The Joy Of Hatefucking, pt 3: Making him my bitch
I had told myself I wasn’t going to “lose it” before he had arrived over and over, promised myself — but I just didn’t really give a fuck. Once they’ve been set into motion, I have about as much “control” over my temper and sex drive as the person who chooses to watch that proverbial trainwreck.
You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The one you can’t look away from even though you know it’s going to be gruesome, even though you know you “should” or are “supposed to”? The one that some sick, fucked up thing inside you NEEDS to watch every single mesmerizingly grotesque second of from start to finish and consume entirely, down to its tiniest and most horrifying detail . . .
Whatever shred of “willpower” I had convinced myself or him of exercising that night would soon be drowned. The floodgates of my self-indulgent, self-destructive no-holds-barred fury had been opened. He was not getting back into that car. The only place either of us was by my self-indulgent . . .It was like I was possessed
I stared down at him, a deranged grin spreading across my face. It was like I was possessed. I didn’t even realize I had raised my hand behind my head and swung my it across his face until seconds after he screamed from the pain and I felt the lingering sting on my palm.
“Did that hurt?” I heard myself ask in a voice that made his blood run cold and his bulge even bigger, stiff. How dare he get turned on? And why the FUCK was I so aroused?? My blood was boiling. And the more livid I got, the harder my cunt throbbed . . . I could feel how soaked my panties already were. And it made me sick.
He was not getting back into that car. He didn’t have a choice anymore.
The only place he was going now was where I was going — to watch that trainwreck until it was ALL over. And he wasn’t just going to rubberneck with me, either . . . he didn’t deserve the safety of watching from a distance. He deserved being tied to those tracks. He didn’t even really deserve to be my bitch anymore. But that’s exactly what he was going to be tonight.
“Go get my strap-on, bitch . . . and hurry the FUCK up!”
