“You’re going to pay for that,” he said, wrapping the cold steel around my wrists, binding my arms back. The seconds seemed like minutes when he released me, and I couldn’t feel the warmth of his rough pants on the back of my legs. If I could have balled my wrists into the rough fabric my face was scratching against, I would have. The anticipation pooled in my stomach and seeped toward my groin. Even though my legs were tightly shut and straight so I could maintain what little balance I had, I knew I was getting wet.
I felt a knee shoved roughly between my legs. “Spread,” he said softly but harshly. I felt the air hit my thighs when he shoved up my red dress, then nothing again for a while, not even any clinking metal sounds. My heartbeat drummed in my ears slowly as I waited. I wanted to beg, but I didn’t know what I should be begging for.
I inhaled sharply when the first blow hit where my thighs met my ass and then again when another blow striped across it in the center, nearing the bone and sending a wave of pain that splayed white across the backs of my eyelids.
“Got any other clever words?” he asked from behind me, swinging the baton and inching farther toward the bone. “Any more clever quips for me, whore?”
The metal of the baton felt cool against my thighs for brief periods between the snapping and clicking strokes. Even if I had wanted to speak, my breath was gone. He landed several more blows before he paused. “Have you had enough, slut?” I caught my breath again and cracked a smile. When the pain dulled its constant throbbing, I felt a throbbing of a different kind. A small breeze brushed across my ass, reminding me of how hot his baton had made me. My red dress must’ve looked so wrinkled and my thong displaced.
“I haven’t actually,” I said, reveling in the long inhales I had taken. “I think I want more.”
Just as I finished speaking, I felt the baton snap again against my ass. The throbbing pain began to match the pulses of blood that had to be pumping through my labia and clit. I could feel them growing warm under the assault. The beating stopped when a low moan ghosted out of my mouth, and I would have given anything to see his expression. He paused before he roughly shoved the loose material of my panties aside, digging his fingers into me, spreading my wetness around. I heard him inhale sharply. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said angrily. “You’re getting off on it like some twisted, dirty whore.”
His fingers felt electric under my labia, swirling around and seeming anything but disgusted. He paused, resting on my clit before pushing against it, firmly and quickly, making me moan again at the sudden speed. “Yes,” I said, both at his statement and at the motions of his hand, moaning again when he pulled away. He traced his hands farther up my thigh, yanking down the tacky tights I had picked out the week before. They had been wrapped in cheap plastic, hanging on a rack in the store. When I bought them I felt a tingling mix of embarrassment and anticipation as I stood at the cash register in my business casual clothes. What would everyone in my office think if they saw me in these tacky fishnet tights? I stuck my ass out at the feeling as he shoved the tights down to my ankles, pulling them off my feet.
“If you’re going to act like a whore, I’m going to treat you like one,” he said roughly, before shoving my thighs apart. I tried to find footing on the ground as I heard him unzip his pants. My arms were growing sore and the pattern of the rough corduroy felt etched into my face. I wasn’t prepared to feel his cock against my ass so quickly, while my thong was still barely on. It felt as warm as my ass did. “Do you like this?” he asked me, reaching up, twisting my thong in his hands, “Or do you want more?”
I didn’t even wait for a pause. “More, please,” I said quickly, while he pulled my thong slowly down. “What was that?” he said. My underwear fell to the ground as he pulled my hips farther away from the couch my face went down, buried in the fabric. It smelled even riper than before, but it was the last sense I was focusing on. He pushed his cock underneath me, so it was sliding up and down my labia. “Say it,” he said, “Louder.”
“I want it,” I said loud and clear, “Please…Officer.” He dragged his cock up and down, brushing my clit softly. “You do want it,” he said, “don’t you? You hungry little cock-whore. You want me to fuck you in this filthy alley, shove my cock in your pussy?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling a nervous sheen of sweat form between my breasts. “Yes, Sir. Please fuck me.”
He slid his cock into me quickly, wet from where it had been brushing up against me. Just as when he beat me, he didn’t give me time to think before he started pumping his hips. When he pushed in roughly, I could feel the pleasure pooling, moving from where his cock was and leaking into my clit. It burned, begging to be touched. Even his fingertips gripping my hips felt good. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispered in my ear. “Filthy slut.” His words made my nerves crack and tingle, sending the pleasure flowing from my pussy in waves as thick and sweet as sugary syrup, and I could do nothing but let it escape my mouth in small groans. Even if I could have moved my hands, I wouldn’t have wanted to.