Dinner Date 24

I met you over an app, I know Tinder is popular but maybe it was Bumble or Hinge. Maybe I was even charming enough to message you on Insta and get your attention. Well, in person that charm is GONE. There's zero chemistry between us, we have nothing in common, and it feels like the check can't come soon enough. With all the lockdown and COVID, why did you even come out in the first place? Alone in the house too long, that's the only thing you can come up with.

Finally, mercifully, the bill is paid. I insisted on paying and by this point you acquiesced only because an argument would prolong this longer. You grab your coat as I grab mine and it's all you can do to not run out of the restaurant and back home. Thank god you only live a few blocks away, the walk will give you time to clear this night from your head...

Rain. It's raining. I'm offering you a ride but all you can hear is your internal monologue, asking how this night could get any worse. You mumble a "thanks but no thanks" as politely as you can, saying you had a nice time but you really need to get home. You barely hear my reply before you take off into the rain.

You walk quickly, checking behind yourself once or twice but the weather is picking up, your hair is plastering itself to your face and all you want is out of this downpour. You go around the side of your building, knowing it's quicker than the lobby. You pull open the side entrance, but as you try to pull it closed, a boot catches the door. The metal exit door pulls open quickly and there's a body on you. A hand around your throat. You can feel the rough unfinished concrete against the back of your head.

The figure pulls off his hood and it's me.

"I'm not ready for our date to end, bitch."

My hand is on your throat, hard, but all your instincts scream to fight. You swing out with your left hand first, then your right. The first swing misses but your right is fortunate. Your nails catch my cheek, one even drawing blood. A thin line of scarlet that you have little time to admire. I pull you forward then slam you back into wall, hard. The air knocks out of your lungs then your vision swims as the back of your head meets concrete. Your throat is on fire as I tighten my grip. Now I'm not just gripping it but pushing you towards the wall. It feels like I'm trying to push you through it.

"We can play that game if you like," and I slap you across the cheek. Another slap. "But I'm going to win. Now, I thought we had a very nice date back there. We were getting along real nice before you ran off. And now you scratch me?" As your face begins to turn beet red and burn hot I ease my grip enough for you to take in a breath. You do so, greedily, before I tighten my grip again. You manage to squeak out a response.

"Just...just let me go. Upstairs. Won't tell. Never happened."

"Never happened," I laugh. "No, I want this to be a night you remember. Here's what's going to happen next. You and I are going to get to know each other. Intimately. You can enjoy yourself, and accept what's going to happen next or you can keep fighting and I'll do what I want anyway, but you get to have a lot less fun." With my free hand I yank down the zipper of your coat, exposing your blouse. I slap your face again, then trace the outline of your breast. You can feel tears begin to stream down your burning cheeks.

"Please don't." There's no fight in this plea. It's soft and plaintive. All you get in response is a laugh, and another slap across the face.

"I told you your choices. Invite me up or right here but the next thing you're going to taste is my cock." And my free hand pats at my crotch, and bulge forming in the fabric.

With a hand you wipe at your tears before steadying your jaw. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears. It feels like hours but how long has it been since you left the restaurant? Fifteen minutes? Less? You want to check the time but you're not even sure where your phone is right now. You meet my eyes. You try to put all the hate you can muster behind your look but I just keep smiling.

"M-my apartment. It's only up a few flights." I smile, wide and beaming.

"A great choice. A cute little thing like you probably has a very comfortable bed. Well, lead the way, baby." I step back, gesturing towards the staircase. You suck in a breath, the first clean one you've taken since you entered the stairwell. You think, momentarily, about pushing me as hard as you can into the exit door. Throwing me into the street.

Screaming.

Yelling.

Fighting.

Clawing.

Yanking my dick as hard as you can and snapping the damn thing off.

But you don't. You begin to walk up the stairs with the railing in a death grip. And with every sullen step you take you hear mine behind you. You think about kicking behind yourself and almost immediately you feel my hand grip one of yours. You try to shake it if but my fingers interlock with yours tightly, so tightly it begins to hurt. In your mind you concentrate on that. Nothing hurts, not your cheeks or your head or your back. Nothing except those fingers.

We reach the landing and you pull open the door. As you walk with a head hung, staring at the floor and moving with stiff, quick movements I almost bound down the hall. As we reach the door and you slide the key in to your apartment you hear me whisper into your ear,

"It's a date, honey, just enjoy it." And you spin around, fist raised. And again my hand around your throat. You hit the door, a hollow sound echoes into your living space. Then the door falls open, and, off-balance, you fall to the floor as I let go. I take advantage of the daze. I grab your hips and turn you over on your hands and knees. I slide my belt out from its loops and strike your ass, first one cheek and then the other, over and over again. The loud crack of leather against the thin fabric encasing your ass rings throughout the apartment but mostly in your ears.

And then it stops. You hear me quickly slide your deadbolt closed, drop my belt, then the soft landing of my coat on the couch. You turn your face from the rough thin carpet of your living room to see my feet enter your view. My pants land on the floor and I step out of them. You feel a chance to strike but before you can I grab a fistful of your bright pink hair and twist, bringing you up on your knees and wrenching your head back.

"What did I say was the next thing you would taste?"

"Fuck you." You seethe through gritted teeth. You expect the slaps this time but they still sting, a flurry of hits alternating the left and right sides of your face.

"Try again, bitch."

"You-your...your cock." Another slap.

"My cock, SIR. Now try again." As a punctuation I pull a little harder on your hair and this time you feel your scalp pull as well. I might as well be pulling the fight out of you.

"Your cock, sir. You said I'd taste your cock." I pat your head, then pinch your mouth open.

"Good girl. Suck nicely and I won't pinch your nose shut." With my free hand I yank my underwear down and my cock springs forward. With your hair still yanked back I grip your throat with my other hand and push it as far into your mouth as I can. You feel it slide across your tongue. It hits the back of your throat before you were expecting and you gag, hard. You try to cough but I push in again. I begin a movement like a piston, in and out over and over as you struggle to catch breath when you can.

I pull my cock all the way out and you gasp, panting and breathing deeply. Drool runs down your neck, dampening your shirt. A single long thin strand stretches from your lip to the bright red head of my dick. It catches the streetlight, shining in from the window. Your breathing calms and you finally look up at me. I'm stripping off my shirt and tossing it on top of my coat. There's a grin on my face and it's not cruel but satisfied and somehow you find that repulsive too.

"Damn, you took to that pretty well. Maybe not your first time getting mouthfucked, huh?" My cock still bobs in front of your face and you swipe at it. The line of drool finally snaps but that's all you catch with your hand. I laugh again, giving my wet cock a few quick strokes.

"Miss it already, do you? Don't worry babe, you and I will get to have lots more fun."

Your scalp burns and your throat is sore from the abuse. You try to swallow and find it difficult. You reach up and rub at your throat, brushing against the already-forming bruises. You're aware of me walking behind you but you don't care until I pull your legs toward me and your face hits the floor. The carpet greets you rough as ever and your teeth hit the inside of your lip. My hands pull off your shoes, then grasp your waistband and yank. Your pants bunch up around your knees and cool air hits your skin.

You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes closed, not from pain.

From embarrassment.

You hear a small laugh from behind you as my fingers brush against your lips for the first time. You hope I won't say anything but wonder why I wouldn't.

"Are you wet from this? You're fucking soaked down here." And two of my finger roughly push into you. I curve them to hit your g-spot and your body betrays you, shivering all on its own. A moan escapes your lips as I pull my hand away. You feel something else rubbing your labia and without looking back you already know what is about to happen.

I laugh loud, filling the room.

Goddamnit. Of course he laughs, you think. Then my thumb begins rubbing your clit, and you move back into my hand. You curse your body and your luck and even god themselves as you move back and forth on my hand. My fingers curve onto your g-spot as my thumb makes small circles on your clit.

Your eyes shut tight. You find a steady rhythm, rocking yourself back and forth on my hand. Your body works all on its own and you begin to catch whiffs of yourself. You bite your lip to keep from moaning as small wet sounds fill your ears. You try to concentrate on them rather than my own heavy breathing. In any other situation you could find this pleasurable, or at least tolerable.

My hand pulls away and a cool air hits your pussy, and you can feel me readjust my position behind you. I grab another fistful of your hair, my other hand grabs the soft skin of your ass and I push myself inside you. No teasing, no love to be felt. Gripping you from behind I use your body completely and totally for my own pleasure. You arch and lower your back, catching what rhythms you can. You are determined to get whatever fleeting pleasures you find from this encounter. You feel my hand leave your ass and you brace yourself for a smack or a choke but it never comes. There's a noise but you can't place the sound.

Your knees are rubbed red and cracked by the thin, rough carpeting. If it bothers me I make no mention of it. There are no noises or taunts, just heavy grunts and breathing. Moans escape your own lips and you realize you've made no effort to stop them. In another situation, one more in your control, you'd play with your clit or rub your partner's body. In this case you find a small comfort in the position, bent over with me behind you, thrusting inside you. No eye contact, minimal body contact. It's about power and control.

My hand finds your ass again and my other hand let's go of your hair, wrapping around your neck and pulling up your head. I lean in close and whisper in your ear.

"I'll bet you haven't been fucked since the lockdown bitch. Your cunt is so tight I can barely fit." My breath is hot and my voice is a low hiss.

"Shut up. Shut up and get it done."

"I knew you liked this kind of treatment." You don't see the smile, you feel it. I nip at your ear and begin thrusting harder and harder. You can hear the wet squelching noises as my cock thrusts into your wet pussy again and again.

My pace quickens. You know what that means and are suddenly, dramatically aware there's no way I bothered to put on a condom. You open your mouth to protest when the first warm glob hits you, splashing your cheek and coming perilously close to your eye. You try to pull your head away and can't, your pastel pink hair once more in my grasp. A thick stream lands at your lip and the unmistakable smell fills your nostrils.

Another hits your hair, dripping down your forehead.

The thickest stream hits your cheek like an arrow finding its mark.

One more hits you at the eye and you manage to close your lid before the worst of it but you still feel a sting.

You collapse to the floor as soon as I let go of your hair. You hear my hurried movements as I pull my clothing on. Another noise you don't recognize but know is familiar. Your shirt is bunched up around your shoulders and your pants are in a tangle around your ankles. You don't know where anything else is. As you hear me fiddling with the door, you lift your head of the carpet, bracing yourself with one elbow.

"You're still a shit date, asshole." I chuckle, pulling open the door.

"Next time we'll skip dinner, then." And the door softly closes.

Your heart pounds and your ears ring. Your scalp stings. Your throat and neck feel awful, bruised and parched. You wipe at the come splattered across your face but touching it makes you cringe so you stop. You fall back to the floor. Adrenaline fades quickly and you pull yourself into a fetal position as you quickly pass out.

Hours later, a buzz in your ears, harsh. You launch into a sitting position. You're still in the same torn and knotted clothing, laying on your living room floor. Dried jizz dots your face and you can feel it crackle as you look about for the noise.

Your phone's alarm. You fiddle with the touch screen until it shuts off, once again leaving you in silence. You unlock your phone, and notice the last app opened was the camera.

That's weird. You check the last picture taken. It's you, a few hours ago. Your cheeks are red from slaps and cloudy white come dots your defeated expression.

The noise. You couldn't place it. It was the camera shutter. You begin scanning through.

A video of my cock thrusting into you.

Pictures of the same thing.

A close up of your pussy.

Your ass, beet red with welts from a belt whipping.

Finally, a long video of my cock pistoning into your mouth, you gagging and drooling.

You can feel fresh anger surge through your body, along with something else. You scan through again, your hand already furiously rubbing at yourself.