Demeaning

He stood in the doorway, blocking her only exit. His dark, brown eyes were impassible, his rocky jaw set and unmoving. Joanne wondered if she could make it to the living room window before he caught up with her. Not likely, she decided as her eyes wilted down to the legs encased in his tight, black denim pants. She could see the subtle curve of each muscle along the sides of his thighs and calfs. Had she ever been as fit, even back in her twenties? Probably not. The realization that there had never been a version of her that could outrun him just made her feel even more helpless.

"This house," he said, his face hardly moving, "resembles a pig sty. What exactly have you been doing all morning?"

She felt her face burn as her eyes failed to meet his. The ticking of the clock on the wall felt painfully loud as she stood before him, exposed.

"I'm waiting, Joanne. Tell me. Why are you unable to perform the simplest, most mundane tasks with any measure of competence?"

"I..." his dark, hazel eyes were narrowed, all their power concentrated into two, tiny spots that she couldn't meet with her own, "...I've been..." her mind regressed thirty years, becoming a stupid child trying to explain away a broken cookie jar "...overworked...?"

He didn't respond. His dark, chiseled face remained stern. The butterflies in Joanne's stomach fluttered harder. She shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

"It's just that..." she tried again, "at work I've been-"

"Bull. Shit."

With two big strides of those tight, striated legs, he closed the distance and grabbed her shoulder in one hand and her hair in the other, painfully yanking her head backward so she was forced to look up at him. She gasped in pain, then trembled as he made her look him in the eyes.

"You really think I'm buying that, you stupid bitch?" He brought his sharp, dusky face downward, so she could feel his hot breath and smell his mouthwash with every word. She grimaced even harder as his fingernails dug into her shoulder. "One last chance. One last try to explain this shit."

Her whole body shivered in his hands, like there were flecks of ice dripping down her spine and breasts and buttocks. She couldn't meet his eyes, but she couldn't look away. His body heat was all over her, even as she shivered. Her face went red. Her eyes dewy.

"Well???"

His nails dug into her shoulder so deeply she feared she was bleeding, his other hand pulling her hair so hard it was all she could do not to yelp. Any window she might have had to escape was long gone. He could do anything to her, he would do anything to her, and there was nothing she could hope to do to stop him. Completely at the mercy of a man young enough to be her son. Her cheeks went from pink to crimson. She wanted him to just get sick of waiting and do what he was going to do, whatever punishment was coming her way, but he wasn't going to let her off so easy. He was going to make her confess to him first, so that she could be properly condemned.

She closed her eyes and started to speak, but he shook her and barked "LOOK AT ME!" She felt like she was turning to water inside of her skin as she forced herself to make eye contact with her captor and whispered her response.

"I...was...lazy."

She had hoped the admission would make his glare easier to meet, but it just made it worse. His dark, brown eyes kept ripping into her, as he kept his painful grasp on her hair and shoulder. A dull sting burned behind her left eye...was she actually about to cry.

"Lazy. Of course."

He let go of her hair and roughly threw her backward. She stumbled and nearly fell on her back as the chiseled young man advanced on her. Before she could even straighten up, he had grabbed her again, this time around the middle. She squealed in fear and surprise, all too conscious of her middle aged spread as his steel-hard forearms closed around her belly.

"No!" she squeaked as he dragged her toward the couch, "let me-"

SMACK!!

He raised his right hand and slapped her so hard across the seat of her skirt that she was sure the neighbors could hear it. She gasped as the pain lit up across her buttocks and tried to put a hand to them, but he was in the way.

"I think I've learned a lesson about letting you do things," he growled, sitting heavily on the couch and wrestling her down across his lap, "and now it's time for you to learn a lesson of your own."

Her stomach was churning and her entire skin surface crawling as he pinned her midsection under one, muscular arm and flipped up her skirt with the other. Joan's face burned as her underwear were exposed. She had always had a bottom-heavy figure, even when she was young and thin. Nowadays, what awaited her captor's merciless eyes was vastly wider than her waist, like a pair of chubby, wobbly watermellons barely restrained by her panties. She just prayed he wouldn't comment on them.

"I can tell you've been sitting around on that fat ass all day long, you lazy bitch. Disgusting."

And then, just as Joan felt like she couldn't be any more exposed, he grabbed the elastic of her panties and tore them roughly down to her thighs. Her twin jello mountains wobbled and bounced free. She wimpered and clutched her hands to her face, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes, humiliated beyond all measure.

SMACK! He slapped the underside of her left buttock so hard she could feel it bounce upward, his hand like a hot iron against her tender flesh. She gasped, and he repeated the slap, on the exact same spot.

"You're not going to be sitting on this fat ass for a long, LONG time, you worthless fucking whore!" He punctuated every other word with another slap, burning deeper into her cheek each time, so that by the time he said "whore" she was squealing like one. She prayed that he would just spank her a little bit more, that he would give her a chance to apologize, but she knew it was hopeless. He was never understanding, and never, ever merciful.

She felt him yank her hair again in his left hand, making her yowl in pain and snap her head up as his right began descended all over her naked bottom. It felt like sandpaper being rubbed against her ass, hornets swarming, his hard hand and bulging arm hitting her as hard and fast as he could, over and over again, fire on top of fire on top of fire. She started blubbering, wriggling against him, but he thrusted her head painfully down into the couch and dug his elbow into her back, jabbing her, making her lift her bottom even higher so he could slap her sit spots with full force. She was on the brink of tears when he finally stopped.

"Th..thank you...thank you..." she stammered pitifully, gasping, "please no more. I learned my lesson-"

"Shut your mouth, bitch!" he lnaded two more hard swats on each cheek and smashed her face back into the couch cushions, muffling her, "I didn't say we were finished, and we're not. Understand?"

He leaned in over her shoulder, so she felt his head and hardness all across her back. Half her age, but she was helpless to him. Whimpering, she nodded her head yes.

"Good," he straightened back up, releasing her hair and giving her bottom a few firm pats that just brought out the sting, "then go get your hairbrush and get back over my lap."

The pit fell out of her stomach. She looked up at him, mouth hanging open. "No, please no, I'll-"

He slapped her across the face, knocking her head aside and making her screech. His dark brown eyes regarded her smugly, his statue-like face wearing a cruel grin. "If I'm not holding that brush in ten seconds," he hissed, "then you're getting my belt and THEN the brush."

Joan gasped in fear. Pushing herself heavily off of his lap, she strumbled to her feet, nearly collapsing onto the floor as she put both hands to her sizzling rump. She ran as fast as she could to the bedroom, her panties being bunched under her tush with each stride. It wasn't her house anymore. She was a slave in it. She picked up the hairbrush off her nightstand; it was black ebony, the blade as long and wide as her hand and almost twice as thick. She almost started crying right then, when she felt its weight and lethal hardness.

Feeling like she was about to choke, she ran back to the living room, holding out the deadly implement without making eye contact.

"Ohhh, look, you did something right for once." He snatched it out of her hand. "Now get that big butt back over my lap where it belongs."

Slowly, she minced up to his side, forcing herself to move every centimeter forward...when suddenly, he grabbed her by the bangs and tore her down over his thighs, her body thumping onto the couch with a shamefully heavy "whumph." Before she could even cry out, his elbow hammered into her back again, and the hairbrush whistled through the air.

Joan screamed. The first almighty crack tore her bottom open and stuffed hot coals inside, and it was followed in less than a second by another crack on the other side. She couldn't think. Couldn't fight. She was aware of nothing besides pain, pain beyond words, as the ebony brush whooshed down, blistering her soft, helpless buns, battering, bruising, blazing. She cried, each sob choking a scream as it came out. From somewhere far away, she heard his sinister laughter as he kept paddling, and paddling, and paddling. her arms and legs twitched outside of her control. Her face was soaking wet and sticky, but she was hardly even aware of it. Colors danced and exploded in front of her eyes. For five uninterrupted minutes, there was no existence besides the crack of the brush, the screams and sobs, and all the pain in the world being concentrated onto Joan's bottom.

She could only twitch and bawl as he hoisted her off his lap by her soft torso, throwing her over the armrest. She was nothing to him. Less than a slave. Less than a toy. Less than vermin. Her blubbering turned back into screams as she felt the apricot-sized head of his cock - iron hard and slick with oil - push against her naked asshole, his sharp fingernails digging into her destroyed buttocks as he forced her cheeks apart. A new kind of pain as he stretched his way in, then an explosion of fireworks as his hard, washboard torso slammed against her purple cheeks and a sharp ache penetrated her guts. He pressed his hand over her drool and tear dripping mouth, preventing her even from screaming as he pumped in and out, causing three types of pain with each thrust.

"Slut," he growled as he impaled her again. "Cunt," he repeated in his next thrust. By the time his hot cum erupted inside of her, the person who was Joanne no longer existed. She had been made less than human.

...

When Franklin came home, his little brother was waiting for him, beaming up with a bright smile.

"Oh sweet, you're home!" said twelve year old Jeremy, "wanna play Super Smash Bros?"

Franklin looked down at him. Right. In another world, another century, another young man named Franklin had promised Jeremy they would try to beat hard mode together this afternoon.

"Um..." Franklin stammered, his dark brown eyes not making contact with his brother's, "...I...uh...kinda tired right now. Maybe in a few hours?"

"Aw. Okay." Jeremy stalked away. Franklin looked after him, mouth half open. He wanted to say sorry, but couldn't bring himself to. He shook his head. He needed to be alone right now. Lock himself in his room and listen to calming music until he felt like himself again. He was halfway to his room when his mother caught him.

"Oh, you're home already! How was work, Franky?"

Franklin let out a slow, sad breath, not turning around. "Um. It was fine, mom. Got finished faster than I expected."

"They're paying you the same though, right?" she pressed. He gritted his teeth, heartbeat accelerating.

"Yeah, its not hourly. Four hundred bucks this afternoon, like always."

He felt his mother walk up behind him. It was all he could do not to shy away as she put her arm around his muscular shoulders. Her soft, middle aged skin reminded him too much of Joan's.

"I'm so glad you found this work. We'll be able to pay your student loans and you can finally move out like you've wanted." She squeezed him against her. He turned around and hugged her back, still not looking her in the face. "I'm going to miss you, though."

"Yeah. Yeah, I miss you too, mom. I WILL, I mean. Future tense."

As soon as he could, he pulled away from her and darted up to his room, treating himself to a very hot, very thorough shower. He spent the next hour curled up on the corner of his bed, counting the eight fifty dollar bills over and over again. On the dresser near his bed, he saw himself smiling among his grinning family members at his high school graduation. Beside it, his old Boy Scouts of America badges, and the astronomy textbooks he was pouring over for the semester exams.

Jeremy would be knocking on his door to play videogames, soon. Franklin didn't know if he could do it.