SB et Vi's Closed Thread

Trigger warning. The scene that follows includes rape and non-consensual events. Please follow along with this in mind.

Please do not interrupt. And allow this thread to die after it is finished.

Thank you.

He'd used many things over time to mark her. Canes and floggers and paddles. Zippers and clamps and wooden spoons.

All of it was left behind today. Toys she didn't deserve the pleasure of. An endorphine release he had no intention of giving her today.

Her pleasure was not a factor today. Her pain would not be directed towards any release. Her marks, many of them, would be invisible to the eye. Mental, not physical.

He was barefoot as he sat in the chair in the corner of her room, watching her sleep in the shaft of sunlight that filtered in through her blinds. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrow and fixed on her. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, wearing only dark jeans and a black t-shirt. He knew how she liked him dressed, and it was no accident that he had no part of that on now.

Silently, he'd let himself in a half hour earlier, leaving his shoes by the door. Moving barefoot through the house, he latched all the doors then crept into her room, stealing her phone up off her nightstand. The battery was removed, and phone and battery were stashed in two different rooms. Her laptop was turned off, the battery removed, the power cord hidden as well.

No outside communication. No getting away.

On the carpet of her room, his toes lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped. Impatient. He was a coiled spring, waiting for the moment when he would be set loose on her.

She had fallen asleep with his voice in her ear, all coos and sweet melting words like he always did. Her stuffed animal by her side, like always. Her blankets wrapped around her after the others had left.

The dog was kenneled and wouldn't bark if anyone came in.

A soft sigh from her lips, as she woke up with a smile. Her hand reaching for her cell, as it was always the first thing she reached for in the morning, ostensibly to see if their were any texts from him. She couldn't find it.

Her head popped off the pillow, searching. Nothing. It had to be here. She turned, spied him and shrieked.

"Oh Fuck!"

Pulled the covers up around her. Smiled at him.
He wasn't smiling.
She bit her lip.

"Why are you.. why are you here?"

When she reached out for her phone, his lips peeled back to reveal white teeth, a grin that knew no humor.

Fucking finally.

He had been minutes away from waking her himself. But that look in her eyes, that mistaken notion that covers up to her chin would protect her, was far better.

Silent footsteps, he was on her quickly, both hands seizing her by the hair and pulling her from the bed. She'd try to fight, he thought, it was only natural when being bodily hauled out of bed moments after waking up, but it was no matter. He was significantly taller and quiet obviously stronger, and it was all leverage that would be used against her.

He pulled until she was out of the bed, ignoring any blankets or pillows or stuffed animals that she dragged out with her. It was only as she started to get her feet under her that he released her hair, and only then because he sent her with a jerk tumbling towards her dresser.

There was no words, no delight in his eyes at seeing her, nothing, something so cold in those blue eyes that frightened her. He said nothing, but moved so fast that barely a gasp escaped from her before his hands sunk into her hair.

"Hey!"

He pulled her up from the bed.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

The cold air in her room slid over her skin as quickly as the blankets fell from her.

"Stop!"

She pulled back. It didn't stop him. She struggled and he tossed her to the floor without a word. Thankful for the plush carpet in her bedroom, she turned and stared at him.

She fixed her nightgown, pulling it up to cover her chest. She tried to smile softly, tried to smile up at him, but suddenly afraid to move from the floor.

"Don't do this." She whispered, "Please, don't do this. Just ask. I'll say yes, please ask. "

"Fuck you."

He spat it out, venom and anger, careless and calloused. He was on her again quickly even as she tried to pull up her nightgown, one hand on her throat, the other on the side of her face, turning it away from him as he pushed her back, cheek against the carpet. His legs moved apart as he walked over her, up past her hips before he sat his weight down onto her.

"And fuck..."

His hand left her throat, a fist made around the top of her nightgown.

"...your..."

He jerked, fabric tearing a bit, her shoulders yanked up off the carpet.

"...permission."

Another jerk, harder than the last, and fabric was shredded, torn free, exposing to him flesh that was still warm from her now-empty bed.

Normally, she'd let him do this, enjoy it even. But this wasn't what she wanted.

"No! Red! No!"

She screamed at him, and yelled even as her clothes were torn from her, her breath catching.

"I don't want this, get off me!"

She shrieked at him, feeling exposed, raw and powerless. One hand covered herself while the other swung out at him. Catching his shoulder and his face as she swung her hand wildly.

"Get off! Fuck you, get off! Don't do this! No!"

She clawed at his face to push him off of her, pushing trying to buck her hips, the fear growing inside her.

"No. Just leave."

Red.

It had shown up faster than he expected, though his reaction was a surprise, if at all, only to her. He snorted at it, derisively, dismissively. It was not even a speed bump in the road for him.

He bounced a bit on her as she bucked her hips, but he was not going to be thrown off her that easily. The hand on the side of her face was used for support each time she thrust upward, pushing her more and more into the plush carpet, her face distorted under him.

Shifting his weight, he moved his knees forward until the push of her hips was minimized, allowing him to lift his hand off her face. It was returned, all too quickly, in a vicious slap that stung his hand.

"I don't give a single goddamned fuck about your little safe word, cunt. Yell it until you're blue in the face, it's not going to make a single fucking difference in what happens to you."

Another slap, just as hard, on the same side. He'd be amazed if her ear wasn't ringing from it.

His body was blocking any more tearing that could be done, and so the hand that had slapped her clamped down on her throat, his weight used as leverage to seal her windpipe as first one knee on the carpet was exchanged for a foot, then the other. Once standing above her, he pulled in jerks and yanks, ruining the gown until it was a useless shred of fabric torn from her body.

He wasn't moving from her. She gasped and fought harder from beneath his hand. She gasped.

"Fuck you!"

She clawed at his arm and shoved as hard as she could. To absolutely no effect.

"Please don't. Please don't hurt me. Please don't do this."

He cussed at her, his words stinging nearly as much as his hands. She retreated then, going silent as his hands roamed over her body with none of their usual caress. Which, probably hurt worse than his words or his actions.

This callous frenzied and quick anger was not like him. He was so methodical, so caring, so full of fun even when she was at her worst.

"Please don't. Please. No."

He didn't listen, holding her down by her neck or her face while he wrenched away her clothing and took away her last shred of clothing. Vi curled into herself and onto her side, protecting her body, fearing him, and unwilling to believe that he was doing this.

"No you don't."

His hands moved from her throat, one clamping down on the forearm that was not under her curled body, the other dropping a pile of fabric near her head and latching onto her hair again. Pulling her head back, he wrenched her arm over the side of her body and up along her back. He stung a bit where she'd scratched him, but it was barely paid any notice at this point, and probably didn't compare to the pain she felt right now.

Using the leverage afforded him by her bent arm and pulled back head, he forced her onto her stomach and sat his weight onto her lower back. The knee on the side of her body that had the arm pulled back behind her was leaned forward onto her bent elbow, increasing the torque on her shoulder.

"Come back to me."

He gave a jerk of her head as he leaned over her body.

"You're not hiding from this. I'll show you your own fucking blood, if that's what it takes."

"No you don't."

His words were ice. She refused to think that he would hurt her like this.

"Please Sir. Don't."

The words were rote now. She dragged in her breath when his hand left her throat only to find that she was gasping again when her head was ripped back, her neck aching from the force.

"Nooo" The word was mixed with a groan of pain. Which was joined by another when her arm was wrenched back behind her, arching her back and she whimpered and tried to move.

"Come back to me."

No. He would never do this to her. He wouldn't. He adored her. She adored him. This would not happen. He wouldn't hurt her. He was playing. She was sure that he'd whisper in her ear about how much she wanted this. How much she'd like it when he was forceful.

This wasn't happening.
He jerked her head back and she grunted softly

"You're not hiding from this. I'll show you your own fucking blood, if that's what it takes."

It might have been a warning. He knew that her blood would send her over the edge, he had to be playing.

"No."

She kept her eyes closed and waited for this to end. Please let this end.

"Fine."

He snarled, pulling her head back farther, pushing her arm up farther, the last nearing the breaking point certainly. And if her arm broke, it broke. Bones healed.

"You want to do this the hard way? We'll do it the hard way."

Atop her, his weight shifted so his knee was pressed into her out-turned palm, and he was able to release her arm without giving it back to her. His weight pressed to the center of her back, his newly freed hand curled around her throat, keeping her arched under him and her head pulled fully back.

All this allowed him to renew his grip in her hair, his wrist rotating to twist her hair and cement his hold on her.

During this process, he muttered almost as if entirely to himself, "Fucking cunt..."

Satisfied with his grip on her, he pushed off of her and got to his feet, pulling her body up with him. Bare feet shifted on the carpet, turning him towards the bedroom door behind him, and he made for it, the muscles in his arm taut as he dragged her with him.

Out the door, down the short hallway, determined step after determined step carrying him along, dragging her by her hair. Every footfall took them closer to her kitchen. Closer to the end of the counter. Closer to the block of exceptional and dangerous knives that rested there. Waiting.

"Fine."

"Please...ohh...oowww... please.. no!"

She resolutely kept her eyes closed, but still yelled when her arm was twisted to cruelly to the breaking point. She whimpered, which was lost to his harsh words.

"You want to do this the hard way? We'll do it the hard way."

She was twisted and shoved into the carpet while he found a better handhold or whatever the fuck he was doing, she tried to breathe and remember her safety courses.

The panic in her throat continued to rise.

He managed to rip her hair out while he got hold of it and cemented his grip around her throat, her words and breath suddenly much smaller, while she gasped for air, her face covered with errant stands that hadn't been caught in his fist, it stuck to her lips and mouth.

"Fucking cunt..."

It stung so much, everything hurt, but she attempted to breathe through this pain, through all of this while she waited for him to tell her he was lying that is was all a mind fuck.

She was dragged to her feet, with a groan.

"No.. don't.. please Sir..."

She recognized that they were leaving the bedroom and were headed into the front room. They knocked into her hanging wine rack which clattered against the wall, the liquor bottles on the tray beneath it falling with a crash.

She knew where he was taking her. Into the kitchen. With the cold granite counters and the knives. The best of them hanging from the magnet on the wall. The others in a block on the counter.

Vi dug her feet into the carpet that he dragged and pushed her over. She let her legs go out from under her, screeching for him to stop. That this wasn't necessary. That he didn't have to hurt her. He'd have to drag her.

"Stop! You won. Please.. what are you doing?! Why?"

She fell back onto to the floor before the kitchen, not bothering to notice the rain that poured outside, she kept her body loose trying to escape his forward movement, the carpet giving no purchase until they made it to the tile of the kitchen.

She finally had purchase to crawl. But not by much.

"Red. Stop. No! Fuck, Please.. NO!"

All of it was ignored. Her pleas, her struggles, the kicking and fighting, even when she hit the wine rack and broke bottles on their way past. None of it mattered right now. Nothing else, anywhere, in fact mattered right now, but her and what he would take from her. What he would inflict on her.

Behind them, a trail was blazed through the carpet, pile drug in a uniform direction as she fought against it for purchase to try to stop him. The tile was much less forgiving, though, and almost instantly he found it harder to drag her through the kitchen. No matter.

Turning on her, he pulled down on her hair to force her ass onto the floor. Holding her in a sitting position, his knee was pushed into her upper back, throwing another thing at her to struggle against, and his empty hand moved around her body.

Hard, quick slaps were delivered between her thighs. Her pain was something he usually built up, slowly drawing it out of her, gradually increasing it, pushing her to the heights he wanted her soaring in. There was no such build up here. Every contact with her was hard, merciless, and this time it was directed entirely at her pussy.

"I told you I don't give a fuck about your safe word."

Slap, slap, slap, slap...

"Or your pathetic fucking pleas."

Slap, slap, slap, slap...

"It falls on deaf ears, whore."

Slapslapslapslap...

"Deaf."

Slap!

"Fucking."

Slap!

"Ears."

His hand lifted from between her thighs, and over his shoulder he spat on it, then left a final slap against her pussy.

SLAP!

The hardest, saved for last.

Fuck her tears.

She tried to fight him, the tile, him, and tried to wrestle herself free. Nothing was working and no matter how she tried to remember her safety classes nothing was coming back to her.

Pulled down into sitting her bare ass hit the tile with a soft splat, and it was cold which stung too. She whined and tried to move but his knee in her back prevented much movement.

Soon his hands raked down her body, and it wasn't in that manner that he did, the soft caresses replaced with wanton pain, no. This was not for pleasure, this was power.

His.

This time his hands were merciless, slapping her thighs apart before his fingers found their way to her her pussy. Hitting her there. Not for either of them to enjoy, or for her to fight over him with, but just pure pain.

"I told you I don't give a fuck about your safe word."

Slap, slap, slap, slap...

"Stop! Sir. Stop."

"Or your pathetic fucking pleas."

Slap, slap, slap, slap...

"Fine. Fuck you. Fuck you! Let me go. We're done!"

"It falls on deaf ears, whore."

Slapslapslapslap...

Gasps. Whimpers. Pain. No. nonononononono.. don't let him do this. Let him hit her and leave.

"Deaf."

Slap!

Fuck. No. She'd close her legs. She could move. Struggle. No. No. He wouldn't.

"Fucking."

Slap!

No... please fucking don't let him. Let this be the end. He's done. He'll stop now.

"Ears."

SLAP!

She heard him then. He spit on his hand and slammed it against her. The breath left her body and she leaned forward with a groan and a cry. There were finally tears sliding down her cheeks. She curled against the dark wood cabinets and tried to find her breath. It wasn't coming. The no's were a parade coming from her mouth and they didn't stop.

They weren't going to either.
She'd only get louder.

"nononononono..no.nononono. Stop. No. Stop. Please... NONONONONONO..! Fuck you, get out of my house.. no. no. NONONONO... stop."

Her hands hid her face, as she curled her body into itself, hoping that in this moment he was done.

What else could he do?

There were the tears. A sign that she was breaking. That she was realizing. Maybe not accepting, maybe that would take a while still, but she was at last accepting that this was happening to her. That he was doing this to her.

But still, she tried to hide.

"Pathetic."

He muttered it, in much the same tone as he'd muttered earlier, but unlike then when he'd taken a better grip on her, he did the opposite now and released her. Curled up, hiding her face as she was, he wasn't even sure she'd realize he'd done so. But even then, he didn't expect her to run.

And even if he was wrong about all of that and she did, he had no doubt about his ability to catch her. She'd have to climb to her feet, fight through the pain in her body to get moving, and then get outside of his reach before he could snatch her back.

No, hands on her or not, she wasn't going anywhere.

Turning away from her, his eyes found the large chef's knife stuck to the magnetic strip. Bare feet carried him across the kitchen to where he hung, and he pulled it free.

Facing her again, he paused where he'd taken the knife, fingers opening the zipper on his jeans, reaching in and pulling his cock free. In the struggle of it all, he hadn't even realized he'd grown hard. The heart that thumped in his chest from the exertion of dragging her through the house also caused his length to throb.

Enough waiting.

This couldn't be happening. He gave her so much. He was always so loving, so sweet and kind and patient that this just had to be a joke. Part of her brain swung on her.

"Pathetic."

What he said. You deserve this. You have always deserved this and nothing more than to be treated like this, because you are pathetic.

No.
"No!"
You're wrong.

This wasn't him. This wasn't her. This wasn't happening. Pathetic Wake up, bitch. He's going to hurt you more, and you're going to let him, because you want it. Because you deserve it.

No.
That wasn't true.
It was her body and pain and sex and humiliation did not equal this. She knew. She knew this wasn't right. Pathetic. And you couldn't even fight him off. You just laid in the carpet and took it. Stupid pathetic bitch.

It finally registered that he wasn't holding her down.
She glanced up at him.
He had two weapons with which to hurt her.

"No!No!No!No!No!No!"

She scrambled back out of the kitchen, crawling backwards into the large dining room table, clinging to a chair, pulling herself up on it and throwing it down as she scrambled to move away from him.

So she did realize.

Took her long enough.

He snorted as she scrambled away, nearly rolling his eyes when she made her way into the dining room. And didn't even bother to get to her feet doing so.

It was only when she started pulling herself up with the chair that he finally moved. His cock still out, the knife still in his hand, he left the kitchen behind to go fetch the foolish girl.

"Keep screaming."

His voice was low, harsh, giving no hint at a reprieve for her.

"Do you see how fucking hard it makes me?"

He stalked forward, the walking hunter as the girl tried to run away in vain. The results of this chase would be no different here.

"It's time you got what you were owed, you insolent fucking cunt."

At this, he all but leaped forward, swallowing up the distance between them in great and rapid gulps. He grabbed and ankle and pulled, dragging her back towards him, fingers then digging into a hip, searching for a grip on her. He was unsurprised by her fight at this point, ready for the twists and squirms, the kicks and flails.

Any skin he came in contact with was hit, slapped, pulled, grabbed, her every struggle giving him a new place to latch onto and pull her back.

A pivot on the balls of his feet and he shifted his ankle, got his full hand on her torso, and with all his strength shoved her in the direction of two more chairs.

And he followed right behind her.

He came around the corner, all cold fury and anger and she quailed a little, but kept moving, and screaming for him to stop.

"Keep screaming."

She barely heard him through her own no's. And stared at him even as she tried to move, tripping over dog toys and chairs.

"Do you see how fucking hard it makes me?"

She did. She didn't want to though, she didn't want him near her. She moved around the table, eyeing him.

"It's time you got what you were owed, you insolent fucking cunt."

He leapt at her and caught an ankle, then her leg, she screamed and kicked out, repeatedly, but nothing seemed to slow him down. He hit, slapped, pulled with every inch he moved up her body. She hit him back, kicked him back, screamed for him to stop.

He didn't.

Finally he managed to grab her by the back and shove her forward into some of the chairs.

Her beautiful, tall, dark wood, bar chairs, with sharp corners that bit into her sides and chest as they went crashing into the carpet. She screamed in pain, slamming forward and hitting her head against the back of one.

She shook her head, trying to clear it, but having difficulty. She blinked noticing that she was bleeding, the blood dripping from her forehead onto her ivory carpet, and she screamed loudly, from the pain and the fear that just had gotten very real.

In this moment, she forgot him.

The clatter and crash of chairs filled the room, a din of chaos as she flailed and screamed and, somewhere in it all, cut herself.

The blood seemed to take some of the fight out of her, the shock of it, perhaps, or maybe the impact from the chairs. He gave a fuck which, but it was the opening he was searching for.

To call it a pounce would be far too kind. He was on her in an instant, the knife set on the table near them as he moved. No need for it at the moment, and he wanted hands free.

He all but mauled her, hands on upturned ankles, throwing her legs apart and moving between them. Both hands were on full, round breasts, grabbing tight, following close behind with a vicious slap to each.

The bulbous head of his cock dragged against her pussy as they moved, quite independent of each other compared to their usual dance. Her struggling and fighting. Him, taking and taking, more of her with each passing second. Her safeword, gone. Her tears, spilled. Her skin, opened. The heat of her cunt was his next claim.

Before he allowed her to regain herself any more, both hands closed on her throat, thumbs overlapping as he squeezed. He wanted the need to breathe to send her into a panic, narrowing her focus down to that one burning necessity.

His body was over hers, caring not how she laid against the chairs, whether she was jabbed by a sharp edge or the blunt end of a chair in back or hip or ribs. He looked down into her face, cold rage steeling blue eyes, watching intently, waiting for the need to breath to eclipse the need to fight everything else.

It was in that moment, when he finally saw it, that he pushed into her.

In the moment following her crash and fall into the chairs and that realization that she was bleeding, suddenly there he was. Hitting, slapping, grabbing her, the constant reminder being that no part of her body was her own.

She fought back, but with little gains. He might be bruised or cut in a few places, but not to the extent that she was. Her whole body ached, and she watched, it felt, in slow motion. Waiting for that moment when he would move into her.

Because more than anything that's what this was all about. Force. Rape.

She hated that word.
She hated that word so much.
Still somewhere in the recesses of her brain, it fought to the forefront. Taunting her with every single hard letter.

His hands closed around her throat tightly and she pulled at his hands, forgetting anything else, but making him stop. Making him give her air. She pushed at him. Broken wood scratched at her back. Or maybe it was carpet, or something.

Something...

"No."

She rasped, hoping against hope that he would stop. That this would be it. He had proved this to her, whatever it was that he was doing.

Fuck. Her lungs burned. She gasped and tugged weakly at his hands, getting no reprieve. There was no reprieve.

Her eyes widened, and it was in that same slow motion movement that she saw his hips push forward.

It barely registered in her oxygen starved brain, that he had done this without asking, without seeking her consent.

And she had it coming.
She had had asked for it.

Her eyes closed, while she focused on tiny gasps, getting nothing.

Rape.
Again.
pathetic

Her voice barely registered, her pleas and pleadings grown small and quiet as her body rapidly used up the oxygen it had, and found none waiting to replenish it. Oh, how her lungs must burn. And... was that panic rising in her eyes?

But the question, of course: Panic at the hardness forcing it's way into her core, or panic as her body slowly grew desperate for breath? Both? Neither.

He couldn't have cared less. He was inside her, and he had no intention of letting that go until he was done with her.

She was wet, perhaps even more so than he expected, but he knew there was more. He knew quite well there was more. With no desire to wait for it, though, he forced himself deeper inside her, throbbing deeper and deeper within her, stretching her around him, pushing, pushing...

At last his jeans were against her, and he finally relented, his hands releasing her throat, watching her gasp down gulps of air.

Gulps that were interrupted by a slap to her face, and a hand returned to her throat, covering red marks left behind there already. This grip was controlling, pinning, but not so hard that she couldn't breathe.

Between parted thighs, with rough denim against the soft skin of a cunt already subject to his abuse, he began to fuck her, grunting as he thrust himself back into her.

It hurt so much. Her lungs yearned for air and there was none. There was nothing. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop, to let go, for her to breathe.

Nothing.

He forced himself into her body.
But all she wanted was oxygen.

Air.

Of course, to die or pass out right now would be a blessing.
Then at least she wouldn't have to remember this.

Apparently, it was easy to drive himself into her. Was she excited? No.
But that doesn't always mean anything. Means nothing. Fuck him.

Air.

When he had at last pushed in far enough to press against her cervix, that hurt, like slamming against a brick wall inside her. He let her breathe.

Fuck him.
Air.

She inhaled and sucked the air into her lungs, gasping, gulping. One slap. Two? No. She felt them and didn't. Watching again. Reserved. Gone. Present but not.

It hurt so fucking bad.

He fucked her then. Not the poetry of a man seeking pleasure for and with his partner, but the rough fucking of a hell bent asshole intent on getting himself something.

And she?
She just laid there and took it.
Looking away from him. From her. From them lying in a pile of wood and chair while he grunted above her and she let him.

He moved in her, deep and hard, fucking and fucking and fucking. She grew wetter around him, he glided within her more easily, and could feel her slick around him.

But beneath him, she was fading, drawing within, trying to hide. He'd have none of it.

Another slap found her face, her skin turned a color that nearly rivaled her hair, and then he gripped her chin, turned her face to look up into his as he moved above her, within her.

"Don't hide from me. I know you feel me in your cunt..."

He paused, thrust, grunting as he filled her yet again.

"I know you feel that. And oh..."

He pulled back, thrust into her again, her body shuddering under his with the force of the impact, and he grunted again.

"...I can feel that fucking pussy getting wet for me, too. I know you feel it."

She barely registered her body's reaction. The slickness between her thighs growing as it always did when he fucked her, not that this was fucking. She kept her eyes away and just waited for it to end. For him to finish and leave her and for that to be the end.

She retreated.
He obviously noted this. Slapping her face, so that it felt raw. The heat of it flamed though her jaw and she frowned, another slap and her face was forced into looking at his.

"Don't hide from me. I know you feel me in your cunt..."

Fuck you. She wanted to yell, but the words were stuck.

He continued to invade her body. To make it a stranger to herself. She hated him and herself.

"I know you feel that. And oh..."

As if to prove his point, he pulled out and shoved himself back inside her, slamming into her, his head banging the end of her tunnel, and causing her to cry out softly.

"...I can feel that fucking pussy getting wet for me, too. I know you feel it."

She found her words then, finally, and they erupted out of her with a volley of smacks and kicks, bucks, pinches, anything she could think of to dislodge him.

"Fuck you! Get off me! Get off! Fuck you! I fucking hate you, get the fuck off me!"