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Ruined. (21)

Posted by Dollface on Sun 21 Nov 10, 12:54 AM to Dollface's blog.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

You'd wrapped your fist in my hair and shoved me into the lift, elbow crashing into my face before the doors closed softly and conspiratorially. This small, enclosed space. You and your hands.

My composure, as always, crumbled. Any semblance of grace or control gone, slipping through my fingers. Your elbow crashed into my face and it was all I could do to not fall to my knees. I was suddenly very aware of the amber-tinged light and mirrors around us. Honeyed and warm and inviting, calm and quiet.

Slowly, finally, the doors opened onto the corridor. The carpet muted the clatter of my heels as you pushed me down the hallway, and the hotel door loomed in front of me. '321' was the text you had sent me. I'd checked the message three times before knocking earlier. Early evening seemed so long ago, when I was fresh and collected and charming.

And now? Now, not at all. You'd sent me sprawling across the bed with the open-handed blow to my face, and now…now I'm scrambling to my feet, breath coming in short shallow gasps. My hands grasp at the bedsheets, leaving creased flowers behind. I'm gulping in air.

The next blow, all palm and the sting of fingers, catches me square in the face. I'd moved; nervous and flinching. I feel a sob roar from the very depths of my chest, and my face suddenly feels cotton-wool-full and thick. My throat fills with sound, the screech of a harsh inhalation and my stuttered, broken gasps.

I blink, dumb, for a few seconds when I see the blood. Big, fat drops on the white sheets. Angry, vivid red. One, two, onetwothree drops. The patter increases and my mouth falls open, and it splashes off my top lip and I taste the copper on my tongue. I sob and the breath pushes out a finer spray, smaller circles adorning the cotton.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Suddenly, your hands are on my shoulders and you yank me off the bed, pushing me into the bathroom. The light is bright, harsh, accentuating the shadows around both our eyes. No matter, I can't lift my gaze from the mirror.

The blood audibly splashes into the sink and I feel a sudden lurch in my stomach. Your hands – the hands that did this to me – are on my face, pinching the bridge of my nose and tipping me forward. The blood eases to a slow drip, and you pull me back by my hair. The tendons in my neck protest silently.

My reflection stares back, and I don't know whether to be horrified or aroused. My cheeks are already streaked with eyeliner and mascara, lipstick distorted in a bloody smear across my face. The blood decorates my nose, chin and lips, and you rub your fingers over my mouth.

I don't know what your expression says, but your eyes flash in the light, jaw set and determined. You mash your fingers against my teeth, tinging them pink. It's all I can do not to open my mouth and lasciviously lick and suck at you, the taste of your fingertips mixed with the tang of my warm, sticky blood.

You pull me back into the room, shoving me backwards onto the bed. I land awkwardly, gracelessly, my skirt around my hips. You're above me, and I flinch. Your face hardens.

“What the fuck do you think I'm going to do to you?”

Silly girl. Never mind that I'm inches away from the bloodstain that you created; be brave.

You lean forward and slide your tongue between my bloodied lips, teeth clinking against my own. I moan involuntarily, grateful for the comparable tenderness. A slick, violent tangle of tongues that steals my breath. Your tongue tastes like iron, coated in my blood.

My head spins as you pull me to my feet, folding me and half and pressing my face, spit-smeared and tacky with drying blood, into the bed. My knickers come apart in your hands and I move to lift my dress over my head before that's next. My hands are shaking, clumsy, fiddling with my belt. Come on.

I want to say that you had to nudge my legs apart, or that I put up some kind of fight. But no. No effort from you at all, no suggestion or persuasion. No need. Just you entering me effortlessly – embarrassingly so – and my bitchgrunts into the bed. Blow after blow to my ribs, making me spasm around you, a litany of pleas and encouragement. Cunt wrapping around you, my body's betrayal complete.

I'm boneless; weak and limp, fucked.

But you're not done yet.

You grab me by the wrist and yank me back into the bathroom, my shins banging into the side of the bath. The shower curtain rustles as you push it aside, and you push me to my knees. My skin drags against the tub.

You fuck my throat. Way past my lips, the wetness of my oh-so-eager tongue. All the way back, fist in my hair, determined to make me sick. I'd goaded you, challenged you. You have your point to prove.

Stupid, stupid bitch. I knew this was going to happen, that you were going to have me degrade myself in this way. The fact that I haven't eaten since breakfast – nerves, you see, see what you do to me? – has me coughing and spluttering with tears down my cheeks and nothing but spit down my chest. You've got your hands on the back of my neck and are past caring about me, past worrying about if I'll choke. You just want me to be sick. And there's nothing but the ugly, ragged sound of my retching.

“Come on”, you taunt, voiced barbed with mocking, “come on now. You wanted this”.

It comes. Bile and spit and vomit, dribbling down my chest. My eyes sting with watery mascara and choked sobs wrack my body. Fucking disgusting. I can feel the satisfaction coming from you.

“There you go”, you murmur, elongated syllables and a gentle tone, like congratulating a child. Spit pools onto my chest from my lower lip and I shudder-sob, despairing. My face raised and expectant, you come. Marking me, my face, my breasts. Even now, I'm all pornstar keen. Cunt.

But you're not done yet.

I look up at you, shivering with shame and self-loathing, amazed how it's come to this. Two hours ago, I was all flirtation and poise and grace. And now, I'm kneeling in a bath, covered in blood and vomit and come, and I just want to wash myself and curl up next to you in bed and have you assure me that you're not disgusted with me, that you're not ashamed, that it's all okay. Just let me clean myself up and put my t-shirt on and go to bed, warm and comforted.

I cry harder as you piss on me. Not a part of me untouched as I sob openly into my hands. My head throbs with each hard inward breath. Ugly, blubbering sobs. Every single fluid on my skin cooling rapidly around me, making me shiver so hard my teeth begin to chatter.

Disgusting, filthy girl.

You step out of the bath; pull the curtain. A sudden blast of water as you turn on the shower, the water roaring in my ears. The shock heightens my cries, pushing them into wails. I sit, legs straight out and let the water beat down on me in great, hot pulses. Tears disappear with the water, running down the plughole. Washed away, irrelevant, unnoticed.

You stay in the bathroom and listen to every single sob.

---------------------------

Later, when I'm warm and clean and fresh and sleepy, I nuzzle my sore face into the pillow. You stroke my back, oh-so-gently, soothing me to sleep. Soft, rhythmic strokes. Nearly there, so close, nearly forgetting how cold and ruined I felt.

You punch me, full force, in the back.

I remember.

Edited Sun 21 Nov 10, 10:43 PM by Dollface

Replies

21 Nov 10, 2:20 AM
poutanaki
UK(M), 10 yrs

that was...

I want.

Your so pretty when your on your knees. Disinfected, eager to please.

21 Nov 10, 7:27 AM
silent_lucidity
UK(M), 4 yrs

Beautifully written. Yum.

21 Nov 10, 9:50 AM
titchfield
UK(CF), 7 yrs

Excellent writing. I feel guilty just reading it.

21 Nov 10, 10:08 AM
Dollface
UK, 6 yrs

Thank you, all.

@Titchfield - on behalf of all mankind, or because you know me outside the filth blogosphere?

"When you're going through hell, keep going."
- Winston Churchill.

21 Nov 10, 11:12 AM
Felix_culpa
UK, 2 yrs

Outstanding; the way you describe your perspective is superb and I'll wager your aggressor has found it enlightening, at the least. I think this is your best writing yet.

There are few good men. Thank your lucky stars that he's one of them.

21 Nov 10, 8:12 PM
titchfield
UK(CF), 7 yrs

Dollface wrote:
Thank you, all.

@Titchfield - on behalf of all mankind, or because you know me outside the filth blogosphere?

Because reading that kind of story shouldn't make me feel so good, especially not about someone I know

21 Nov 10, 9:26 PM
Drew_Heller
UK(LS), 4 yrs