear of the spit I’d started spreading across the puckered rim of your ass.
You’re lucky I want you to enjoy this.
You’re still struggling to catch your breath when I’m satisfied with my work. Your body is tight with panic and fear, making sure you feel every inch as I guide myself deeper inside you. I take one last look at the play of the muscles on your back before I settle my body fully on top of yours.
Breathing is harder now, pushing back against my body covering yours. Each breath is a struggle to find the room to expand your lungs. I take another inch, forcing a mewling exhale. You’ve started crying again by this point.
When I finally hilt inside you, I take a long moment to savor the way the heat of you radiates around me. I tease you, asking you how proud you are that you managed every inch with just the drool of an over eager dog for lube.
I keep you here for a while, my hips barely working, fucking you with the laziest sawing of my hips, knowing there’s nowhere for you to go. No way for you to arch or twist yourself to find relief or press into what feels good. Just kept still and used while I teach you a lesson you thought you might avoid.
You don’t get to pick your place under me.
Concern spikes when you realize I’ve stopped rocking myself inside you. Just my hips, pressed as deeply as I can find inside your body, crushed into your plush ass, while I keep you from moving a muscle. Heat rushes through the core of your body and you feel yourself grow shamefully small underneath me. A steady stream of piss pumps into your ass, warm enough you can feel it coursing through you. The obscene heat of it is boiling hot against the sweat soaked sheets. The last sparks of your attitude and pride are extinguished under the growing pool in your gut. When I finally finish I’ll pull free, leaving you to deal with the sickeningly hot slosh in your belly.
It’s hard to be mouthy when you’ve been used as a urinal.
(If you would like to support my writing and help me relocate to a safer place I've included my cash app below or you can DM for my paypal)
https://cash.app/$LyrWrites