At Break of Dawn

Humiliation and pleasure intertwine in my mind, in my sex, in my defeat. Arms safely tucked away, pride dismantled, defiance snuffed out, I'm just a sexually dominated female animal for Martin to fuck into submission. A beast of pleasure and burden, ready for taming. For deconstruction.

From a fighter to a pet...

Martin's pace picks up further. The casualness of his physical control over me annihilates the last remnants of my independence out of my brain. I'm so weak. He's stronger, he can take what he wants whenever he wants. He is superior.

How can you be someone's equal, when he controls your very breath? What choice do you have, except give in?

"That's it," he grunts. "Flex your pussy walls. Coax my cum out, get it all. It's the newest top priority in your life, as befits a woman."

My body obeys him. With no hesitation, no involvement of my conscious decision-making, bypassing and invalidating my consent completely. It responds to his mastery, the way an animal responds to its trainer...

And that's when the orgasm hits.

"No," I try to mumble into his hand, unable to accept the idea, to live with the fact that I'm going to cum from my own rape, who the fuck does that? But I can't stop it. I can't control it.

Not like Martin controls me.

Every muscle in my body -- but my thighs especially -- starts shaking and quivering uncontrollably. I moan throatily and sluttily into the palm of his hand as he compresses me, hand pushing towards him just as his hips push forward, impaling me further on his cock.

Waves of humiliating pleasure ripple across my body and mind like an earthquake -- and in turn, they trigger Martin's own climax. With a final grunt, he cums and cums and cums, coating me with his sperm, claiming me, marking me as his territory. His property. His cum receptacle.

When he lets go, I fall limply forward, face-first into the grass, shaking in the final throes of my treasonous orgasm, of my utter downfall. And for a while, the world fades, and I'm left alone with my defeat, and with my pleasure.

It doesn't last.

Unceremoniously, Martin lifts me to my feet. My wrists are still tied, but most importantly, my brain feels like a shattered pane of glass. I'm barely aware of him dressing me back up, and I can do nothing but follow meekly, as he drags me by my wrists towards his car.

And towards my fate.

THE END

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