While I was going through poetry earlier today, I stumbled upon this short sexy story. It’s kind of mind-bendy, and I should warn you that it’s violent, sexually explicit, and potentially contains examples of non-consensual sex (depending on how you view it). That said, if you’re kinky or violent, it will probably be enjoyable. This hasn’t been edited at all, and may have some major issues. (To be kind to your brain I added a bit of formatting to make it easier to understand. You’re welcome)

Present … Past …

Fire. A shooting heat burns through my shoulder as I twist away from him. Fucker is strong. I yell and lose my breath as my body is shoved against the hard wall. Cold metal around my wrist. I push back, fighting away from the wall and he trips me. I hit the concrete floor with a thud and he’s on top of me, twisting my other hand back and the click-click of the handcuff is the only thing I can hear above the throbbing in my head.

“What the fuck!” I yell, trying to twist away as he pulls my head up by my hair. He forces me to my feet and shoves me against the wall again, pinning me there and twisting the handcuffs until my wrists burn. Smell of paint on the wall, then a faint musk as I’m thrown, almost bodily, onto the bed. “You can’t do this!” Fear now, heating behind my eyes, I can feel it trying to boil over, becoming anger. Faggot. How dare he?

I kick at him as he follows me onto the bed and he grabs my ankle. I flop around, landing on my wrists as I try to pull away. Disturbingly, he says nothing. I look at him, seeing a hunger in his face, almost a madness. It consumes the air around him, burning away the atmosphere like a black sun, ripping the pieces of the world from their proper places. I freeze, shocked, and he’s on top of me, weight pushing me down on my wrists as he forces my head to the side and digs his teeth into my throat. The pain is immediate and harsh and I cry out, bucking beneath him but his teeth and hands are vices above me.

Snap-click. Cold on my throat. When did I close my eyes? I open them, he’s staring at me, grinning ferally. The cold at my throat moves and I feel it prick my skin. Knife. I freeze as he moves the blade down and hear it cut through my shirt, the cotton giving way freely. He pulls the cut hard with his hands, exposing me to my waist, and forcing the remnants of the shirt down to my wrists. The place where he bit me feels like it’s bleeding, throbbing with my heartbeat.

He begins to get up, the strong length of his body levering above me. I kick at his nuts, and before waiting to see if I struck home I begin to turn my body, rolling off the bed. I turn and hit the floor with one foot, then the other and run for the stairs. He grunts angrily behind me, I daren’t look back.

I have to get the fuck out of here. All I can do is get up those stairs and out the door and I’ll be fine. He can’t do this to me. My foot strikes the first stair and I start up, then fall against the wall as my wrists are pulled up harshly, then down. I stumble down the stairs and he forces me against the wall. I must have missed the fuckers balls. I try to turn around but his knee is suddenly in the small of my back, pushing in hard. I hear the fabric ripping and being cut as he removes the rest of my shirt.

“What the fuck man! I’m not a fag. You’ll fucking die, I’ll kill you!” He presses all of his body to me against the wall, and bites me again, behind my left shoulder. Again I lose myself for a moment, the strength and fight seeming to drain out of me. My pants are being cut away. He says something about not moving if I don’t want to bleed. I hold still, keeping my eyes closed. Smell of paint, and now sweat. My own. Fear. I clench my fists and feel my nails biting into my palms. my pants fall away. He cuts away my briefs and unbidden, a plea for mercy bubbles up from my stomach, more a whimper then actual words.

He reaches around with one hand, pressing me against the wall again and grabbing my dick. I begin to pull away then freeze. Cold at my throat, I try to open my eyes, and find his face there. I open my mouth to tell him what I think of him, but the words die in my throat. Fucking faggot. Fudge-packing little homo bitch queer. How could he do this? His hand moves lower, and I stiffen as his fingers wrap around my balls. He squeezes, I remain as still as I can, my open mouth toning a sound of pain.

I close my eyes. “Why are you doing this?” I ask as he steps away from me. I feel suddenly cold, and shiver, trying not to think of the stairs to my left, of how close I am, but how far away. He grunts and begins to wrap something around my forearms above my wrists. Rough rope winds and winds and I blink back tears from my eyes, the situation beginning to set in. “Please.” I say.

The rope pulls tighter, roughing up my skin. Click-click, Click-click, then handcuffs come off. I twist my wrists and the rope burns them. “Because I can’t stand self-deluded little haters like you.” he says. His voice is surprisingly gentle. Like steel wrapped in fleece or cotton. Hard and unyielding, but with a softness that lulls. “Because I’m sick of watching you fill yourself with hate and spread it like a disease.” His hand on my ass and I realize I’m holding my breath, as if it really matters to me. “And mostly because I want to fuck you.” He squeezes and I shudder involuntarily, shaking my head violently and trying to pull away, but the strength is mostly gone out of me.

“No. Nonononononono.” I start shaking my head and screwing up my face in horror. He can’t do that. He won’t. I can’t let him. I start shivering all over, shaking my head violently and pulling away from his hand. Getting away isn’t even a thought. I just can’t comprehend what is going on here. I hide against the wall as if it would offer me shelter. There is no shelter though. I huddle down, crouching low against the wall and tucking my head under.

Suddenly I am back in school. I see the faggot in the locker room, turning his head away from his, hiding his face in the lockers, as if that would make a difference. His skin was so pale, I can make out every hint of a pimple on his cheekbone, the black hair wet from the shower hanging half-over his face. I hear him crying as my fist connects with his stomach. I pull on his hair. I can smell his tears. Something in my stomach uncoils, a serpent rising up to strike. Spontaneously I lick the tears from his cheek.

A slap to my cheek brings me back to the present. I look up at him, taller than me, and turn my face away. “No, please don’t.” He only responds by grabbing me by the hair and pushing me down onto the cold floor. More rope as he pulls my ankles together. I whimper quietly, too stunned to do anything, my mind being drawn back several years, but the cold of the floor too severe and present for my mind to escape.

When he’s done with my ankles he slaps my ass with one hand, and the sting pours through my body, racing along lines of energy beaded with sweat. He pulls me up to my knees. His hand tightens in my hair, pulling on it until my eyes roll back in my head. He punches me in the stomach and I begin to cry harder, clenching my eyes against the tears and then he bites me again, and I’m lost in the taste of my tears on my lips. .

My friends have left gone home. He looks up at me, brown eyes full with tears and pain, now curious. I pull his head back with his hair and scratch at his collar bone with my teeth and fingers. He moans and I punch him in the stomach again. The moan increases in volume. He leans, losing his balance. Half against me and half against the lockers. His body falls into me and I feel his cock, rock hard, against my hip.

I come back to myself and begin to struggle again. Pulling away from him and now he smiles. “Get away from me!” I yell, falling to the side as I try to pull away. He grabs my shoulder, his fingers digging into the places he’s bitten me and I cry out as he pulls me back up to my knees forcibly. Both hands on my shoulders he yanks my head back by my hair. He unzips his fly, the blue jeans bulging as he reaches in and pulls out his cock, full of life and ready.

“Don’t even fucking think about it faggot!” I say. “I’ll bite it off.” He lets go of my hair and slaps me suddenly across the cheek, then he is low, his breath against my cheek and my body kneeling up held against him, his other hand grabbing at my balls again, squeezing them.

“If you even think about it again I’ll cut your balls off one by one and feed them to you through a tube.” There is threat in his voice. My body shivers convulsively and he suddenly lets me go. I fall back, my ass hitting my heels and my head falling forward, hiding from him.

I tighten my hand in his hair and pull back, biting his throat and shifting his body to lean against mine. My hand goes around the back of him and my fingernails rake his spine, then dig into his ass. His eyes are closed and I let go of his hair, watching subtle changes in his expression as he presses against me. His hips twitch up further, he’s on the balls of his feet now. One hand on the lockers the other on my hip, clenching the waistband of my briefs. He opens his eyes.I see some sort of reflection there and the tears pour freely down his face. The scent of salt is maddening. Tears on his lips. He kisses me suddenly and I freeze, violently stunned. Faggot.

He puts his thumb on my lips. “Open up.” He says. I turn my head away from him. The head of his penis barely an inch away from my cheek. I lift my chin stubbornly. He chuckles and I feel his fingers gathering along my cheek, beads of my tears, which he rubs into his penis. Salt and precum in the air, a bubbling in my stomach. He turns my head back to him and presses the head of his cock to my lips. “Or else.” he says, low in his throat. So quiet I can not be sure he spoke at all. My lips part and he places the head of his cock on my tongue. “Now suck”

I bring my knee up into his crotch and he goes down with a deep moan. I grab the back of his head and pull, crouching down, wanting to see the tears, the taste of them still on my lips and in my mouth. His eyes are glazed over, and his mouth partway open. When the sense returns to his eyes a smile quirks the corners of his lips. I open the fly of my briefs.

His hand is on the back of my head now and he pulls me in. I choke, trying to pull back, and my gag reflex fires again and again. He pulls out slightly and I try to breath, to catch my breath, and he forces his way all the way back in until I’m sobbing and sweating and unable to struggle from lack of air and energy, and then he slides in and out slowly as I try to breathe, recovering myself. Then again, his penis is filling the back of my throat and the cycle continues. I wonder if this is about getting him off, or breaking me down. My wrists twist in the rough fibers and I moan.

I bit the flesh just inside his hip and he started to moan. “Don’t do this to me!” he said. He always said that. “I’ll do what I want faggot.” I said, hitting his balls with my open hand. I bit until I was happy with the mark. By this time he was crying. His hands were clenched in the bedsheets and his face screwed up with pain. I hit his balls again, hard this time, and slapped his stomach. His body arches up from the bed and I can hear the small noises he begins to make in the back of his throat.

“You like that fag, don’t you?” I say, and he nods jerkily, and again as his body settles to the bed, moaning. I can smell his cock and I climb on top of him, licking his face, nipping his cheek bones with my teeth. He giggles as though I’d tickled him and thrusts up against me. He grabs at my shirt, pulling it up until he can place his hands on my chest. I grab him and force him down, holding his wrists. I kiss his lips teasingly, “Fucking faggot. You’d like to see what’s under my shirt wouldn’t you?”

I can see he’s not in the mood for this. He whimpers but doesn’t lie. “Yes. Please!” He isn’t playing the game. I smile, all the better if he’s not actually in the mood. I bring my knee up and press it down against his groin. He shudders and his eyes close. “God no, I’m sorry! Nooo..”

I blink, delusional. I can breathe again. I’m panting and he’s biting my chest, teeth digging into my nipples and pulling on them. I cry out. “Stop! Owwwww!” And try to pull away, but he punches me in the gut. My new found breath escapes me and I double over onto him. He moves and pulls me to my feet by my hair. Shoving me onto the bed. “You’re going to get fucked now.” he says. I’m too weak even to fight back. But I try to roll over anyway, worming towards the other side of the bed. He grabs the rope at my ankles and pulls me back down until my ass is hanging over the edge of the bed. He slaps my ass hard and unties my ankles. Spreading them out and tying them to the legs of the bed.

I whimper and he says. “Doesn’t this seem familiar?” He chuckles and I moan as he pulls a piece of rope under my arms and ties it to the headboard, preventing me from straightening up at all. He tightens it until it hurts and I begin to whimper steadily. He hits me on the ass with something hard, a paddle maybe. I jerk, surprised. This is new. He chuckles and hits me again and I start to sputter words. “Stupid faggot, what the hell. You need to soften me up before you fuck me? Stop, no, ow! Stop it!” It goes on and on, I can feel myself bruising.

I leaned harder against him until the pain is so great he can’t make any more noise, then I reached up above him and pulled the piece of clothesline out from under his pillow. He’d stolen it from his mothers basement. I eased up on him as I tied his wrists together, tightly, and then abruptly climbed off of him entirely. I pulled on his wrists and dragged him the rest of the way up the bed, his ragged breathing shallow and fast as I tied his wrists to the metal posts of the headboard. I climbed back on top of him then, and bit his nipple as hard as I could without ripping it off. He screamed and I slammed my hand over his mouth. My fingernails scratched down over his ribs and stomach, over the turn of his hips and down his thighs.

I slapped his cock until he stopped moaning from it and then squeezed it as if I were strangling a snake. All the while, “god no, please, why no, it hurts, i hate you, you fucking hetero mother fucking breeder piece of shit. Stop, it hurts, I can’t stand it. god damn it just get me off already. No I’m not in the mood I don’t want this I want to cum you fucker, stop, just let me go!” All the begging just made me meaner. I can never tell if he whines to make me crueler, or if some part of him really wants me to stop. Still, when I turned him over and lengthened the rope tying his wrists to the headboard so his hips were over the edge, his body responded with a parting of his legs and a thrusting of his hips. I turn him over onto his stomach.

I’ve stopped yelling at him. I don’t know if I lost my voice, or if I just forgot to keep protesting, but my ass and thighs were burning and felt as though they must be twelve shades of purple. Smell of my tears on the sheets, damp, and the sound of him behind me. I moan “Why?” “To hurt you.” he says. My shoulders and elbows are on fire and I twist a little, trying to ease the pressure. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” I start to plead. Whatever he wants he must already have had it. He couldn’t really want to fuck me. “Don’t do this to me, Not anymore.”

Sound of a condom wrapper, the squish of lubricant. Something breaks inside of me. I jerk fiercely against the ropes and cry out in pain and terror. I start to shiver and pull, ignoring the pain, determined to break free of this, to get away from him. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, pulling me back and his knees are to either side of my hips, and he bites me. My body freezes, all the pressure and fear draining out of me, transfixed by the sensation shooting through me. I let out a purgative roar and collapse against the bed as he releases me.

I use a condom. I know it will never be like this time again. His ankles are tied to the legs of the bed frame with more clothesline, spread apart. I put a pillow under his hips and knead his ass with my hands. “Oh god no, I’m not ready for this. Don’t do this!” he starts babbling as I open the condom. He starts to struggle, causing the bed to creak and shake and I soothe his body. His speech degenerates into a bubble of moans and pleasure sounds as my lips and teeth and tongue find the soft parts of his back and shoulders. Finally his breathing settles and I press a lubricated thumb against him. Pushing in until I hear a low moan. “You like that don’t you faggot?”

He nods and whimpers, and I smile. You won’t for long, I think. Something clicks inside me as I place the tip of my dick against the cleft in his ass. A part of me already regrets what I’m about to do, but most of me knows that if it’s not rape, it won’t satisfy either of us. The pain and ordeal is what makes it meaningful. I put just a little more lube on my cock and then nicely softly massage him, letting him think it’s going to be easy. I rub my cock against him until he relaxes enough to think it won’t be so bad. Then, after just the tip of me is in with that slow pressure and easing, I pierce him like the sun through the clouds. His yell is somehow subsonic, and his tears leave my eyes.

He is raping me now, harder than I raped him. I wonder if I’m bleeding. My body is in some sort of mysterious shock that scares me and drives me happily wild. The sex is fierce, and my protests have long since been burned away by the heat of his body against my ass, by the pain and bruising and the sheer feral passion that rolls over us. I bite the sheets, angry that there is nothing else to get my teeth on, and taste my tears. I am blind with sensation, I hear his body, his blood pumping in my veins, smell only my own heat and the mix of my fear and pain. I am beyond my ability to process this experience and so I ride it, surging on the swell of his body, my heart echoing his beats until I don’t know where the lines between us are anymore.

I lick his wrists, deep marks from the rope, from where he struggled so hard when he realized I wasn’t going to stop. He is in my arms on the floor, the pillows and sheets piled up around us. I was afraid that somehow I’d broken him, but there was some sort of glow coming off his skin now, and it was brighter in his eyes. His head was on my chest and I sucked blood back into the skin of his wrist. He pushes his head against me, as if trying to climb inside me, and I stroke him softly, fingers parting his hair in sweaty clumps. I tug on it and he turns his face up to mine as his arm wraps around me.

He finishes and walks away, leaving me there, sobbing silently in pain and anger and fear. I hear the condom hit the garbage. Then the pressure on my arms is gone as he cuts through the rope. He unties my ankles, then my wrists. I don’t move at all. he covers me with a sheet, and suddenly I’m cold, and I pull my body in around myself, wrapping the sheet around me, and then he’s there too, cradling me in his body. He strokes my temple and body until I am no longer cold, and the warmth of his body reminds me of life. I press against him, needing assurance, needing presence, feeling strangely alone in my body. He kisses me, his hands in my hair, and I’m no longer alone. I blink, and smile, and tension that I didn’t know was there vanishes into the ether.

“Thank you.” I whisper, smiling up at him. My hands stroking his arm and shoulder now, caressing him.

“Thank you” he says, and we kiss again. I grin at him. “What is it?” he asks, a twinkle in his eyes.

“That hurt.” I say solemnly, and grin in what feels like a goofy manner.

His smile is small, something fragile, but it carries the weight of his eyes and he wiggles his ass against me. I kiss him, and lose myself in the taste of salty tears, and the kiss that he gives back. When I open my eyes again he says “Thank you.” and I whisper “You’re welcome.” His eyes glimmer with something impish inside. His smile becomes a grin. “What?” I ask.

“ow.” he says in all seriousness, then bursts into a fit of giggles.