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I am currently a virgin, and wish you to take me in more ways than one.

After extensive correspondence we decide to meet for the first time. I, of course, came to you, though I could not afford the ticket without sacrificing necessities. At the airport I am not met by you, or by anyone. This, it appears, is the first test of my determination to get to you. It is no small task; I know only your screen name, and it’s a common one at that. I find you eventually. Until entering the gates of your estate I had preserved a solid resolve, yet it wavered as I grew ever closer to you, the steps echoing in my head, stretching my nerves ever thinner. I enter the entranceway and wait, two days, a night without food or water or sleep or relief from the high pitched screaming in my head. You appear and I know not from where. A kick from your booted foot sends the bright blood patterning the floor. I turn to go and you command me to stay where I am. 'Don't move.' You say. I'm frightened now but I can't disobey you, the words are nails in my feet. The terror is apparent on my face. You walk up to me slowly, your footsteps echoing, getting nearer and nearer, I close my eyes but they keep coming, those echoing footsteps nearer and nearer and nearer and then; they stop. I open my eyes and you're looking at me as if I had just been wiped off your shoe. In a soft voice, which is full of the promise of removed restraint, you command me to follow you. You start walking. From some well in my being, my self-preservation gives a dying gasp: 'No'.

Before I know you've heard, you're in front of me and your hand is moving and my cheek goes numb with the force of the blow. A second one left and I sway on my feet. The third on my right cheek again brings me to my knees. You ever so slowly let the blood from my cheek fall off your knuckles to your frightening gash of a mouth and I almost come on the spot at the sight of it. 'Follow ... me.'

I stagger after you.

I follow the sight of you, the trail of my blood dripping from your hand through a white door into a large bedroom. As soon as I clear the threshold the door slams and a cream blindfold is whipped over my head and tightened uncomfortably. Too weak to lift my arms I grope my way blindly forwards. Something hits the back of my knees and I fall forwards onto my face. I can do nothing but whimper as my clothes are cut away from me by an unknown who stays beyond my view. A pointed boot comes under my chin and forces me to lift myself to all fours. I reach towards you imploring mercy, though I know none shall be forthcoming. My hands are taken and handcuffed to the wall. I am lifted, stretched unkindly by my legs and a table is slid beneath me, ending just above my jerking dick. The edges are horrid vicious things that show no mercy to a weary traveller. All is silent and I'm almost too tired to be wary.

I feel a warm hand on my dick and moan at the contrast to what I had expected. I come almost immediately, fuelled by the knowledge of whose hands cupped me, with smooth hands placed around the head, capturing the semen. I collapse onto the table, feeling the edges draw blood but unable to do otherwise. Small movements behind me register dimly.

Then I feel something hard and wet at the entrance of my ass and I realise what just happened. You just milked me to use my sperm for lube. The plastic head of the strap-on now penetrates me and I can’t help but cry out at the pain, the intensely alien feel of the violation. A stretching such as I have never known is burning, squeezing me. As the head sits there I begin to make a keening sound. The plastic quivers and I stop, extremely alert and focussed on what I cannot see. With what must have been a mighty thrust you push the shaft two inches up into my anal passage. I can sense every single millimetre: time has slowed, with this combination of ecstasy and violence. I feel as if I am about to break, as the shaft must be two inches thick and widening. My ring is stretched and sore. You pull out and I sigh with relief, but you only thrust forward, harder this time. I scream and shudder and cry into the table. The plastic cock must be three inches wide in my ass and four inches in. I scream for you to stop, please, no I can’t take it and you pull out again. I relax. You shove the whole eight inches in and after an eternity of length I pass out.

I come to and you're stroking my neck. As you realise I'm awake your grip tightens until I'm choking, and you pull out of me only to slam the monster into my ass, violently sawing back and forth. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. You pause, I hope. Inch by inch my instrument is drawn out, until nothing is left but the gaping hole. I hear strange snaps and schlucks, scaring me to weeping. Then silence, which I find to be worse than anything that came before. A good half hour is passed, and I strain to feel the breath on the back of my neck. Strange, that I would so fear abandonment after all that happened. Finally I relax. Your step forward does not register, but what happens next does. Apparently the strange sounds were of you replacing the existing strap-on with one possessing fine serrations at random intervals. I feel as in a mince grinder, and the howls must reach the house’s extensive attics when upon impaling me once more, you turn the switch on that causes it to rotate. You reduce me to meat until I pull away from the gibbering heap that is my body. I realise distantly that my sperm must have dried up long ago and the only lubricant on the strap-on is my blood.

Eventually you stop. You unlock my restraints, and breathe the words into my ear as you lean forward for the handcuffs, that
‘You’re mine now, now that I've ass-raped you, taken your cherry. You're my bitch.’ Gripping the hair at the top of my head you pull me up off the table and throw me to the floor. The blindfold comes off. A string of cum connects my cock to the table. You scoop up the sizeable pool and drizzle it on your pussy. I hate you. I hate you so much that had I the strength I would kill you where you stand. But I can't take my eyes off your rose of a pussy, with my cum dripping off it. You tell me to
'Lick it, bitch.'
And I do; with care, with love and devotion. The blood from your beating mixes with my come and your nectar and I lap it up, and you are cast into oblivion, rapt by my tongue.

I am Nahadoth, ever the humble servant.

I hope you liked it. I know I enjoyed writing it.
7 comments

marksipspaleReport

2011-11-13 00:33:27
I wish to serve that way. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm

NahadothReport

2011-08-03 07:01:27
If you read honey let's fuck the kids, I think that's more what you're looking for. I find it a submissive act in itself.

anonymous readerReport

2011-07-17 12:16:13
I somehow think these stories flow better when written from 3rd person instead of 1st, but it could be just me.
Why does every pegging story have to be about domination and submission? Can't ANY of them about a man and woman merely having fun in a radically different way?

NahadothReport

2011-04-19 14:06:56
Please, detailed criticism e.g. why isn't it your cup of tea?

anonymous readerReport

2011-04-18 20:34:50
very well written gripping story - but in the end it was not my cup of tea

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