I moaned miserably, my eyes on my husband who often sat with me on the couch I was being fucked on. Fucking me in my own house, on my own couch, while looking down at my husband who only ever touched me in love, was the depths of humiliation. I felt Kyle plunge all the way in his balls again slapping against me as he grunted in lust and I moaned in pain and humiliation. This was a bitter pill to swallow. My student had become my master and I was unquestionably his lowly bitch. His plaything to rape until he got bored with me. His endurance was incredible and he knew how to make it last long, how to wring as much humiliation and pain out of me, using my body as he saw fit. Of course, no one can last forever, a thought not lost on me as it was only 8:30 on Friday evening of long weekend, which meant, nobody would miss her for almost 83 hours. Over 80 hours of rape, torture, and humiliation. Even Kyle, who, admittedly, had longer endurance than my husband, had his limits. He shot deep into my innards emptying himself inside me for the second time that day. He stayed buried inside me for another few minutes. I wished he would take it out of me. Eventually, he did, wiping himself off with my hair, just another way to humiliate me. I began to wonder if I should report him and damn the consequences. I could go to another state and change my name and start over again. But he had already told me if I moved state, he would post the pics of me and my single indiscretion along with the pics of ‘us together’ to my Facebook page for my co-workers and members of my church and, of course, my husband, to see. As the man was an influential in the community, it would ruin him, his business and his family and marriage as well. Kyle left the room, and I heard the distinct squeak and the restroom door closing. I stayed in place, waiting his return. After several minutes, I heard the toilet flush and a minute later, the shower turn on. As much as I wanted to shower to wash him and his fluids off of me, I knew that Kyle didn’t do anything unless it could cause pain, humiliate me, or both. Forcing me to shower with him, was particularly humiliating for me. Not that being dominated by one of my students 13 years my junior wasn’t humiliating enough of course. He strode out of the restroom and grabbed the leash.
“Come, bitch,” he said without looking at me and just walking. I had to crawl after him or risk being dragged by my neck. I winced as my sore knees were forced to walk on the hard tiles of the restroom floor past the sinks, and toilet to the shower stall. He leaned over and undid the collar and laid it on top of my favourite towel on the counter beside the frosted glass of the shower stall. At the top of the glass, the frosted glass gave way to clear glass, ending a few inches from the ceiling. Steam poured from over the top and crawled up the clear glass frosting it as well. He grabbed a handful of my sweat soaked, soiled hair, and pulled me up to my knees and began to take off the sports bra, leaving me completely nude under his lustful gaze. He looked at me as he began to strip down before ordering me into the shower. I stood under the hot stinging water, letting it cascade down my body. Closing my eyes, I raised my head to get my hair wet, I wanted to comb out his baby batter when he had pulled his cock out of my ass. Standing, with my back to the door, eyes closed, upturned head, I heard the door open behind me and two steps of bare feet on wet linoleum. As the door slid closed, I felt his body press against mine, two arms snaked around my body and placed his hands on my breasts. He began to twist and pinch my nipples between his thumb and first two fingers. Slowly the attention to my nipples became painful and I began to whimper. During some of the most painful ‘games’ he played with me, there were times where he would tell me “Be quiet and take it like a good girl,” but he neither stopped, nor reminded me so I whimpered as he played with and toyed with my sore nipples. Abruptly, his hands disappeared, and a luffa was dropped at my feet. Often when we showered, I was to wash him before washing myself. Apparently, this time was no different. I bent over to pick it up and he gave me a hard swat to my still sore anus. I swallowed an obscenity laden scream at him, and obediently picked it up, squirted the scented bodywash into the luffa and slowly began to wash his wide shoulders, well defined arms, strong back and sides. He turned to face me, and I washed his shoulders, again before moving to his chest, and stomach. I reached around him as I cleaned his hips. As I rinsed out the luffa and prepared to wash his lower body, I dreaded what would come next. I placed the luffa down and faced him, my head held straight, but my eyes downcast.
“What are you waiting for, bitch?” I squeezed a small handful of bodywash into my hands, then reached down and grasped his cock. I gave him a slow, sensual hand job as I washed his cock. Was this worth the picture getting released? For the moment, I was ready to tell Kyle to fuck himself and release the picture or pictures as I was sure he had taken more than a few of us together. Then I thought of my husband. This was his last tour of duty and we had talked about starting a family when he returned. I couldn’t do that to him. So I gave Kyle a hand job as he wanted while working in the soap. Giving my rapist a handjob made me sick but I tried to imagine it was my husband.
“Good girl Annie,” he growled, shattering the illusion. After a minute of the handjob, he had me rinse him off and stepped out of the stall. I took my time washing to avoid having to spend one more minute than I had to with Kyle Russell.
