Such a Bad Girl.

I’m stretch­ing after a run when he comes in. I can hear him behind me, mov­ing around, prob­a­bly putting up his things after the long work­day. He stops, goes silent, but I can sense him behind me, watch­ing me. I bend for­ward, feel­ing the wel­come ache in my thighs and calves, reach down towards my ankles, con­scious of my sleek black pants rid­ing down to expose a hint of the bright pink thong I’m wear­ing. I hear his sharp intake of breath, then he breathes out slowly, the sound vaguely animalistic.

I turn around to face him. He’s on the couch, sit­ting with his legs crossed, his casual pose at odds with the feroc­ity res­onat­ing from his frame. “Come here, lit­tle girl,” he growls. Pats his lap, but I know it’s not a request.

I slide onto his lap, con­scious of the exposed flesh of my mid­sec­tion, of how lit­tle the the sports bra actu­ally cov­ers. He puts his arms around me, hold­ing me just tight enough to be uncom­fort­able. I squirm, but his arms tighten fur­ther, warn­ing me to keep still.

“Tell me what you did today.”

I go through my day, telling him what time I got up, what I ate for lunch, who I talked to on the phone, where I went. He lis­tens care­fully, one arm releas­ing me so that he can run his fin­gers through my hair. His fin­gers encounter a snarl, and he viciously tugs through it, tak­ing a hand­ful of my hair in his fist while I talk. I go on with my day, talk­ing about run­ning through the park, telling him my time, how many miles I did.

“Is that what you wore?” he asks, voice decep­tively silky. I go still, dread­ing what will come next. “Did you run in that sports bra, or did you put a t-shirt over it?”

It was hot, I stam­mer, too warm to cover up, and besides, there weren’t that many peo­ple at the park, it’s not like any­one really saw me.

He runs his free hand over the taut skin exposed between my pants and my sports bra, cup­ping my ribcage in his big hand. He slides upwards, slid­ing his hand under the band of my bra, up over the curve of my breast, to the wait­ing nip­ple. His clever fin­gers stroke it into a hard peak as he speaks to me. His tone is con­de­scend­ing, slightly mean. “How many times do I have to tell you not to go out like that? Show­ing off this slutty lit­tle body to any man who wants to look…I thought you were my good girl.”

I am, I tell sput­ter, repeat­ing myself over and over again. I am your good girl. It was hot. No one looked at me. I’m a good girl. I am.

He pinches the hard­ened nip­ple between his fin­gers, mak­ing me gasp. He clamps down harder, twist­ing it until I squeal for mercy. Beneath my legs, I can feel his erec­tion hard­en­ing against me, thick­en­ing within the cov­er­ing of his suit­pants. The hand in my hair creeps down to the nape of my neck, and I’m hold­ing my breath, know­ing what comes next.

He forces me down, over his lap, the hand on the back of my neck push­ing me in place while the other hand pulls the waist­band of my pants down, reveal­ing the pink thong. He pauses for a moment, trac­ing his fin­gers over the curve of the fab­ric down between my legs where I am already wet. He pushes the fab­ric aside, swip­ing his fin­ger between my thick lips, find­ing the evi­dence of my arousal. He hisses in a sharp breath as his fin­ger explores my wet cleft, dip­ping inside my tight open­ing, mov­ing back­wards to test the tight­ness of my ass. His voice is rough with anger and arousal. “You filthy lit­tle whore. Look how wet you are. Did you fuck some­one at the park, giv­ing up a taste of your greedy lit­tle hole to any man who wants it?”

He pulls my panties down, his motions rough and jerky. The first blow comes before I expect it, and it’s hard and loud, the harsh slap shoot­ing pain through me. The sec­ond comes right on its heels, still catch­ing me off guard, just as hard as the first. His fury trans­lates through his hand, to the meaty flesh of my ass and he pun­ishes me, strik­ing over and over again until I’m danc­ing across his lap with the force of each blow. The tears come fast and unbid­den — I don’t have to fake the pain or the mis­ery. His anger scares me, and I’m sure he’s hit­ting hard enough to bruise me. It goes on for­ever and ever, five min­utes and fifty blows feel­ing like eternity.

He pushes my legs apart, mov­ing his atten­tion to my pussy, slap­ping the lips over and over again until I fight to close my legs and he has to hold them apart. “Be still, slut,” he growls, thrust­ing three fin­gers into my wet slit, fuck­ing them into me while his erec­tion grows harder against my belly. He adds another fin­ger, stretch­ing me open until I whim­per for mercy, then he flips me around on his lap, push­ing me so that I’m half on half off, my hands on the ground brac­ing me while he man­han­dles my cunt. He fucks me harder, impal­ing me on his thick fin­gers mak­ing sure that the plea­sure is mixed in with the pain, know­ing how much I’m get­ting off on the pain.

He stands up abruptly, dump­ing me to the ground where I lay, pant­ing for breath. I can hear the sound of his belt buckle and zip­per, then the rus­tle of fab­ric as his pants hit the ground. I turn around, get up on my knees, mouth open and ready for his cock. The belt in his hand sur­prises me, and I turn around to offer my ass again. He grunts his dis­plea­sure, pulling me back in place with a fist­ful of my hair. He loops the belt around my throat, using the end like a leash to pull me up, his cock brushes against my lips then forces its way into my mouth.

He fucks my mouth with­out mercy, dri­ving his cock into my throat so that I gasp and choke. I can barely breathe and the belt tight­en­ing around my throat doesn’t help. I can barely keep my mouth tight around his cock, my lips are pum­meled by his hips, the force of each stroke no doubt bruis­ing them. The belt tight­ens more, he’s pulling up on the end, pulling me almost off my knees, mak­ing me dizzy, turn­ing my vision dark at the edges.

It’s over as sud­denly as it started, and I’m back on the ground, gasp­ing for breath, blink­ing rapidly as my vision clears. He kneels over me, push­ing my limp body into posi­tion, pulling my hips up, kick­ing my legs apart before dri­ving his hard cock into me, over and over again. The orgasm comes fast and sav­agely, aided by the belt still around my neck. My body seizes, con­vulses, fight­ing for oxy­gen, fight­ing for orgasm. His orgasm comes on the end on mine, and he’s roar­ing, his body heavy over me, his hand in my hair pulling my head back to fur­ther impale me on his cock.

We lay in a limp pile on the ground, the belt still around my neck but loos­ened, my pants around one ankle while he still has on his dress shirt from work. His hands roam over my body, squeez­ing a lit­tle bit harder than nec­es­sary to make me moan in protest. “Such a bad, bad lit­tle girl…” he whis­pers into my ear, no doubt dream­ing up offenses to pun­ish me for tomorrow.