A Rough Date with Eliza

December 22 2011, 3:15 PM by Lord Henry Wotton

A story written long ago for the twenty-something lass from Kent, Eliza who requested such a tale:

I often wonder, as my thoughts often do, what a date between us would
be like. How obedient would my slut be? Maybe standing in line,
somewhere, a restaurant, a movie queue, Disneyland . . .

Would you let me grab your ass? No? Perhaps you would cite decorum,
refrain, manners. Hah. As a slut, you do not pass.

So we struggle. For you are my property, are you not? Mine for the
taking. Anywhere, anyhow.

Grasping your hand, I yank you into an alley. Manners, indeed. It is
not I who lacks manners in such a case.

A slap. Yes, you deserved it. A second slap, backhand this time.
You expect me to waste my effort by simply lowering my hand? Bitch.

But you struggle still. I shove you against the wall. Cunt. Those
scratches will heal. Holding your arms, firmly; clenching my fingers
around your wrists, I hold you against the bricks, your cheeks against
the grime.

But you struggle still. And kick. Something new you've learned?
Bitch. I yank your pants down, popping a button. You bought those
pants yesterday, arriving at my place, glee in your face as you
displayed how your ass filled out those crappy pants. Yes, crappy.

Whimpering? Silly bitch.

Your pants down, I see you wore black lace. A pretty penny those must
have been. But torn as I make them now, it doesn't matter. Nothing
matters. Except my desire. And my needs. Understand slut?

No, I didn't think you would.

So, restraining you still. I press my slobbered finger to your
asshole, your shithole. It had better be clean, bitch. I shove my
finger in hoping to find something. Something nasty. Something I
will smear on you, on your forehead, on your tongue. Something to
mark you as the shit you truly are.

But, no. You've been expecting this haven't you, my trollop?

A few others pass by, glancing down the alley, watching my assault, but
they don't stop; they don't holler; they don't rescue. Freaks.
Cowards. Assholes.

But I let you go. I release you. Tossing you to the ground, into the
rubble and the wet. Cunt.

My cunt.

Comments

There are no comments to display.

Blog entry information

Author
Wotton
Read time
2 min read
Views
156
Last update

More entries in General

More entries from Wotton

Share this entry