Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Her Overlord {Crushed and SilverGrrl}

His grip free, Alice heaved for breath in huge coughing gasps, her tiny body flipping up and down, twisting as she sought to recover her senses. Unfortunately, the return of lucidity brought with it a reminder of the pain, danger, humiliation, fear – as her senses were bombarded she almost wished that inky black numbness would creep up again, a thought that only quietened when she felt how raw the skin of her throat was; she wasn't even able to see the deep red colour her once white skin now bore, where he had gripped her, and where she'd been casually slapped.

Her legs clung to him, allowing him to plunge deep inside her; it was a trade off that at least prevented him going too far out: the slamming when their hips met was almost unbearable. Her tear-stained face screwed up in pain with every longer thrust, and she began hoarsely croaking, her voice barely audible above his terrifying grunts.

“Please...I'm so sorry for – whatever I did. You're hurting me, you're hurting me!” she begged, pathetically, as though Kain was not already well aware of this. “Stop hurting me!”
 
Kain said nothing for a few seconds. And then he laughed.

He had a rich, booming laugh. It exploded out from him, his entire upper body shaking in mirth as he continued to pound rhythmically into her, picking up the pace and force as he chest heaved with laughter. He laughed while he fucked her, and still laughing he reached out a hand and squeezed her throat again, just for a few moments, then released it.

He wrapped both massive hands around her throat, still laughing uproariously, and started to choke her. He made sure it wasn't clean; that even his tight grips left gaps in her airway big enough for he brain to think there might be some air it could get to. He opened and closed his hands on her throat over and over again as he fucked into her.

His laughter turned to moans as he felt his balls tighten. He pounded into her one last time and then pushed, burying his cock in her as deep as it would go, as it shot cum like a fire hose inside of her, filling her with the hot liquid. As he came he laughed and moaned in her tear stained face as his fingers gripped her throat tightly.
 
Being laughed at was humiliating, but having her pain, suffering, agony, torture laughed at was a humiliation too far, and Alice started to utterly break. Her whole body heaved with the effort of crying, her cheeks wet as tears streamed forth, pathetic moans bleating from her mouth. Her slender shoulders shook, her chest struggled, and she slumped her hips back onto the couch, no longer even trying to resist Kain's deep pummelling. The laughter filled the air; it drowned everything, the sound of their bodies, the sound of her cries, the sound of the couch squeaking, even the sound of her thrumming heart.

When his hands closed again it was like they were taking hold not of her neck but her soul. She felt utterly subject to his whim: she had to fight for every breath, sucking in sex-stained air only when he allowed, snorting out exhalations only when it pleased him, every terrifying moment when he constricted his grip leaving her struggling against a nauseating headrush. She couldn't even beg him to stop: she had to concentrate on struggling to stay alive.

A rush of heat, amidst a tight spin of breathlessness, informed her he'd cum inside her: that was they were unprotected, and that her battered insides were in no state to receive such a huge torrent, was of almost marginal concern next to the more pressing issue of whether he would ever allow her to breathe again. This time, his hands were unrelenting, forcing her to stare into his laughing, leering face, her bright young face slapped red and tracked with trails of dried tears, eyes silently begging for an end to the nightmare.
 
He suddenly let go of the throat and pulled out of her, standing up. His sudden movement made her drop off the couch and onto the floor as he stood, panting, his face flushed red, still chuckling slightly at her attempts to beg for mercy. Then he looked down at her.

Lying on the floor, his boot right in front of her face, she had to look up all seven feet of him. His massive cock, now flaccid, swung obscenely from his pants, dripping fluids...his, hers, it didn't matter...onto her face as he towered over her. His muscular chest heaved under his vest as he stared down at her. She was lying their, her pussy still wide open, trying to adjust to the stretching of his massive cock. Her face was blue and red and covered in tears and, now, the cum dripping from his swinging member.

She saw him reaching out to grab her with one of his massive hands at the end of his muscular arms.

"I'm not done with you yet."
 
Alice slumped down gasping. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, but the cold of the floor was unrelentingly real. Slowly she looked up, her eyes widening as she took in the full awesome sight towering over her: a seven foot tower of muscle that had just claimed her as his own, a thick shaft dripping with the consummation of that, an arm like a tree trunk that dipped to her. She was panting so hard her tongue lolled out, and she found herself hugging her naked, shivering, bruised body with exhausted arms. His fingers planted in her hair and twisted, yanking her up. Struggling, barely any energy left, she managed to clamber onto her knees to stay ahead of the sharp pain.

When he announced they weren't finished, she wanted to slump down again, curl into a ball and sob. But she didn't dare fall from her knees, lest his grip in her hair hurt her. So she just knelt before him, a small, broken young woman, body marked by his abuse, clad only in socks to her knees and dangling silver chains, her neck bruised red and purple, her tangled hair knotted in his mighty hand, her huge, wet eyes never leaving his face as she tried to signal her total obedience, shoulders back and breath held, for fear of angering him further.

“O...okay...” she croaked. What else could she say?
 
He smiled at her. A warm, friendly smile. Like the ones he had given he at the beginning of the night, before he had gone to work on her.

"You look so beautiful right now," he told the bruised, battered, terrified girl. "Now you're going to answer a few questions for me. And it is very, very important that you tell the truth. Who knows you're here? Who did you tell you were coming to this concert? Where do you work? And where do you keep your cell phone?"
 
Alice quavered. What could his smile – so different to the fanged leer he had offered just moments before – possibly mean? She started to speak, but her voice was wrecked, her throat aching as though she'd been swallowing knives. She balled into a hacking cough, even as his fingers strained against her hair. Finally she pulled herself up again, her doting eyes returning to his face, fresh with new tears.

“I told my sister and a few of my friends I was coming tonight - I don't know how many exactly, I don't, I'm sorry,” she began, quickly moving into a hysterical babble. Her throat saved her: it ran out again, and she had to pause to heave for breath.

Resuming, she went on, her voice as tiny and scarred as her body: “I work at the Blue Moon Coffee Shop. And my cell is in my coat – I checked it in when I got here.”
 
"Good! I can have that in the morning," he said. "Which is when you're going to call your sister, your mother, hell everyone you know and tell them about the amazing thing that happened at the concert last night. How they needed someone to work backstage at the last second and you went and helped out. How after it happened, they offered you a job with the tour.

"You're going to quit your job at the coffee shop, too. You're going to tell everyone how wonderful it is that you have an opportunity to spend all the time in the world so close to me. And I promise you, slut, we are going to be very, very close."
 
It crushed her, just a little, to know that what he was offering her – although perhaps it wasn't so much an offer as a demand – would have been her dream job up until this evening. Backstage with her favourite band. Close with her favourite singer. Free of her terrible job. Wasn't it all just the most wonderful, remarkable fortune on her part?

She buried her face in her palms and started sobbing desperately, her body shaking so violently it caused her hair to tug in his hands. She could ignore the pain, though: knowing he was ordering her to sign her own terms of enslavement eclipsed it in a crushing wave of desperation.

Just barely, Kain would make out the shape of her head nodding, agreeing, as she knelt before him, wailing through her tears.
 
"Good girl," he said sweetly. His whole body tingled with the thought of keeping her. He had never wanted more than a night with any of the other girls, whether they had enjoyed it or not. But Alice was so beautiful, so desperate and helpless. He just wanted to hurt her, and keep on hurting to, to see how much it would take for her mind to shatter completely. He threw her back down on the ground and began stuffing his cock back into his pants, then he stopped.

"You got my cock all sticky," he said, stepping over her and sitting down on the couch. "Clean it off. With your mouth, like a good slave."
 
Alice almost enjoyed being thrown to the floor: at least her hair was no longer being pulled, and she could lie her aching limbs down to rest. Not for long. His cruel order stung her nerves: it was almost as though he were complaining that she had soiled him; it was jaw dropping arrogance, given what he'd done to her. Except she didn't want to drop her jaw: it hurt too much.

Her progress was laborious as she tried to pull herself up. Her knees were too weak now to support her weight, so she had to struggle for a handhold on the couch; no help was forthcoming. Leaning against the couch she managed to pull herself upright enough that her head was level with his lap, and though it would be degrading to be on her knees while she did as he pleased, the effort required to pull her all the way onto the couch would be too great. She slumped tiredly against his thigh for a moment, then crawled over.

Her hand delicately pried his enormous, semi-flaccid member from his lap, dangling it front of her lips. Before she began, she turned her eyes to him imploringly, her lip trembling. She looked a pathetic picture of submission as she asked: “I will try, I promise, just please don't hurt me?”

It wasn't even a request: just a suggestion. Her lips lowered to the sticky tip, coated with his cum, her moisture, and a disturbing hint of blood, and she began cleaning. As she worked, a single tear dropped from her eye, spilling onto the broad shaft.
 
He let her struggle with it for a while; even flaccid, fitting the cock into her mouth would have been difficult, but seeing her lap at his member and balls, her tears falling onto them, almost made him ready to fuck her again. The only thing that stopped him was the sure knowledge that this time she wouldn't survive it.

She got cum and juices all over her face, so when she was done he wiped them off with the tip of his two fingers and ordered her to suck them clean. When she had, he reached over for her clothes.

"Arms up," he ordered. "It's time to get you dressed."
 
Alice tried raising her arms, but they burned with such a tired ache it was difficult. It took her two or three attempts, giving the impression she was waving at him almost; finally, sitting back on her ankles, she managed to stir her shoulders into action and get her arms up above her head.

She was quite a sight. Even with his efforts at “cleaning” her – cursory in comparison to the effort she'd been forced to expend licking every inch of him clean – the impression was of a fairly wrecked girl. Her black hair was tangled; her face bore red marks from being slapped and the dried residue of many, many tears; her lips were puffy from trying to accommodate his mammoth girth; her neck bruises had startled to purple; scratch and bitemarks littered her white skin alongside splotchy red bruises; and her tiny frame trembled with the very effort of holding the pose. Though she dared not say anything, her face beseeched him not to prolong her agony.
 
He slid the top over her, even helped her hold up her arms so that it would slide on. He did the same for her skirt, and when it was done she was at least presentably clothed, even if she did look like...

Well, like a seven foot sadist had just raped and beaten her, actually.

He gathered her up in his arms and carried her like an infant, her arms around his neck, her head over his shoulder, out into the stadium. The place was nearly deserted, especially in the back hallways where the dressing rooms were. He carried her out into a special parking lot for busses where a huge trailer stood.

"My home away from home," he told her. "My private trailer. Come on, we'll get you to bed."

He brought her into the trailer and laid her down on a bed with smooth, soft black sheets. He pulled off his own clothes and pulled hers off again as well. He climbed into bed with her and pulled her to him, almost like a teddy bear. He kissed her on the cheek as he held onto her almost tenderly.
 
Alice barely registered what was happening. Clothes appeared on her, somehow; hands touched her, someone's; she was carried through a great hall, somewhere; she was smothered in black again, something. Primed by fear and pain, she had reached an almost primal level; but where the animal in Kain was a roaring, snapping, beast, in her it was a tender, skittish fawn. And so, acting on instinct, she curled her bare body against his, clutched tightly to his powerful muscles, slid her arms around his powerful neck, and inhaled his scent as she held her bruises to him, cooling them against his skin. She trembled and shivered, and clung on tighter, accepting his soft kiss with a kittenish purr. Her mouth, buried in his shoulder, emitted a low sniffle.

She began crying again, but this time not raging tears of desperation but quiet, insistent sobbing as she held close to the only familiar object in this strange new world. That that familiar object happened to the body that had just turn her to shreds for its owner's amusement was almost irrelevant; she needed now, desperately, to hold onto it, and so, as they lay in his bed, covered in cool sheets and resting on soft pillows, she clung to him, each breath shaking her breasts against his chest.
 
He awoke with her clinging to him and smiled. He stroked her hair gently. She really was beautiful, he thought, letting his fingers tangle in her hair a little. He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, then on the lips. He very gently shook her awake.

He looked out the window. They must have gone a good eighty miles, he thought, once he'd been confirmed inside the trailer and they'd hooked it up to the truck cab. It was probably common knowledge with the crew by now that he'd brought a girl in there with him last night, but he didn't mind. He figured the rumors about him and her wouldn't even scratch the surface of the reality.

"Alice," he said, not unkindly. "Wake up. We need to talk."
 
Alice had slept soundly. It was an exhausted sleep, one so deep it even managed to blank out almost all the creeping nightmares that hovered at the periphery of her vision; each little moan of discontent when she shifted her still aching body passed through her unconsciously. She woke a cute, warm, bundled ball, clinging to him tightly like a giant comfort blanket. Her sleepy eyes, rheumy with the memory of deep crying, fluttered apart just enough to let her dark irises take in his face. They opened wide, strangely trusting; her voice was timid and low.

“Are you going to hurt me again?” she asked softly.
 
"Yes," he said, caressing her cheek. "But not for a little while. Right now I just need to talk. You need to make those phone calls, and then I'm going to explain to you how your life is going to work for as long as I have you. Are you ready to get up and do that? It's very important. I'm going to hurt you for my pleasure anyway, you don't want me hurting you more for being disobedient or not understanding the rules."
 
It was so strange, the softness of his touch versus the severity of his words. Hurting her for his own pleasure? While tenderly stroking her? It made no sense to her and she bunched up a little. When she pulled herself upright she realized how sore she was, how her legs and arms ached; an arm trailed to investigate her neck, springing back when she found it so bruised and bitten it was raw to the touch. A fresh day brought fresh pools of tears to each eye. So perhaps equally strange was her response: “Yes.”
 
"I'm hiring you as my personal assistant," he said, still gently stroking her cheek, soft repetitive motion like calming a horse or petting a kitten. "I will give you real work to do; and I will expect you to do it well. On top of that I will own you. Last night I claimed you; you are mine now. My slut. My slave. I will use you in any way I desire, and trying to stop me is....a bad idea.

"In private I will call you slave, and you will call me Master. In public I will call you Alice, and you will call me Mr. Kort. In both private and public I expect you to obey me, immediately, no matter what I ask. It's not very complicated, but that doesn't mean it's easy. Do you understand? Do you have any questions? And once you've answered that, you're going to make those phone calls."

He held up her cell phone and showed it to her.
 
Alice listened, but she barely took in anything beyond 'slave'. It was the word she'd been waiting for; his saying it aloud seemed to seal her fate. She cowered, but did not resist the touch of his hand on her cheek; it was the only comforting sensation her body had experienced in the past few hours. She idly bunched black sheets between her fingers. She had so many questions: would she ever see her family again? her friends? her cat? Where would she live? What would she wear? What would her work involve? What would her nights involve? Where were they going now?

But she asked none of them: because she feared the answers too much.

“After I make the calls, can I take a shower?” The question surprised even her, and she had to look away from him, her face flushed with shame. “Everything aches. Everything hurts.” As if her explanation might not convince, she let she sheet slide from her shoulders, revealing her battered, bruised body to the morning light.
 
He smiled the way an artist would smile at the rough draft of his masterpiece as she showed him her bruised and battered body. He continued to stroke her cheek.

"You can take a shower," he said, gesturing behind him. "It's in the back. There's two aleve left in the bottle, too. In the cabinet. Those will help you with the pain. Take them first; I'm going to be joining you in the shower. Don't worry I'm not going to hurt you, unless you misbehave, of course."
 
She nodded, searching his face for signs of deceit. It was difficult, in that moment, to distrust him: he was taking such pains to explain himself, even as his threats rang out. Most of all, she was entranced by that gentle, soft stroking; for a moment she even leaned her head in, allowing it to rest on his open palm, her face locked on his. Finally, she decided: she simply had to shower some of this pain away. What happened there would just have to happen there.

Delicately, for moving her legs caused such a grating pain she had to grit her teeth, she tried to pry herself from bed. It didn't really work for more than a couple of steps, though; once out in the open she struggled to support herself and half collapsed forward onto her knees beside the bed, one arm resting across Kain's lap in an effort to grope for support. She looked up at him pityingly, and began babbling hysterically as the tears returned:

“Ok ok ok I'll make the calls! I'll be your s-s-s-lave! You can hurt me in the shower! But please – help me now?” she wailed.
 
He laughed at her again, but it wasn't the cruel laughter of the night before. He reached out and he picked her up, still naked except for her chains and stockings. He cradled her in his arms again, and lifted the chains over her head. Then he slid the stockings off each foot, until she was as naked as he was. He kissed her lovingly on the forehead and carried her into the bathroom. Stopping at the medicine cabinet, he held her in place so she could get herself the painkillers.
 
It wasn't dignified, being carried so easily, but Alice had no illusions as to how much dignity she had left after seeing the way every bruise on her body inspired a new smile from her captor. At the medicine cabinet her arms scrabbled weakly but eagerly for the bottle, upending the pills into her hand. Swallowing was painful – her throat was almost sorer than her legs – but she managed them; anything for some respite from the dull aches and sharp twinges that bedevilled her fragile little frame. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, swaying with the slight shake of the road, and then climbed down from his arms.

She was still unsteady, but she could make it over to the shower without falling down. Inside, her hands were trembling so badly she had to struggle to activate the control, but when it came, it brought a blessed, awful, soothing, stinging relief. The water was both welcome and agony, reaching every sore spot of skin, wiping away every remembered hurt. She leaned lightly against the wall and craned her head forward, allowing her thick, dark hair to fall under the spray, dampening it slickly down her back where, at its full length, it almost reached the length of her spine. Slowly, very softly, she began cleaning her thighs.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom