I was drowning in him. I was being pulled in by his cock, his voice, his heat. I felt like a broken toy made for his pleasure.
He smirked, dragging my hair back to bare my throat.
“Open wider.”
I obeyed, jaws aching.
He fucked my mouth in slow, brutal strokes. Each one was deliberate, each one stripped away another piece of me.
He slammed into me, nose deep, throat deep. My lips stretched wide, my tongue flattened, my eyes streamed.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “So eager to please. So eager to take my cock.”
I hated him. I hated myself more. But despite all of it, my body ached for him. My nipples hardened, my pussy throbbed, every nerve screamed. I longed to keep going, past all sensibilities and imagined pride.
He slammed deeper and rougher until the sound of my choking was louder than my sobs. 
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. You were made for this.”
When he finally pulled back, spit and glistening slime were smeared on my chin and breasts. I gasped for air, mouth open, throat burning.
He wiped his thumb across my lips, smearing the mess into my skin like a brand.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
“I... I need to—” To run. To leave. To survive.
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up.
“You did well,” he said, voice dark with approval. “But we’re just getting started.”
He pulled me up. My body no longer moved on its own. It was all nerves, limbs, and soaked skin. I didn’t argue. I didn’t protest. I didn’t even speak. 
I was done.
Let it happen. Weather the storm. Maybe, if the gods were kind, walk away after.
I shuddered. I was his. Utterly and completely. And I didn’t have a single fucking say left.
I kept my eyes low, focusing on the red smear of my lipstick across his cock. Gods, I must have looked filthy.
He loomed over me. It wasn’t just in height. In presence. Every inch of him screamed danger.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
I hesitated for half a breath. Not because I didn't want to. But if I looked at the door, I might fucking run.
The image flashed: me, running through the streets, dripping cum, tears, humiliation.
I sighed. And turned.
He slid his hands under my arms, cupping my tits, kneading them with fingers that didn’t ask permission.
I arched into him despite myself. My body was soaked, needful and greedy for his hands.
“I like foreplay,” I whimpered, voice shaking. “But that was... rough.”
He chuckled darkly. “You prefer wine, soft conversation, a lute in the background?”
“And... gentle kisses down my neck,” I managed.
He pushed my hair aside. And gave me what I asked for. His lips were soft, tender. He trailed down the side of my throat.
I melted. Gods, I melted.
Then he bit me. Hard. And the softness shattered.
He shoved me face-first onto the bed.
The mattress loomed as I fell. 
The place where he was going to destroy me.
“No more foreplay,” he growled.
I yelped as my chest hit the mattress. His hand pinned me by the back, not cruel, not brutal. But absolute.
I was helpless under a single touch.
I could sense movement behind me. It was the rustle of his hips aligning with mine. Then the blunt, monstrous head of his cock nudged between my thighs.
“You want this,” he said.
Not a question. A fucking fact.
I nodded, face buried in the sheets.
“I want…” I whispered. My nose was stuffy from the crying. It sounded dead. It felt dead. But my body betrayed me again, all slick, quivering, eager. It was alive.
“… I want you to fuck me.”
He growled low in his chest, grabbed my hips, and pressed the head against my soaked entrance.
“Travin—” I cried.
Then he slid inside. Slowly. Gods, so fucking slowly.
Every inch a violation. Every inch a stretch I didn’t know I could survive.
My nails clawed uselessly at the mattress.
“You’re gonna split me in half,” I gasped.
“You’ll take it,” he said, his voice iron.
And I did. I cried, I pleaded with incoherent words. I finally bit into the mattress to keep the sobs from erupting.
He stayed there for a moment. He was fully buried. He let me feel every hateful, beautiful inch.
Then he moved.
Pulled back. And slammed forward.
I swore. Loudly. Colorfully.
He laughed. It was low, mean, and gleeful. And then he slammed me again. Measured, brutal, masterful.
He wasn’t fucking me. He was training me.
His hand slid up my spine and wrapped lightly around my throat. Squeezing, not just holding.
“This what you want?” he whispered against my ear. “To be taken like this?”
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t breathe. I could only whimper.
He pressed his chest to my back, fucking deeper. Slower. More commanding. He eased his grip, and I could breathe again.
“Use your words, bitch.”
“I… Yes… Gods yes… Don’t stop—” I sobbed, my voice betraying me worse than my body.
He bit my shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and drove in harder.
Deeper.
Purposeful.
He wasn’t making love. He was making a point.
I had thought I knew what it meant to be fucked. I had no idea.
Kaeso was a boy.
Travin was a force of fucking nature.
He reached around, thumb finding my clit, rubbing cruel little circles.
“Come for me,” he growled. “Come all over my cock. Show me what a good whore you are.”
They broke against me like glass, and I felt the crack run straight through my soul.
I sobbed. Moaned. Clamped down on him like a vice. And I came violently, soaking the mattress, the sheets, him.
I fucking came at his command. He owned me. Gods fucking preserve me. My sick, disgusting body wasn’t mine anymore.
He kept fucking me through it. Dragging every last tremor out of my body.
And then he came, hard, grinding into me, filling me up until I felt him everywhere. He was inside me now.
He collapsed over me, panting, dripping sweat onto my back.
I lay there, boneless, broken, empty.
His hand slid down, possessive. Hooked a finger into my ass again. He was just teasing, claiming. It made me gasp.
“You don’t disappoint,” he murmured. “But gods be damned, I’m nowhere near done with you.”
I barked a broken laugh, still catching my breath.
“Is that so?” I rasped, trying to sound defiant.
He twisted his finger, making me whimper again.
“You love it,” he said. “You fucking love this.”
“Fuck you,” I hissed.
He grinned.
“You will,” he promised.
He grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.
“Say my name.”
“Travin,” I spat.
He slapped me.
Not brutally. Just enough to sting and make my heart hammer.
“Say it right.”
“Slap me again, asshole,” I hissed. In defiance. Fucking slapping me? Really?
He obliged, harder this time. The impact rattled my teeth. I could feel that he held back, only using the right amount to shatter my resolve.
What little defiance I had was just stripped away with the burning on my cheek and the tears of pain that came with it.
I looked at him, humbly, a hand touching my swollen flesh. “Travin,” I whispered, his name a soft, compliant sound.
Obedient. Owned.
He squeezed my throat. The breath stopped. I gripped his arms. My body twisted under him. I tried to get free. The terror rose in me. 
He was iron and stone, I was just delicate flesh. He had the power to end me on this bed.
Gods, he could do it. He could kill me.
“And don’t tell me when I get to slap you,” he growled. His eyes never left mine. His face never even showed the slightest trace of mercy.
He released me. The air came back in greedy gulps.
I whimpered his name again, “Travin…” The sound leaked from my lips like a prayer to a god that didn’t exist.
He flipped me onto my back. I was soaked, ruined, and trembling.
His mouth crashed into mine, biting, claiming.
His cock was already hard again, and he held it over me like a weapon, threatening to attack me with it again.
He leaned back and looked at me. Eyes locked with mine.
I eased my knees apart, my slit still soaked and full, dripping onto the covers under me. Open for this man who was nothing but destruction and pain. I turned away, unable to look into his soulless gaze.
I arched my back, ready for another assault that would leave me coming again.
I said his name.
“Travin…”
I wanted more. Gods, preserve me, I wanted more.