EroticReverie

Willow... Later that night

He's drunk. Carver is drunk, and when he's drunk, he's mean. 

The people cleaning up, ignore the backhand i'm given, ignore the way he shakes me like a fucking rag doll before throwing me against a wall. They rush to finish up the last of it, but when Carver throws me on the floor in tears and starts to rape me on the floor, they clear out. I'm not sure if they leave or just wait outside for Carver to finish beating me and punishing me for no reason. 

It's been a few months since he's reminded me of the monster he can be. Since he's reminded me of his power and control. 

Carver isn't simple. There's no telling what he really wants from me. There's no "Getting it over with" with Carever, because he doesnt care if i cry or scream, doesnt care if pretend to want it, he just likes to own me. There's no getting him off quickly , because what gets him off the most, is making me endure it. He likes it to last. Carver will finish when he wants to. Sometimes it's quick, and sometimes , at his worst, he'll spend hours, fucking me till im raw and swollen and checked out, limp on his bed and staring off into nothing as he rapes me.

"Shut up" he growls and smacks the back of my head and pushes it down as he thrusts into me violently. All in one thrust, he sends every painful inch into my barely wet cunt. He groans at the sound of my scream, the way Im fucking dripping tears onto the pristine floors, little plunks of salt water hitting the floor with each thrust.

"get it fucking wet Willow" he grunts and keeps slamming his dick into me. I wince, crying.

When he's gentler, I can train myself to alter reality, pretend I dont hate him. It makes me sick to enjoy it. But sometimes...I do. Simply so it doesnt hurt as much. Simply to survive, and please him, and not make him mad. Sometimes I even cum. I dont fake it. I dont need to, because Carver doesn't care if I do or not. 

"I SAID GET IT WET!" He growls and I sob, reaching down, under my body thats being fucked into the floor, reaching between my dress and rubbing my clit. 

It wasnt going to work, it never did when he was like this. It hurt too much to pretend otherwise. My hips slam into my forearm as I keep trying to rub my clit as he thrusts into me as I lay on the floor.

"Cmon, get it wet, get it fucking wet!" he grunts as his cock impatiently pounds into me, his dick stretching, feeling like it's fucking ripping my walls. 

He grunts. 

"you stupid fucking bitch" he growls and then pulls out and then grabs me and throws me over onto my back.

"quit your fucking crying" he growls and shoves my shaking legs apart and pushes my dress up and leans down, and spits on my cunt. He rubs it in, sliding his fingers inside of me as I keep crying. 

"I said stop fucking crying" he growls and I try to stop, I know I need to, but I can't. He spits again, soaking me, making sure I'm wet. 

"Stupid fucking cunt, don't even know  how to make your fucking pussy wet for me" he growls and then slides his fingers out and lays down and licks up and down my cunt. Growling as he lashes his tongue against my lips, over my clit, sucking it, sucking my lips, tonguing my cunt, shoving a finger in while he licks my clit. 

I close my eyes, wet lashes touching my soaked cheeks as I force myself to pretend. Whimpering out of fear and survival, not pleasure. Whimpering because I want to die. 

"yeah, get good and fucking wet" he growls, mistaking my whimpers for pleasure. 

I arch my back, pretending to be somewhere else, anywhere else. I'd pretend he was some other man, but Carver Whitethorn made me hate all men. There was nobody to picture. There's no women to picture either, because even they too, can be just as wicked as men. 

He groans as he keeps spitting, licking, sucking, fingering. All the wetness there is his saliva, none of it belongs to me. But of course, he thinks it's mine, that i'm turned on. Fine. Thats fine, it's better he's stupid enough to think that. 

"there we go, there we fuckin go, yeah, you like that little girl? you've always fucking liked that havent you? yeah, this fuckin pussy loves a good licking" he grunts and sucks my clit then moves his tongue again. 

"yeah, Willow likes daddys tongue on this fucking cunt, always has" he groans and slides a second finger in and pumps them in and out as he licks my clit. I whimper, remembering the first time I saw Carver. I was shaking, scared, tears in my eyes, naked, and told to spin around by the woman and man who were selling me to him. I think of the way he told them he needed to test our their "product". 

--

"Ass only. We have to keep her virginity for her buyer." The woman had said and left me alone with Carver and the other man. 

"Lie down here princess." he said, patting the couch and I'd sobbed. 

I'd shaken like a fucking leaf the entire time. His hands gliding over my body, touching me while I cried and my lips quivered. Spreading my legs, spreading my pussy, looking at it, smiling and telling me how pretty I was. 

I didn't know what sex was. Didn't know the plans a man had for a girl he bought from two kidnappers. Didn't know at the time that what was technically happening to me, was called trafficking. But i'd learn that later, and sooner than later, I'd learn exactly what men did with girls they bought from kidnappers. I didnt know why Carver had put his tongue between my legs. Or what I was supposed to feel. He'd hushed me softly, taken his time, till my tears dried and kept kissing me where I peed, while the other man watched him with me. 

The second my body squirmed in response to a sensation I didnt understand. Carver stopped, smiled and stroked his thumb over my clit and looked to the man. 

"Yes. I'll take this one." he's said and looked at me with a "Sweet" smile. "I'm your new Daddy." he'd said to me. 

----

I'm still that girl. Yet not that girl at all. I mourn for her. I apologize to her each night before I fall asleep for the life that was stolen from her. Even if I know it's not my fault, I wish I could go back, tell her to scream for help instead of cry when she was snatched from the side of the road. Tell her to kick, scratch, bite, fight, do anything. Even if it meant death. Because even death, would have been better than this. 

I don't know how I manage, but I escape. Alter my reality, pretend, and succeed as I feel the flick of Carver's tongue give me the same confusing feeling he did seven years ago on that couch before deciding to buy me. but I knew what the feeling was now, unlike back then. Pleasure. And sometimes, the pleasure hurts more than a hand across my face, or my body slammed into the wall or the floor, or thrown through a glass table like he had last year. The scar on my arm and legs from the glass that cut them, faded, but still there.  Yes, sometimes, pleasure, was worse than that. Because what did it mean about me, to find pleasure from a man like Carver Whitestone? 

I buck my hips and chase his tongue, my clit seeming to turn on and off. Like the pleasure flickers in an out every other lick. My brain knowing I shouldnt like it, turning it off, but my body knowing what he's doing feels good if I just let it happen, and turning it back on. The flicker happens often. When he's nice. The flicker happens when Carver eats me out. When he fucks me slowly, and whispers nice things instead of mean things. The flicker happens, and when it does, sometimes it stops flickering, and my body wins, and my pleasure flows freely. Sometimes I moan loudly, whimpering in pleasure instead of the will to fucking die. Sometimes the lights doesnt flicker back off for days. Sometimes the pleasure brainwashes me and my mind is too tired , so it lives in this state of of a false reality, where it tends to live until Carvers mood shifts and he breaks the bubble. 

"mmm" he groans as I gasp and writhe and even though my face still stings from his wicked hand, and my body aches from being thrown against the wall and again onto the floor...I moan. The flicker quickening. I cry out. Disgusted with myself as the pleasure flows uninterrupted by the more sane part of my mind. Pleasure fires through me, warming me head to toe as I Carver groans into my pussy and his fingers curl and Im wet. So wet. And it has nothing to do with his saliva. He hasnt spit on my cunt in minutes, but I'm dripping. 

"there she is" he chuckles. "there's Daddy's girl"