Follow the River

His hips moving in sporadic, uneven movements, I can tell he’s close to climax. I’m prepared to let him ride it out, using me as the human fucktoy he clearly views me as when he pulls out suddenly, taking advantage of his already tight grip on my throat to turn me around and force me to my knees.

My bones crack against the uneven stone floor and I wince. Before I have time to think, to breathe, or to protest, Rain yanks open my mouth with one hand, the other gripping my drenched hair, and shoves his cock in my mouth with brutal force. My gag reflex kicks in when the tip hits the back of my throat. I know he loves the sensation of my throat working his cock, but screw him. I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.

His hands cup the base of my skull and he starts fucking my face, his cock sliding in and out my throat. I feel him throb against my tongue right before hot spurts of cum slide effortlessly down my esophagus.

I swallow every drop, even though I don’t have any choice in the matter, hating myself for letting this happen.

For letting it get this far.

How did we end up here?

Never in my fucking life would I have imagined the guy I met that first day of practice would be this sadistic and pure fucking evil. I never asked for an enemy just like I never wanted to start this game, this battle of wills, with him.

And all this because I’m bisexual?

Rain pulls from my mouth and immediately turns away from me, not sparing me a backwards glance as he begins washing his softening cock with soap on the other side of the shower.

I look away from him, glancing down to the floor in disgust, noticing the pink tinge to the water on the floor.

Shit, I’m still bleeding.

From where, I have no clue.

I run a hand across my forehead and shoulder, my fingers coming away bright red.

Fuming, I shift my position from my knees to my ass. The pain ravaging my entire body at the movement causes me to grimace.

Fuck. I don’t think a single fucking piece of me went untouched by him.

I still feel him everywhere and instantly know it was his goal.

“I hate you,” I murmur dejectedly, and I don’t know if it’s the harsh truth or the greatest lie I’ve ever spoken.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t let me fuck your tight ass every day of the week and twice on Sundays if I wanted it.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, just rinses his cock and abs before shutting off the water.

Shit.

It’s like he sees straight into my mind and is able to pick out the most fucked up thoughts, dying to bring them to light in hopes that airing them out will force me to bask in my shame.

Except I have no reason to feel shameful.

I’m openly bisexual. I love fucking both men and women. And yes, I do love receiving a nice dicking too. For fuck’s sake, men have a prostate for a reason, so anyone unwilling to use it is wasting a gift from God himself.

But this?

Fuck, this went beyond a sexual experience about mutual pleasure.

This was vile, sadistic, and just… degrading.

Never in my life have I been treated less than human.

Until today.

And so knowing I would still let him fuck me again if he asked? That is downright heinous.

But I can’t help the way my body wants him, even when my mind and soul fracture every time we interact, whether it be from his vicious words or the wicked way he uses his body against me.

What just occurred in this shower with him was the best sexual experience of my life. Until it wasn’t.

I’ve never felt so euphoric. Until I didn’t.

I hear Rain open the shower door to climb out, letting it close with a bang behind him. He won’t fucking look at me, and out of this entire torturous encounter, that’s what pisses me off the most.

The fact that I don’t have to look at your face as I pound you into the wall is the best fucking part of playing out your little fantasy.

My body quakes with fury, resentment, and fire. The need for vengeance is crawling up my spine and I have no desire to stop it.

I study him closely as he wraps a towel around his waist with an expression of indifference on his face before pulling open the bathroom door. I let the words slide off my tongue in a low, menacing threat, only loud enough so I know he won’t miss a word.

“Make no fucking mistake about it, Rain. I will make you regret this until your dying day. I don’t know when and I don’t know how. Mark my words, it will happen. And this pain is going to be worth it when I finally bring you to your fucking knees.”

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t respond.

I knew he wouldn’t. Not when he won this battle.

But he’s been warned.

This war has only just begun.

I wait until I hear the click of the door latching shut before I curl into myself and sob.

Cold, mangled, and defeated.