You're resigned to your fate.

You feel what's left of your indignance and resistance seep out of you. The embarrassment doesn't fuel your arousal, but your **** desire for this to be over and done with does. You try to **** yourself to go limp in a vain effort to reduce the sensations and escape mentally.

"Uh-uh," he says sharply. "I know what a little rapetoy like you needs." He tightens his grip on your wrists, which makes you arch your back involuntarily from the conflicting loathing and arousal. He then tugs your shirt up, tucks your bra cups down beneath your thus far neglected breasts, and begins to slap them.

It feels terrible.

It feels amazing.

You burst into a fresh bout of tears as your plan to drift away from your body is foiled. You hate this. You hate him.

You moan as his pelvis grinds against your clit perfectly.

"Fuck yeah," he says through shortening breaths,"You were made to be ****, weren't you?

You turn your head away; he doesn't like that. His hand wraps around your throat again, not restricting your breath this time but with a firm pressure that warns you that he will. "I asked you a question, rapebait," he says again, trying to even out his panting. "In case you weren't paying attention: you were born to be ****, weren't you?" He punctuates with a vicious snap of his hip.

"Yes," you whisper to the sky.

"You can either look at my face or my cock when I'm talking to you, rapetoy." He releases your arms and uses both his hands to cradle your head at an angle where you can easily see his dick invading your flesh, shining with your fluids. You flick your eyes to meet his - and they are dark, covetous, and animalistic. You flinch and return your gaze obediently to the sight of his thick cock sliding into your body.

You struggle to focus on just one - his eyes make you feel utterly naked and known. His cock both delights and mocks your kinky fantasies. Even his hands holding your head in place as he chases his orgasm make you feel **** and foolish. And as his breath quickens, you realize with horror that yours is too. You try to keep your lips tightly shut and breathe through your nostrils.

"Look at me, my little rapedoll," he orders through harsh breaths. You flick your eyes obediently to his face. "That's it, look at me. You feel it, don't you? I can feel your cunt quivering around me, you're ready to come." You want to fight it, but he's right: the pleasure is cresting, the fear and loathing feeding the wave. "That's it, fucktoy, just let it happen," he murmurs, looking at you so knowingly it hurts. "You love being ****, don't you?" he asks, as he slides his thumbs toward your neck meaningfully. "Tell me the truth."

"I love being ****," you admit in a whisper, and the orgasm rips through your entire body. You find your arms and legs wrapped around his shoulder and ass, whimpering as he fucks you through your orgasm into too much, the bastard, before he grunts and pumps into you one last time.