You come up with a silly name.

Wanting to seem amenable you offer your name, or at least start to. "Lu..." the word catches in your throat. You can't tell him your real name, Lucas. What should you say? Lucy? Louis? "Lu." you repeat in conclusion, eyes vacuous and wide, unsure of your response even as it comes out.

He smirks, then laughs. "Lulu? Alright then Lulu." He says the name with due skepticism, clearly teasing your alias, but not pressing the issue. He tugs at your hand again. "What are you waiting for?" You blush brightly, feeling terribly foolish. You'd been staring like a lost kitten, and suddenly find yourself deeply worried that he may think less of you now.

"God." you think to yourself. "He probably thinks I'm, like, some bimbo."

He guides you out of the bus, and around a tall iron fence.

"Lulu!" You think with exasperation. "It sounds like a bimbo name." You fidget with your jeans, trying futilely to hoist them up higher on your waist as you walk.

"And then I stared like an airhead. I hope he didn't think I was trying to be difficult..." The thought lingers in your mind, and you shudder at the thought. The thought of frustrating him was terrible. You could imagine the weight of his disappointment. The quiet judgement of his exasperation would fill your heart with worry. You shuddered. Simply imagining it was unbearable, the actual thing would be a torment! You started to think back to your conduct on the bus. Had you really wanted to tell him off? An icy fear filled your chest. What if he knew you were about to be rude? You took a breath and calmed yourself. You could avoid that fear as long as you were nice and biddable...

Through a keypadded gate, around a corner, and up a short flight of stairs you followed, and as you followed you continued to think.

But why should you care? You only just met the guy, and already feel like he could pronounce life and **** over your self worth. That's absurd! What type of compliant door mat have you become?

He lets go of your hand, and the impossible fear that he detected your thoughts, and perceived your rebellion flutters through you. You're soothed as you realize he's just unlocking his door.

You're pulled in quite suddenly, and a moment later he's grabbed your wrists, and pinned you against the door in a kiss. You see stars. Bliss overcomes your mind and washes away your concerns. The door catches you as you fall back. Part of you wants to reciprocate his affection, and reach your arms around him, but his hold is firm, and your wrists and arms writhe around helplessly in his grip. Your helplessness makes you delightfully weak in the knees, and you slide down the door further before he breaks the kiss.

You were so caught up in dutifully following along you'd almost forgotten why you were following him. This was your reward for obedience... A reward you had almost denied yourself in your defiance. Something about that realization seemed off, like you had learned the wrong lesson, but any hope of self reflection was passed. You were of one mind. Past, future, and present were forgotten in the looming presence of carnal submission.

He lifts your hands above your head, and slams them against the door. You wiggle your hands, and look up to him meekly. "I knew you wanted it, you skanky slut." He spits with contempt. Your face flushes with shame, but your body trembles in anticipation. "Just a needy cunt, looking for her next dick." He leans in, as if to kiss you again, and you stretch forward to meet him, but he pulls back at the last moment and denies you. You look at him longingly, and genuinely hurt. But he merely gazes back with that cocky smirk on his face.

Slowly, he lets go of your wrists, and steps back. For a moment, the same fears rise up. Have you offended? Is he disappointed?

"Strip." He commands.

You stare for a moment, but he's unmoving, and meekly you comply. Despite the single minded desire, you still feel a sense of loss as you slowly unbutton the plaid shirt and shuck it to the floor. You were naked before, but this time it feels more real. You have a witness who will never again let you deny what you've become.

Your tank top had started to ride high again, and he laughs when he sees your exposed belly. You look down, suddenly aware of the unseemly veins lining your pale flesh, and the angry red stretch marks marring your porcelain complexion. His laugh cut deeply, and you begin to feel imperfect, unseemly. Still you don't stop. The tank top comes off next, and you see a feral desire fill his eyes as your breasts drop free and wobble. Feeling playful in the face of his renewed desire, you turn sideways, and cross your arms over your chest in a mock show of modesty.

He approaches you again, and you feel the heat of his body. "No bra?" He states snidely. "I knew you were just a sweaty whore." He kisses you again, and affirmation washes away your doubt. Bliss follows as you feel his tongue slip wetly into your mouth. Your tongues dance, but again he breaks away too soon.

He turns you around, and you're startled to find a woman framed within a large rectangular looking glass on the back of the door. The glass is greasy from where you leaned against it, and the woman? The woman is a sweaty, sloppy, whore.

He stands behind you, and one hand grabs you firmly by the cheeks pointing your face towards the mirror. "Look at her." He tells you. "This dirty fucking slag who throws herself at any guy who gives her the time of day." Even as he says it you know it's true. Your hair is still sweaty and matted against your face. Thick locks hang in your face, and your **** expression gives you an animalistic appearance. With his other hand, he grabs one of your breasts harshly. You wince, and as your flesh bulges out around his fingers. A bead of white cream builds on your dark teat, then breaks and races down your breast. Liam speaks again. "You don't wear a bra, so it's easier to reach your tits."

You feel him snatch your jeans down, leaving them around your knees. "And you only wear panties so you can lure out tricks." He lets go of your tit and plunges his hand into your panties. A finger slips into your body. Fire radiates from your groin and ripples through your veins. The expression of the girl in the mirror is wanton and carnal. She cries out... You cry out. The helpless and lewd moan is devoid of all sense or reason. You glance to your master, your owner, and find a wild expression on his face, as if he delights in the sadism of his insults, and delights even more in how horny your own humiliation is making you.

He slips a second finger into your body, and begins to stroke deep inside your body, in ways you never conceived. You'd fall, but he holds you up. "I bet you don't even know who the father is." He pulls his hand out, and smears your musky lubrication across your belly. "Just some weekend trick. A forgotten face." He lets go of you, and you begin to slide down to your knees, eyes locked with the depraved feminine creature in the mirror.