The Basement 11

Trigger warning: this story focuses on sexual violence. If this is not your cup of tea, then please move onto the next story.

This story is exactly that: a story. I do not condone violence in the slightest.

Thank you to all those who took the time to read, edit, offer their opinions and encouraged me.

*****

She knew that she should lock the door. Something in the depth of her core told her that she should lock the door. Scoffing to herself, she told herself that she was being silly: she was in a safe neighbourhood, her home secure. The alarm was set, the house was quiet, her love will arriving soon and the dog was napping upstairs. She had nothing to worry about; she was protected. Or, at least, that's what she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she repeated her mantra and continued to take measurements. But she could not shake the unerring feeling that she should lock the door to this dark, empty, half-finished basement room.

Finally, she put down the measuring tape and got up from her knees. While she didn't always trust her instinct, this time it was screaming - a sharp, piercing silent cry that she couldn't ignore. Tripping over her discarded pants that she took off because of the heat, she made her way to the door. As she moved to slam the lock home, she heard it: the quiet, unmistakeable sound of someone turning the handle.

She took a step back and stared at the knob, transfixed, as it slowly turned, her heart in her throat. Her legs were made of lead; she could barely breathe. Her mind was screeching for her to run, to lock the door, to grab anything, but she couldn't make her body obey. The door swung open, the light spilling into the room for a moment until a figure filled the frame, blocking the glow. She slowly looked up, her eyes taking in his muscled built. His eyes were hard, his face carried a small smirk as he watched her, taking in her every detail. She felt completely naked in her panties and flimsy shirt, her eyes filled with fear, her skin crawling.

They stood there, staring at each other, waiting for the other to do something. He slowly smiled: a cold, hard, merciless smile. Something snapped within her. Turning around, she ran. In a few quick steps he caught up to her and grabbed her waist. Yelling, she scratched at his arms, struggling against the column of muscle. He chuckled, the sound filling her with dread. She managed to slip from him and began to stumble to the door. He pushed her against the wall, her face slamming against the wood. The mirror trembled from the impact.

With a shout, she pushed herself against him, the back of her head colliding against his jaw. He lessened his grip, and for a brief moment, she thought that she would be able to run for it. Holding her breath, she inched from beneath his grasp. Just as she felt that she could struggle free, he grabbed her and threw her flat against the wall, his strong hand trapping her throat. She could feel the power coursing through him. She clawed at the hand, struggling to breathe, the terror overwhelming her.

His elbows pinning her shoulders down, he ripped her shirt off, buttons flying and clattering against the concrete floor. He tugged her panties sharply between her lips. Her back arched as she inhaled with pain. With a hard yank, he ripped the material off, tearing bits of her flesh. She clenched her teeth. Pressing against her throat he moved back and took in her nakedness. Reaching, he mauled her breasts, twisting each nipple, almost tearing it off. She tore at his hands, trashing, but they held firm, never ceasing their torture. She flopped back against the wall, panting. Feeling less resistance, he relaxed his grip slightly.

It was then that she raised her hand to strike him but he was too quick. Grabbing her wrist, he yanked her arm in front of her, catching the flailing other. "Tricky," he chuckled. She spat. His face darkened dangerously as he calmly wiped the spittle off of his cheek. It was that composure that filled her with terror. Without a sound, she watched as he slowly took off his belt with one hand, the other still holding her wrists tight. Without a care in the world, he looped the end around her neck and bringing her hands to the buckle and tied them, limiting her movements. She struggled and the belt tightened, threatening to cut her breathing off, making her choke. He grinned.

With a sudden move, he twisted her, pushing her up against the wall, pinning her with his body. He rubbed his jaw against her neck, his bristles abrading her skin. Moving his lips to her ear, he sucked the lobe before biting down, the pain intense. She cried out.

"Say something, bitch. Tell me that you want me to stop." She glanced back, tears streaking her face.

"Go fuck yourself," she spat out. At her words, she felt the sting of his hand as he smacked her. He leaned onto her, his shirt scratching her back, the curve of his malicious smile hard against her shoulder.

"Oh, I will," he growled. "I will fuck myself on you harder than you've ever been fucked before, slut. I promise you." He pressed his bulge against her ass, hinting at the sincerity of his words. She shivered, not entirely from disgust. She had no doubt in her mind that he planned to fulfil that very promise.

He tugged her hair sharply, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. He licked the column, whispering, "You'll scream, my sweet. I'll make sure that you'll scream." With those words, he sunk his teeth into her neck right above the belt, drawing blood as tears rolled down as her body jerked. A fantasy violated.

He moved her to the tiny table and pushed her casually onto the surface, the edge digging onto her pelvis, her breasts pressing uncomfortably against her bound wrists. With one hand holding the back of her neck tight, he fumbled with his zipper, the sound of the grating metal loud. He drew his shaft through her apex. The wetness that seeped out surprised him momentarily. "So," he chuckled. "It seems that my bitch is a true slut. You like it, don't you?" She sobbed.

With a hard thrust, he plunged himself into her, bottoming in one fluid motion. Crying out against the intrusion, she tried the raise herself from the table, to push him off, only to have his body weigh her down. Driving himself, with each thrust harder than the last, he reached over and toyed with her clit, finding the nub hard and throbbing. Unconsciously, she began to move her hips, matching his rhythm, her walls clenching. Biting her lips, she tried to control the trembling of her body, to lie motionless beneath him, but her body betrayed her. She felt the tingles of her orgasm quickly building and suddenly overtaking her body, spreading like liquid honey. She choked back a sob.

"You came, slut," he muttered. "You came and don't deny it." He paused, waiting for her response. She quietly cried, refusing to answer him. He bit her shoulder as he thrust hard into her. Her back shivered as she felt the dull-sharp pain of her cervix being hit again. Tears dripped down her face as she lowered her head, shame filling her as another wave of her intense orgasm coursed through her as she was being violated, the pleasure of the pain shimmering through her body. He pushed hard and stopped, kissing her cervix. He slowly pulled out and she tensed, knowing that whatever he did next will be that much more painful.

He turned her around and forced her to her knees. Taking his hard shaft, he smacked her face repeatedly, each hit stinging her skin, trying to push the tip into her mouth. Her lips pinched, she refused to open. His eyes glinted, he began to hit her with his hardness, carefully slapping her face in the same place until an ugly red stain began to rise. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. Tracing the bruise, he softly muttered, "You'll wear my mark for all to see." She shuddered, her lips still closed tight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of him seeing her shake.

Grabbing her jaw, he forced her mouth open and plunged his shaft deep. For a brief moment, she tasted the intoxicating blending of their combined juices. With hard thrusts, he began to abuse her throat, saliva dripping everywhere, the room echoing with his grunts and her gags. Her stomach churning, she struggled not to vomit as her nose was pressed deep into his pelvis. With her throat filled, her nose blocked, the belt tight around her neck, she could barely breathe. She feebly raised her arms, her hands clenched into fists, weakly trying to beat him off. He laughed. He pulled out, and stared at her as she struggled to catch her breath, the black-stained tears and saliva smeared all over her bruised face and dripping onto her breasts, his precum glistening on her lips.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before a sound could be made, he grabbed her hair and shoved her down onto him, the pain so acute and so unexpected that she screamed, his hardness muffling her cry. Briefly closed her eyes, she took small comfort in the fact that he didn't hear her. A sharp tug forced her eyes open and she glanced up to see his cruel smile. He felt the scream. Her shoulders fell as she realised that he had conquered her, that he had fulfilled every last one of his merciless promise to her. As she let her arms down and finally offered no resistance to his invading rutting, the last thought that ran through her mind was that this bastard was the only man who didn't lie to her.

He began to pummel her mouth, his thrust hard and fast, her saliva boiling up as he rutted her throat. His hands tangled in her hair, he held her head painfully tight as he pounded her without a thought. With a final, loud groan, he emptied himself for what seemed to her an eternity. Buried deep within her throat, his cum flowed and flowed and her eyes widened as she started to choke. She tried to breathe through her nose, struggled to hold on to that last shred of composure but she began to panic, moaning - screaming - for him to let her breathe but to no avail. He just didn't care and continued to use her as a vessel for his gloriously sadistic pleasure.

Slumping slightly, he pulled himself out and quickly covered her mouth with his hand, preventing her from spitting out his seed. "Swallow," he growled. Raising her tear filled eyes, her mascara smudged and running, and staring into his eyes, she swallowed in one gulp. Seeing her working throat muscles, he removed his hand, muttering "Good girl."

Zipping up his pants, he gently yanked the belt up, bringing her to her feet. The room was silent, broken by her quiet sobs and the sound of his removing the belt from her neck. She glanced in the mirror, the angry welts on her skin standing out in sharp relief; her neck was stained with a wide swath of black, almost as if someone had tattooed his collar onto her skin. With a surprising soft stroke, he traced the mark with the tip of his finger, the almost reverential touch more shocking than any of his others.

With shaking knees she stood tall, bloodied and bruised, her face wet with tears - she refused to back down, defiantly standing straight, but unable to look into his eyes. He walked up close and lightly tweaked her sore nipples. She bit her lip hard to muffle the groan but the slight smile told her that he heard it. Bending his head, he gently kissed her like a tender lover, and softly patting her face, he turned and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door after him.

She stood for long minutes, staring the closed door, her mind at once racing and blank. Taking a deep breath, the conflicting emotions finally overtaking her, her tears stinging her bruises and scratches. She collapsed in the corner, weeping, feeling very much alone and strangely freed.

The door quietly opened and he stood quietly in the entrance, watching her, as he folded a large, moist facecloth. He silently made his way to her hunched, sobbing form, and sinking to the floor next to her, lightly stroked her. When she glanced up at him, he gently washed her with the damp cloth, his strong hands soft as he wiped her mascara-stained tears away, dabbing at the bloody welts he gave her. Tossing the fabric away, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, dragging her legs so that they lay across his lap. Stroking her hair, he murmured, his deep voice rumbling incomprehensibly through his chest as he kissed her. As he held her tight she wept into the crook of his neck as his heat warmed her. After long moments, her crying subsided into the occasional hiccough.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. She nodded, not trusting her voice. "You sure?"

She looked up at him, touched at the slightly worried tone. It usually was she who worried at the slightest thing. "I'm sure," she smiled. She reached over and kissed his cheek. "And you did marvellously."

Wiping the last of her tears with his fingers, he whispered, "Let's get you out of here and into bed." Helping her up, he held her close for a moment, pressing his lips to her forehead. She sighed and briefly closed her eyes.

"C'mon." Taking her hand, he gently led her out of the half finished basement dungeon that they were building.

"My Love?" The phrase was spoken so softly that he scarce was sure that he heard it.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."