The Flipside of a Gentleman

Dima loved the obscene view of the monster cock spreading me and continued fucking me with it, coaxing and commanding. "Here it comes. Be still. Don't tense up on me. Take it like a good girl. There, I know you like it. And out with it now, push, harder, good girl." He made throaty sounds of lust driving it through the narrow gap between my pelvic bones. Each time the process to birth the thing was difficult and painful, for the dildo stretched my pussy and muscles so tight I had no room to squeeze inwards. From time to time he pushed back when I pushed out, testing the strength of my pelvic muscles and prolonging my agony. He was impressed with what my vagina, even after all he'd done before, still could endure.

When I was no longer distressed enough for his taste, he put another dildo on my asshole. I mumbled through my gag for him to stop, and tried to get away but my position didn't allow it for he'd pinned my arms and legs beneath him. "Don't make a fuss. You've been stretched well and good earlier. Take it, take it all now."

I tried to wrench myself free and howled, "No, no, no," but he didn't care I really meant it. He had smeared the dildo in my juices and shoved it through my tight ring of muscle without mercy. In it went, deep up my ass without lube, chafing and burning, dragging the membranes as it went.

Dima alternated between plunging the dildos in simultaneously and in turns. Stuffed as I was I couldn't tell my cunt from my rectum. There was just one torn hole and one huge nightmare of an object grinding in it. As the giant dildo in my cunt and the other up my butt met inside me and poked my abdomen, the pain was like menstrual cramps tenfold. Beads of sweat glistened on my skin as I screamed. The little amount of pussy juice on the dildo in my ass had worn out fast and he'd since been tearing fresh cuts and nicks in my already raw passage.

He was speeding up and getting even rougher and I wriggled my hips to get my holes into angles which would help to dull the pangs of pain. Dima laughed and let me do it knowing it had little effect on what he afflicted me with. He raped me with the plastic cocks so violently that nothing I did mattered. All I had left was crying and screaming, though they weren't distinct screams, more like a constant ragged howling that lived in rhythm with my breathing.

I was drained, finished, dead and had a terrible thirst. I slumped down, my shoulders no longer able to hold my weight. I felt gross, a repulsive heap on the bed with dirty dildos sticking out. When Dima started wrenching me up I used my last strength trying to escape him. I scratched and kicked him as he dragged me to the bathroom. I tried to claw the gag off and scream to him that he was killing me, but he snatched my hands to his grip. I struggled to get free but he barely noticed my efforts.

He screwed the shower head off the hose keeping me tucked under his arm. I got the gag off and begged him in terrified sobs to let me go. There was nothing of Dima left in him and I was afraid the new bout of torture would end in my death. Then again, to me it was of little consequence, for I was in a state in which there was nothing left of me either.

He tested the water was lukewarm and left the hose to trickle water in a weak stream. He heaved me into the bathtub and lifted me up by my ankles. He swore and shook me until I supported my weight with my shaky arms. My stomach rested on his crotch, and my crotch against his stomach available for abuse. My legs rested on his chest with my feet sticking up in the air above his shoulders. He had abused my body cavities to such depths that my stomach was in shock. He barely got me steady before I twitched and threw up on my hands in the tub. He growled curses at me and slapped me hard on the hip to declare he didn't approve.

He sprayed me clean with the hose and left it to trickle. He threw a towel in front of me. "Put that in your mouth and make no noise." He drizzled water on my used anus and pushed two fingers in. I groaned loudly in futile anger kicking with my feet, while he spread my asshole, stretching the little cuts glistening with blood. Slowly he forced the end of the hose in through my wrinkly bud. He pushed it as deep as it easily went, some four inches, and I cried out, almost dropping the gag from my mouth, as the hard plastic end scraped the linings of my anal tract.

I had understood of course what was to come, but no amount of bracing myself prepared me for his homemade enema and I started immediately feeling extremely uncomfortable. Even the slow trickle of water had pressure that bulged my bowls and, adding to the effect, with the water the hose spewed air as well. I kicked frantically with my feet and -- biting down on the gag -- screamed in panic for him to turn off the water.

The pain of filling up was excruciating and I howled like an animal while trying to escape him. The gag muffled enough of my screams that none were heard outside the room but Dima heard, and ignored. I let my hands buckle and tumbled hard into the tub. My legs slid down his chest until I was cramping violently in the little pool of water remaining on the bottom. My treacherous anus didn't let the hose slide out of me and when I reached for it Dima stopped me though deep down he knew he couldn't keep it up for long. After listening to my panicked yelling and sobbing for long enough to get hard again, he turned off the water and I felt the hose twitch when the water pressure died down.

He grabbed me by the hair and jerked my face to him. "Keep all in," he snarled in English. "Out, and do again."

He pulled the hose out slowly and I curled into a ball, desperately trying to clench shut the anus he'd fucked so loose. I needed air and spit the gag out to take what shallow gasps of air I could without making the pain worse. Allowing me no rest he hauled me out of the tub, the manhandling almost making me loose control over my pelvic muscles.

When my feet touched the floor I cramped so bad I couldn't really stand, but he made me walk around so he could see me suffer. I was in such distress I no longer had thoughts or words, my mind had regressed to that of an animal.

Drunk with his own power Dima muttered with a thick throaty voice, "I'm gonna fuck you like that." In disbelief I stared at him, tears streaking my face. His whisper was cold as ice, "Look at your legs baby - you bleed. One way or another, you're always wet for me, aren't you?"

He stalked at me and I skittered away. I knew I wouldn't last long and I prayed for him to leave me alone for the pressure had grown too strong. I pinched my sphincter as hard as I could but inevitably my efforts gave out. Enraged and crying, throwing everything I got my hands on at him, I yelled, "Get out, get out, get out!" But it was too late. I felt a spluttering flood splash on the floor and howled in shame. Stricken, I kept my eyes closed, too mortified to move.

Dima swore coarsely and stormed out, I rushed to lock the door behind him, trying to lock him out of my head to another dimension. I knew I could never face another human again, least of all him for he'd seen it. Sobbing, I washed my legs and crotch. I couldn't believe what had happened; my anus felt numb like it wasn't even there. I washed the floor and kept frantically scrubbing everything until I couldn't stand up anymore.

The first degradation wasn't enough. I had to sit on the toilet for an eternity, suffering sharp pangs of pain -- and even sharper of shame -- before my bowls were empty. I kept the shower in my hand, hiding myself during all of it in a cascade of lifesaving little droplets. I never wanted to get out from under the only comfort I had.

I crawled to cower in the tub and hugged the shower to my chest; the flow of water was the only thing that could wash away my dirt, soil and shame. I tried not to think for I couldn't face the revulsion that would follow if I did think. Next to me thin swirls of blood danced in the water rushing towards the drain and I knew I was breaking down.

My fingers were wrinkled and the air dense with steam when Dima knocked on the door. He kept calling my name and asking what was going on. I stayed in my numbness, my solace and his voice got louder and distressed. When he was about to kick the door in I got up and slouched towards the noise. I turned the lock and started back towards my sanctuary for beneath the stream of water filth did not exist.

Dima saw I was unravelling and shook me until my eyes focused on him. I recognized my monster and eyes wide with fear shrank away from his touch but I was too weak to struggle. He wrapped a towel around me and pressed me against him rubbing my back, drying me off. I could tell he was talking but none of it reached me and, getting nowhere, he turned me around and steered me out of the bathroom.

Anxious to be separated from the shower I babbled incoherent nonsense about dirt, water and bath tubs -- all in Finnish, since in that base state it was all I had left. I went to my wardrobe and tried to nest in the clothes lying on its floor and it wasn't easy for him to get me out for I craved the privacy of that small dark space. To be seen and touched when feeling that unclean was horrible, it made me want to scream.

Dima was gravely aware he'd gone too far, gotten too deep in the role he had taken and misjudged how much I could endure. He was determined to get me out of my spiralling hysteria. Since getting to me in the bathroom he'd been speaking to me softly in his own language, he was past caring if I understood or not. Holding my hand he sat down on the bed, I resisted trying to back off as a wave of nauseating fear washed over me. Frantically I repeated the words 'no more' in Finnish, shaking my head, but he was adamant and pulled me to him.

Slowly, droplet by droplet, I was seeping blood. It smeared on him and the sheets but Dima ignored the mess and cradled me like a child. He began to sing quietly, his voice constantly breaking into a humming whisper and it was that gruff buzz repeating a lullaby-like tune that finally calmed me. When I was lucid enough to pay attention Dima started to stroke my wet hair. He quit singing and pressed his lips on the top of my head, hugging me tight he whispered, "прости меня пожалуйста моя маленькая, прости." Prosti menya pozhaluista moya malenkaya, prosti. Please forgive me little one, I'm sorry.

To hear the pain in his voice demolished a wall I'd built inside my head. I forgot his English was nigh useless and sobbed in a flood of words how horrible I felt, how it hurt, how he'd humiliated me, how afraid I'd been, how used I had felt after his first indifferent taking of me and how used I felt now, how awful it was to have no way to communicate when gagged and tied and hooded, and he let me rant, stroking and holding me. Finally, after a dozen apologies we both fell asleep.

***

At night in the darkness I woke up to him settling himself between my legs. "Dima, no," I blurred, but he took my hands and pinned them over my head in his one big hand.

When I tried to protest further, he closed my mouth with a long soft kiss and put his lips close to my ear and rasped in a low voice, "I want you, I take you." He parted my sore and swollen pussy lips with his free hand, guided his cock to my opening and slowly, emitting a crossbreed of a groan and a sigh, pushed himself inside.

To be forced open again burned my raw flesh but Dima was gentle; he didn't try to make it hurt but brook no argument even when it did. When all of him was in he stopped and I wriggled in discomfort. The weight of him on top of me was comforting and familiar, but the smell of my own sticky blood made me sick. He kissed my neck and whispered with his lips just above my ear, "You're mine baby. Blood 'n all, you belong to me. I own you." It was true. He knew it, I knew it, but I was so sore. He started to move in and out of me very slowly. When I whined he shushed me. When I moaned he put his hand over my mouth and told me, not unkindly, to be quiet. All the while he held my hands above my head, making it clear that he was in charge.

I was soon bleeding again but was too numb to care. Dima had known sex at that time would hurt me, but my increasing wetness assured him I could take it. He murmured loving endearments while penetrating me with measured movements. When I winced or grimaced he paused and shushed me until I relaxed. He invaded my body and enjoyed watching how I laboured to muffle my reactions only because he'd told me to do so.

After I had sunk into a lethargic sturpor, Dima kneeled and helped me straddle him. I leaned my back on his chest and grunted as he pulled me on his rigid cock. He started rocking me on his shaft, careful to let me get used to the deeper penetration he achieved in that position. Thus, ever whispering in his sweet Russian, he made love to me lingering in every thrust to my slick sleepy warmth. His motions, how ever gentle, ached, but when the fingers of his right hand brushed the curve of my neck, all but pleasure faded.

He leaned to nuzzle and I bent my head eagerly to give him full access. Continuing to work his cock in and out of me, he made me quiver and gasp by stroking my neck with the tip of his nose. I writhed as he dragged his lips up and down, kissing and licking my sensitive skin. "You're getting wetter for me every passing second," he whispered, and I couldn't deny the power his sex laden words had over me, for my body twitched and I felt a powerful spasm grip my cunt. I knew that what wetness there had been had just doubled.

The air in the bedroom was stuffy and smelled like sex. Dima took one of my hands and placed it on my clit, moving it in circles until I obediently took it up. His gentle persuasion of my groggy body had set a glow in me; it was a fantasy, being taken in forced silence by a strong willed man I had neither capability nor courage to challenge. Blood rushed in my ears and my chest was so tight I could barely breathe. I wanted to let go of the world and fall into him and he sensed it. "Good girl," Dima coaxed me to succumb, keeping his thrusts steady and rhythmic. He turned my head so he could whisper into my ear. "You're so fragile on the outside, but you're not a nice girl. Nice girls don't get wet when they're pinned down and hurt. Nice girls go for nice boys and I'm no boy." I shivered and that roller coaster feeling clenched my stomach. He wasn't a kid, he was a man and he was in me.

Emboldened he went on, "You like it when someone big and strong throws you on the bed and forces your legs apart? You like to squeal when a grown man's cock stretches your ass? Does it turn you on to be fucked 'til you bleed?" My body tensed up anticipating the imminent climax. It was so excruciatingly close I had to hold my breath as not to have that bliss slip away. I sipped in short breaths through my nose when I had to, but I didn't dare to exhale and the pressure in my body grew.

It was difficult to concentrate while rocking on his lap. "Please, stay, still," I panted, one word per a hasty exhale, and he quit moving. I grunted in frustration for I'd become so wet my strokes lacked the friction I required to cum. I was so close I ached, but the deliverance eluded me.

"Naughty little girl, playing with herself. Feel how hard you're making me? Cum for me baby and I'll give you what you need. I'll fuck you hard. I'll make it hurt. I'll cum inside you and let it run down your bloody thighs. I'll make you my little slut." I did feel how hard he was and his voice made every little hair on my body stand up. Each message painted vivid pictures in my mind and sent currents of buzzing energy roaming my body. He started shushing me again and with the third good girl a blinding light erupted from my core. I came hard, exhaling all air from my lungs in one long huff, cramping, arching, shaking my head madly. I clenched my teeth striving to keep the forced wow of silence my Dima had imposed on me.

The second I started to shake he shoved me harshly from my knees to all fours. He started pounding me from behind with no restraint, making all the aches and hurts burn me like hell. He clamped his hand on my mouth and fucked me so fast I couldn't make out strokes anymore, just the pain. My muscles still twitched in the aftermath of my orgasm and I went on using them, urging him to cum. He'd liked it before so I pushed against his thrusts with all my strength, and his grunts got louder. I resisted the demands of my agonized pussy to stop contracting my muscles, the pain was nothing as long as I had the opportunity to be a good girl for him. My face broke into a gleeful smile when my diligent squeezes sent him rocketing to his final fix. He shot his precious load in me, pumping 'til the end with a roar that wasn't human. Now it was his eyes that couldn't focus and he fell on the bed beside me with a thump. He put an arm around me and dozed right off, I lay still, savouring the wet pool between my legs, thinking lovingly it was his seed welling in me. Seed he'd given me exactly where and when and how rough he wanted.

***

When I woke up in the morning Dima was already awake. He lay beside me looking at me anxiously. I was a mess. In addition to the tangle that used to be my hair and the standard sweat and other sexual grime, there was blood on me. Even my hands were rusty from rubbing my pussy. My face was puffy and eyes red from crying and screaming. I had angry bruises from our struggling and bigger ones from my fall into the tub. Altogether I was not a pretty sight. How I must disgust him now, I thought with my chest and stomach in such a knot I could hardly move. Without a word, carefully hiding myself in the duvet, I got up and walked stiffly to the bathroom.

I was thankful he extended me the courtesy of allowing me to shower alone. When I got out I walked past him with my eyes downcast as he went to take his turn. Dima had stripped the bed from bloody items and opened the balcony door to let in fresh air. I listened to the rap-rap-rapping of water drops, thinking what he looked like standing under the stream with his hair all wet. My heart was racing: on the right was wonder and joy, on the left was fear and apprehension. Between them was confusion and in the midst of it was I.

I heard the shower stop and the knot got tighter still. I was lying down on the bed, all tensed up, hugging a pillow when Dima came to stand by the bed. "Neshenka?" He squatted in front of me searching for my gaze. My head was spinning: the strain in his voice, his unsettling expression, the nightmare in the bathroom, the moments I'd felt good while he was treating me bad, inability to control my own mind, fear that he wouldn't want me anymore and a million other things all added up in my head and I burst into tears.

He looked like I had just hit him. He extended his hand towards me, wanting to give comfort, but didn't dare to touch me and suddenly I understood his face. He thought I'd hate him after last night. Sure, a part of me did hate a part of him, but I couldn't let him think that I didn't care for him. There was no stopping the flow of tears so I took his wavering hand and pressed it on my cheek. Relieved to get a reaction he stood up and sat on the bed. Leaning his back on the headboard, he pulled me to him, and I made a nest for myself in his arms. I had thought about this many times during the weekend, a time would come when words needed to be said, when touches, smiles and sex failed as sufficient communication. Comically some t.A.T.u. lyrics I'd memorized in high school proved unexpectedly useful.

I loathed my emotional outburst and fought to choke down the sobs. Concentrating on my pronunciation I recited in Russian, "It's not simple, you and me. Why am I attracted to you? I don't understand myself. I'm loosing my mind, but without you I am not me."