I could smell my own fear. Now it was mixed with beer.
As much as I dislike it, it did wet my mouth, however, and kind of soothed my raw throat.
Fear, disgust and now he displayed my ass in a lurid and obscene way.
It took threats and more threats to get me to lick his dick. The anger that had fueled my rant was nudged out by fear - what if he did stick that bottle in my ass - and it broke? Never mind the pain, but the fear of bleeding out with a lascerated rectum makes my tongue lick touch it.
I start to cry again. My arms ache, my shoulders are burning. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Something you said is important and I can't pinpoint what it is.
My eyes fly open when I remember what you said.
It was victims.
Something about usually his victims undid his pants. Fear started being terror when I thought of that word. He'd done this before and didn't they become more depraved with each victim? My mind spun with all the cop shows and A&E crime stories I've watched.
How far would this go?
I've never known this much fear. It makes my chest tighten horribly.
I lick him again, and again.
I'm starting to realize that my life could be in jeopardy. And I hate him for making me feel this terror and making me feel this helpless.
"I beg of you, please don't hurt me."
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