Understanding

His dark hair is soft. Long and thick enough to thrust fingers into and pull, but short and curled just enough to keep it from getting in the way. He always whimpers so deliciously in pain when I use it to pull his head back and bite his throat, but he couldn't ever deny that he loves it. He couldn't deny that he loves all of it. He needs it. And I need to give it to him.

I don't remember how it started, but I remember how it escalated until it was an addiction, feeding off our souls. He learned to love the pain, to need to feel it, and I was willing, sometimes even eager to give it to him.

Now he sleeps, peaceful and smiling, curled up in the blankets on our shared waterbed. The room is dark, but it is nightfall, after all. I've turned the fan off, so it's getting hotter and hotter in here. I shut the window earlier. Not even the late summer night's breeze can cool him off tonight. He shifts, growing uncomfortable, while I'm forced to remove my clothes. I'm sweating.

I've contemplated this night for so long. He's never quite understood me... He will now. He'll understand, starting tonight, just what it feels like to be broken. It won't be exactly the same, sure. He's old enough to understand what's about to happen, unlike I was, for one thing.

It doesn't matter. I'm going to break him tonight. He's always been there for me as a boyfriend, a lover, a friend, but he's never quite understood. I know he truly thinks he does. What I don't know is whether or not I'll be able to face him after I do this--after I destroy him.

He's moving around a lot more now. I think he's just wearing boxers tonight--yes, I can see those pale shoulders--but he's under all those blankets. He must be sweating quite a lot. I hope he doesn't wake up before I'm ready. I've already cleared up the floor on this side of the room. There's a bed and a nightstand and a few feet between the bed and the wall, extending the length of the bed. Everything I'll need is right within reach.

I take a deep breathe and pull my long hair back with a scrunchie. Once it's all out of the way, I pick up a strap-on from the floor. I turn it over in my hands a few times. It's hard and thick, flesh-coloured. In the dark, it almost feels real, and I know it would if I didn't know it were fake. I remember exactly how big it is, too. It's exactly eight inches long, five and a half around, and he doesn't know I have it. I shake my head and position the cock on my pelvis and strap it on tight. It'll hold for the night.

Ten o'clock on the dot. I'm sweating more, now; I'm getting nervous. I take a deep breath, and I'm ready.

He shouts when I yank him up by the hair on the back of his head in one hand.

"UP, little faggot!" I growl; I hope my voice is disguised. "I said get UP." He's thrashing around, trying to get free, but he's confused and barely awake, so he fails. I enjoy the fighting at first, but I tire of it and open a small knife. I put the razor-sharp edge to his throat. He gasps and stills, now fully alert and fully afraid.

"Listen up, punk. Listen good." I whisper in his ear. He's cringing at the feel of my hot breath on his sensitive skin, I know it. "I'm about to fuck you so hard you won't know which way is up anymore..." I rub the dildo against his ass cheek through the plaid boxers, now that I'm kneeling behind and a little bit on top of him. "Scream all you want, I know how far away the nearest neighbor is, and even fight a little. Keep things exciting for me." I run my tongue up the edge of his ear. He starts to shake. I wonder if he's crying.

"E-Emma..." He whispers. I narrow my eyes at the sound of my name--no. Not my name, at least, not tonight.

"Your girlfriend's been...incapacitated." I snarl into his ear. He's about to start really fighting, I can feel it, so I add, "She isn't dead, fucker, so shut it up. She's just fine so far." He calms considerably, but he's still shaking.

He yells when I grab his hair again and push his head down into the water-filled mattress. He flails, trying to get back up, but I somehow hold him there, bent over all vulnerable, and use my knife to cut the boxers into shreds, probably giving him a few nicks in the process.

He's really struggling now and it occurs to me that he probably can't breathe with his face in the bed like that. I loosen my grip, and as I do so, I run a finger up the inside of his thigh. He stiffens as I near something very, very sensitive. Without warning, I lean forward, grab his wrists and pull them hard behind his back. He's forced to sit up again, and he whimpers at the pain in his shoulders when I stretch to grab a length of rope.

It's a thin rappelling rope, and it's probably going to chaff. I tie his wrists until I know he won't get out no matter how long and hard he struggles. I pull him off the bed and he lands in a heap on the floor. He doesn't move, just lays there. That pisses me off. I kick him in the ribs with the inside of my foot. As he tries to get his breath back, I move around in front of him and wait.

Soon enough, he looks up at me from where he's lying on the ground. I see the glint of his eyes, and a little bit of his expression, but not much else. I'm sure he can't see me at all except for a dim silhouette. I bend down and grab his throat, making him get up on his knees, kneeling in front of me. He knows what's coming, but I don't allow him to get ready. I grab his head and force nearly eight inches of fake dick into his mouth. He chokes immediately, and I groan as if I feel it.

"Yeah, suck it you cockwhore." I moan. I think he might be sobbing now. I grab the back of his head to hold it still and thrust into his pretty little mouth. His throat opens and I keep hitting it. I briefly hope he won't throw up. I don't want to smell it; however, it would humiliate him even more. I keep grunting with every thrust, pulling his hair. He's choking louder now, so I finally just pull out of him and push him to the ground.

I consider whipping that sweetly pale back, but I don't want to get fancy with this. I just want to hurt him. I pick up the knife off the bed and bend down next to him.

"Get up, fag." I whisper. "Suck my dick again, but do it better or I'll cut that worthless tongue out of your worthless body." He struggles to pull himself up with out the use of his arms. He's openly crying now, in heaving sobs and all, but he's resigned. I'm almost ready to get to the point.

Once he's on his knees, he feels around with his face for the dildo and licks it. I remember my role here and moan deep in my throat.

"I said suck it, you cunt." I bark at him. He quickly puts his mouth around the head and I can tell he's being careful with his teeth. All he's really doing, though, is pissing me off. I grab his head and start fucking his face again.

"Get that fag spit on there really good. I'm not putting anything else on it before I pound your ass."

He sobs and chokes at the same time at that. I push him off and he falls on his back. With a few good kicks, he's on his knees again, bent over to the floor. I get down behind him and nudge his legs apart. He hasn't said a word since my name. That's not what I want.

"Now beg for it." I say, calmly, to irritate his senses.

"Please...please no..." He whispers throatily between sobs. He's doing it all wrong. I slap his ass hard and he shrieks in surprise. There's probably going to be a mark there.

"No, cunt. Beg me to fuck you."

"No!" He yells. "Please don't do this, please..." I slap his ass again in the same spot, but this time, just to hear a scream. I press the length of the knife against his lower back and I actually feel the shiver run up his spine.

"Beg me to fuck you, or I'm going to shove this knife up or ass and fuck you with it instead." I trace it along one cheek from his back as proof of my not bluffing. He's sobbing harder than ever. I wonder if he's really not going to beg. I decide to test him.

"Have you made your choice, cunt?" I drag the knife down, closer and closer to where that tiny hole will be.

"PLEASE!" He screams, truly terrified. "Please...fuck me..." I grin sadistically.

"Beg louder. I want to hear how much you want me to fuck you like the cunt you are."

"Fuck me! Just, please fuck me!" He nearly screams. I wonder if that tore his throat badly.

I don't wonder long. In one short movement, I've leaned forward, and shoved the length of this strap-on dick into that tight ass. He screamed louder than I've ever heard him scream. I probably tore him, and I don't give a fuck. I immediately start to thrust with both hands on his hips. I must have dropped the knife, because I haven't stabbed him.

I pound him harder and harder with my pelvis, and he just keeps howling in agony. Soon enough, moving gets easier, but I just go faster. Sweat is dripping off both our bodies, and I'm gripping him hard enough on each hip to bruise.

I'm not really a man, so I never have to stop this. I keep thrusting away, fucking away his dignity. The screams are getting quieter now, and it's only been ten minutes. I think I've almost broken him. I lean up on my knees and angle the dildo down into him, and he screams loudly again. I know on every down stroke I'm hitting his prostrate. His screams are a perfect blend of blinding agony and increasing pleasure.

After three minutes, he's moaning in-between screams.

After five, it's all groans of pain and a little pleasure.

After ten, he's much quieter except for grunting. He still doesn't want this, and he doesn't enjoy it, but his body is reacting. I can tell he's so hard it hurts.

After twelve minutes, he shrieks once. He's coming, but I'm still fucking. I pretend to come, groaning and pounding away erratically. When I'm "finished," I grab the knife and slash the rope off of him before pulling out. He slumps to the ground in silence and doesn't move. He's still awake, but probably in shock. I get up and walk out of the room.

I broke him.

I don't know what to do next.