Rest of the day

Michelle’s voice cracks as she pleads, face streaked with tears, cum, and spit.

“Please… Mr. Nick… I can’t… I can’t take any more. You won… please stop…”

Nick just laughs, cock still rigid and shining with cum and her juices. “Stop? We had a deal, whore. I stop when I can’t fuck you anymore. And look—” he slaps his throbbing shaft against her bruised cheek, “—still ready.”

For the next six hours the room becomes a blur of **** and degradation. He drags her from the bed to the floor, to the desk chair, to the bathroom counter. Every surface is used. He chokes her **** with his cock down her throat, waits for her eyes to flutter open, then starts again. He fists her hair and slams her face into the mattress while reaming her ass until she blacks out from pain, only to slap her awake and keep going. He pisses on her when she’s too weak to move, then forces her to clean him with her tongue.

He records it all on his phone—close-ups of her ruined holes leaking load after load, her mascara-smeared face begging in broken Spanish and English. She passes out four separate times. Each time he waits just long enough for her to come around, then shoves back in wherever he feels like. Hours bleed together. The “Do Not Disturb” sign stays on the door. Housekeeping knocks once and he screams at them to fuck off. Finally, sometime after 4 p.m., the pills begin to lose the fight against biology.

He’s on top of her again, hips pistoning mechanically into her swollen, gaping cunt. His strokes slow. His breathing turns ragged.

One last brutal thrust and he empties a thin, watery load deep inside her—barely anything left to give. He collapses forward, cock still buried, and feels it happen: the relentless hardness finally fades. For the first time all day he starts to soften inside her. Nick groans, rolls off, and lands on his back beside her limp body. His spent cock flops against his thigh, red and raw, finally going flaccid.

Michelle doesn’t move. She’s curled on her side, eyes half-open and unfocused, cum and bruises covering every inch of her. Shallow breaths are the only sign she’s still conscious. Nick stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Deal’s a deal,” he mutters to the silent room. “I’m done.”

The room reeks of sex, sweat, and utter ruin. Outside, the afternoon sun is already dipping low.