Addiction

The knowing smirk that appears on his face when he passes me in the hallway is almost too much. The way he makes me feel completely transparent, too easy to read in the split second my eyes meet his. I turn away, every time, barely supressing a shudder. I smile at my friends and pretend to be just as upbeat and cheerful as I was a moment ago, while at the same time, I feel as if he's reached out with a cold finger and touched my very soul. It chills me, reminding me of everything he stands for, of those dirty secrets that I have.

We swore that we would never have any secrets from each other, my friends and I. I've told them about every crush I had, all those little indescretions a high school girl finds worthy of confessing. We still giggled at the mention of sex until our sophomore year, at which point it turned to expectant hushing and silence, and breathless waiting for an arousing or at least scandalous tale. Even now, none of us will admit to masturbating, and I can only take a guess at which of them actually do it. We turn and face the wall when we change after gym class, trying not to look at each other, or at least not to get caught doing it. If I brought up this secret, all the things I've done, that

he

has done to me, I don't dare imagine how they would react.

*****

He is good at fueling the alienation, the growing doubts I have at fitting in with my friends.

"Imagine if they saw you now," he teases me, massaging my clit with one hand, which almost makes my sore arms buckle. He's just laying there, amusing himself by watching me. I'm bent over backwards and on all fours, directly above him. His lubricated cock slowly slides further into my ass as I just don't find the strength anymore to hold myself up.

"I love that slutty ass of yours," he tells me. "Imagine what they'd think of you if they knew how much you love a cock up your ass."

Imagine

is one of his favorite words. He has me imagine a lot of things, all to humiliate me. Asks me repeatedly what my parents, my grandparents or my friends would think of me if they saw me during all of the things he makes me do.

With a groan, my body sinks down all the way, and I fully impale myself on his cock. It doesn't go down without repeated whimpering, because it's so damn painful. The friction, the feeling of almost being split in half, and most of all, that of weakness. The thought that my stretched out ass is mostly my own doing, that I could have prevented it by holding myself up for a longer time, cuts deep.

He gives me a moment to compose myself, to breathe deeply and prepare for what's to come. When he thinks I'm ready, he grasps my hips and lifts my body up, deliberately slow. I close my eyes as I feel myself being pulled back, as he slams me down with all the force he can muster, and I scream, scream so hard as the pain hits me. First the pain, and then a wave of pleasure, drowning out most of the severe throbbing in my ass. My screams turn into sharp gasps, then pleading protests as I feel myself being lifted again. He doesn't care about my feelings, and he likes to do me roughly, so my pleas fall onto deaf ears and the second time he slams me down is even worse than the first. Searing pain shoots through me once more before it recedes, leaving me with tears in my eyes.

But he just goes on. My body is his plaything, something to be used for his pleasure and not mine. His cock slides up and into me over and over again, leaving me with my eyes squeezed shut and my face flushed.

"Tighter," he orders me with a gasp, and despite the discomfort, I obey. I squeeze and tighten my ass, making the pins-and-needles-feeling so much worse. He loves it. I can feel every single vein of his cock now, as he roughly uses me for his pleasure, as I am slammed down many more times. Just when I can see the lust in his face and I know he is really close, he raises his hips. The next thrust goes so damn deep inside me, hitting something quite wrongly, and I scream again as my face contorts in pain. He loves hurting me, loves when my eyes fill with tears and I beg him to stop. Two more deep thrusts that leave me choking and whimpering and begging, and I can feel his release fill me. He arches against me, pulling me down tightly so that not a single drop will miss.

I know that he won't allow me to clean myself up, that he will send me home in a few minutes with my ass leaking and sore. It won't be the first time.

*****

We all gasped whe we heard about anal sex for the first time. Of course, it was a rumor about the designated "school slut", who probably hasn't even done half the things I have. Allegedly, she had let a guy put his dick into the wrong hole, and we were scandalized when we heard about it, debating the issue in the girls' bathroom. We came to a concensus quickly – it was gross, and it was wrong, and the girl who had done it deserved her horrible reputation. We smeared her name onto the bathroom wall, adding a few colorful derogatory terms we deemed fitting. We giggled and smirked while we did it, all secure in the knowledge that we would never, ever sink to such a level.

*****

He is sitting there in his usual position, leaning back comfortably, relaxed, arms crossed before him. He has this slightly bemused expression on his face as he looks at me expectantly. Because to him, this is amusing. The little slut on the other side of the room is one of his favorite entertainments, a welcome diversion, and so easy to use. I know that that is what he thinks of me, but it's much too late for me to care. I'm addicted to this, to what he makes me do and how he makes me feel. To the humiliation, to the orgasms and to the feeling of doing something dirty, socially unacceptable.

There are a lot of things that I ordinarily would never do, or at least not in front of anyone else. Things that are dirty, nasty and slutty, and of course, he makes me do all of them. Sometimes I resist or protest for good measure, to pretend that those aren't wild turn-ons for me, but I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince. He knows exactly what I'm doing, of course, and I'm past the point of simply lying to myself.

There was a time when I was able to do it. I told myself that I had no choice but to follow his orders, that he was an immoral bastard who was trying to corrupt me. The only problem with this idea, I realized at some point, was that I had always had the option of simply walking out the door. But I never did.

And now he's sitting there again, in the position that has become so familiar to me. His merciless eyes are fixed on my body, and he watches as I take a few deep breaths to finish my task and force the 20 ounce pepsi bottle as far into my tight cunt as it will go. It is quite difficult, mostly because I shudder every time another part of my sensitive skin comes into contact with the chilled plastic. The bastard had the bottle in the freezer for a few minutes, I know that, and I have to pause occasionally to steady myself before pushing further. Very slowly, my pink lips close around the neck of the bottle, and I lean back and let out a relieved sigh at having done the feat. Through half closed eyes I can see him pumping his cock to a quick climax, his semen spurting out before him.

I know what he expects of me now, and I get onto my knees, the liquid sloshing around the bottle inside me as I move. I crawl slowly, since movement hurts when I am accomodating something big, until I am in front of him. He grabs my hair and pushes my face down, making me lick his cum off the dark blue carpet until I have swallowed it all. I feel fuzz and hairs on my tongue, but I don't dare spit. Then he stands up and reaches behind me, grasping the neck of the bottle and pulling and pushing it, fucking my cunt with the cold thing. I'm wet, as always when he has his fun with me, so friction is not a problem, but the size of the bottle is just too much for me. He brings me to a very painful, quick climax this way, snickering dryly as I beg him to take the bottle out of me. My cunt is clenching it painfully, and I feel way too filled, unable to bear the object inside me any longer.

He grabs my hands then, and ties them closely together and onto one leg of the couch.

"You need to train your cunt muscles anyway," he tells me and then leaves me alone, slamming the door behind him, to deal with the plastic bottle that is painfully buried inside me.

*****

I already know he doesn't care how much he hurts me. He has reached my limits, and crossed them. There is no "too much" for him. He didn't back down that one time, when he had me screaming my lungs out and crying hysterically for minutes at a time, struggling, biting and clawing to get away from him. He only adjusted his grip on my hair and continued to hold my body down, making it impossible for me to get away. All I could see through my blurred, teary eyes was the ceiling as he bent my head back and shoved his hand deeper into my cunt, burying it and rotating his wrist for more stimulation. His fist was pressing harder against the walls of my cunt than I could ever stand it, and I could feel every single one of his wristmuscles as he flexed them. He never stopped, not once listening to my begging, until my body went limp altogether. I was simply beyond pain, and I didn't have the will, nor the strength left to struggle. That's when he pulled his hand out of me, tossed me aside like a lifeless fucktoy, and wiped his hand on my hair.

And then he gave me the sweetest kiss I had ever received.

*****

He twirls the dildo in his hands, walking towards me slowly, taking in my red face, my cheeks burning in shame. I'm sitting on the hood of his car, naked, trying to cover myself as best as I can with my hands. But that isn't what he wants, of course. He wants me to be a slut for his friends, both of which are leaning against a tree, to spread my legs for them in the middle of this godforsaken part of the forest to which he has brought me.

He slaps my thigh with the dildo, and his friends snicker as my legs part slowly. I shake, and I have to will myself to calm down. I wish he had blindfolded me, but of course that would be counterproductive. He wants me to suffer through whatever he has planned, knowing I am being watched by complete strangers.

"You know what to do with this," he tells me as he presses the dildo into my hands. I just nod, and, looking down, place the tip of the toy against my red, puffed up pussy lips. He grabs my knees and pushes them apart further, until it hurts and then just a bit more, so his friends will be able to see every little thing. I feel weird when I see them grin, then I realize that my ass is leaking cum all over the place, onto the hood of his car, and a tiny stream starts to flow downwards, away from me. He is smirking as well as he steps away, telling me to get on with it because he doesn't have all day.

I lower the dildo and bring it to the puddle between my legs, dipping the end into the cum. I need some lubrication. My pussy parts more easily when I push the dildo back against it, and the first inch slides right in. I use slight pressure to fit the next inch, trying to get comfortable with the toy inside me, but then he gets impatient and clears his throat.

"Ram it up there, bitch, or I'll do it for you."

I lower my eyes, feeling slightly panicked. My hand starts to shake as I grasp the end of the dildo tighter and grit my teeth, then relax my pussy and push the dildo all the way up inside me. It hurts and I have to close my eyes for a moment, but the pain passes quickly and I look up again. All three guys now have their cock in their hand, staring at me while stroking themselves.

He stops for a moment and comes closer again, and my eyes go wide when I see another dildo in his hand. Oh, shit.

"Three guesses where this one goes," he smiles and hands it to me. I stare at his face, wide-eyed, hoping for a sign that he isn't being serious, but of course he is. My hands shake as I lower the dildo, and I shiver when the tip touches my already sore rosebud. I press inward, and I groan in pain as the dildo starts to penetrate me, but it doesn't go very far at all. It can't, it's just too big. My lips quiver as I look up at him, certain that he already knows what I am about to tell him.

"I... I c-can't."

"Why not?"

"It's too big."

"Well, maybe you're just too small."

He looks at me for a few seconds, waits until I realize the meaning behind his words. When I flinch, he walks closer again. His large hands grasp my thighs, then they slide lower until he is cupping my ass. He lifts me off the car slightly, pulls me towards him, and then I feel the mushroom-shaped head of his cock brushing against my thigh. I close my eyes as he starts to slide it inside me, but I can feel his warm breath on my face. I whince, although he goes in relatively easy, since this isn't the first time today. His lower abdomen makes contact with the dildo in my pussy, pushing it slightly further in as he starts to fuck my ass, fast. I lean my head back and moan quietly as the friction turns into pleasure, which in turn makes my clit pulse. I bring a hand down to stroke it, and he lets it happen, still intent on widening my ass as much as he can manage with his cock. Although my ass is burning and tingling with soreness, there's pleasure too, and I try to focus on it. With him, there's mostly just pain, and I need to take away pleasure whenever he lets me.

It's not long before he erupts inside me. His orgasm is strangely anticlimatic, it's not the purpose of this exercise, and I feel soothed as his cum hits my insides. He makes sure that both of his friends get a good look at my stretched out ass before stepping away, and I know that I have no time to lose. My fingers close around the dildo once more and the only sound I make is a relieved sigh as it slides into my ass almost by itself. I lean back, trying not to look too glad this part of the torture is over, wondering what he has in store for me next. But he only stands there and looks at me, and I really wish I could read his face as easily as he can read mine. He reminds me of the way my father sometimes looks at me when I've done something to make him proud, but I know that I must be mistaken.

*****

He's haunting me. He flashes through my mind every time my friends break out into silly giggles, every time someone praises me. I'm the good girl in school, the straight A student that sets an example. The one that always has her homework done, is never late for class. I know that this is half the reason why he enjoys making me his slut, because of my untarnished reputation, because of my neat, conservative appearance, because of the shy, innocent smile I greet people with as I walk along the hallways, books in hand. But the smile always fades before the last hour of the day, and my legs feel like lead as I take the last few steps towards English class. And then I enter the brightly lit classroom, eyes towards the floor, and he greets me with his usual, knowing smirk as he wishes me a good afternoon and collects my homework.

"Good afternoon, Mr Grant," I mumble, and slink away to my seat, hoping that no one will notice how much my knees tremble. And I know that this day will be like any other, that I will listen to him lecture, watch the girl to the right at me stare at him with a starry-eyed look, listen to his jokes and the class's laughter. It is only I who knows of his dark side. And as much as it pains me to admit my addiction to him, I can't deny it, because that single look he gives me at the end of class tells me that he expects me to show up at his doorstep today like I do every day.

And I know that I will.