emutedanonymous

[emutedanonymous]

Inner Thoughts - MDNI

THIS IS A SMUT DRABBLE - MDNI, 18+

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She stands uncomfortably in the elevator to her office, it dings at each floor as if timing her descent, the bag on her back feels heavy and so do her eyes.

Ding… ding… ding…

It’s a pantomime to her frustration, the endless bubbling emotions in her chest from a day full of sitting with other people – listening intently to the horrors and atrocities that they have experienced.

Her eyes flicker to the metal doors in front of her, she straightens her posture slightly. Red hair spilling over her chest, the large sweater concealing her figure – her reflection is just a shadow of who she really is. She feels the fabric at the edge of her sleeve, running it between her thumb and forefinger as the elevator doors finally open, pulling her reflection into pieces.

That’s how the end of every day feels, like you just need to be pulled apart and put back together, without all the grief and agony of the day.

She steps out of the elevator into the parking garage. It’s dimly lit, and her eyes relax finally free from the blaring lights of the building. She hears a different sound as she walks through the parking garage, it cuts her focus off from the sound of her feet padding across the pavement. She feels her heartbeat pick up its pace, she knows.

We keeping that appointment?

She stares at her phone in her hand, standing in the middle of the parking garage. She debates cancelling. This can’t be healthy. But her fingers move of their own accord.

Yeah. The place on Winter St, right?

The message is brief, as if transactional.

K. Twenty minutes.

She holds the phone in her hand before shoving it back into her bag. Trudging the rest of her way to the car. She gets in and starts it, the music loud – clearly her mood this morning is vastly different from the present moment. She turns the radio down and flickers through her playlists of music. She finds something rhythmic and loud – turning the volume dial back up, hoping to block out racing thoughts about how egregious this coping skill is.

The drive is silent other than the thumping bass of the music and the car’s engine. Sometimes, she drums her nails against the plastic on the steering wheel, it makes a distinct clacking noise – something to calm the nerves. She pulls down Elm Street and turns into another parking garage, silently cursing the spiraling cement floors as she parks as close as possible to the door. She looks at her bag, deciding to leave it. She reaches into the back of her car and yanks her gym bag from the backseat, pulls her water bottle from the cupholder and shoves her phone into the gym bag.

She walks to the front desk, checks in – they hand her the small card, and she flips it in her fingertips for a second. “Thank you.” She mutters to the receptionist, before heading right towards the elevators.

She treks into the elevator, holding the door for the person sauntering towards her. He’s taller, dark sweatpants and a hoodie. She watches as they push their way past her, hovering in the back of the elevator. Her hair stands on end as the elevator begins ascending. Her fingers going back to the edge of her sweater, carefully tracing the stitching. Her eyes stare into the metal reflection in the elevator doors. She stares at the looming figure, shifting behind her.

The next few moments are a flurry. Fingers wrap around her wrist, and she is fumbling down the hallway of the sixth floor. Her own hand still clasping the keycard with white knuckles. She can feel the grip on her wrist tighten as they round the corner towards the door, they drag her hand and swipe the keycard against the scanner. The door swings open and she is stumbling through it, her back hitting it as she stumbles.

“Jesus… do you fucking mind?” She grumbles, nonchalantly.

She is dropping her duffle bag on the floor and trying to set her water bottle down on the nightstand, the figure shutting the door and flipping the latch. Most people would be panicking now. Shouldn’t she? No. This is what she is here for.

She stands there, lingering with her hand on her water bottle. Blue eyes meeting those across the room. They seem empty – distant even, which is probably for the best.

No feelings, remember?  She casually reminds herself.

She turns back to the water bottle, letting it go slowly. Before she can react, there are hands on her waist and breath on her neck. Every sensible thought is lost in that moment, every anxiety, every fear, every worry that this was still a poor way to cope with her feelings. She isn’t thinking about anything now – expect the sensation of hands and the sound of their voice.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” The voice is familiar, but something about it now seems more intimidating, more real… more ominous.

“Yeah…” She sounds uncertain, as if now is the perfect time to be second guessing her decisions, to be shy. She feels like she isn’t breathing now, waiting for a response, a direction – but there is nothing but silence stretching through the room and hands lingering above her hip bones, like this is a dream – and she is about to wake up.

The silence stretches before the hands disappear; the darkness of the room swallows her. As she lets out a shaky breath – they move across the room – there is the sound of clanking and then the smell of Whiskey in front of her face. “Just drink it.” His voice is annoyed, almost irritated.

She takes the glass and chugs, it burns her throat, but she doesn’t care. When she pulls the glass away there is still enough left in the glass for a shot. She hears him clear his throat, as if impatiently waiting for her to finish. “All of it…” He speaks.

She obliges, almost too easily. She pulls the glass away and notices her hands shake but then there is movement and fingers are on her throat. She immediately reacts, her heart thrums in her ears as the grip on her neck tightens against her pulse. Her fingers grab his wrist, and she yanks, a feeble attempt at testing the waters of strength. When there is no reaction, she reaches forward, hand catching in his hair and pulls, pushing herself forwards to relieve the pressure on her neck.

In a rush she is crashing backwards towards the bed, desperately fighting to gain some leverage or an upper hand. There is several minutes of battling, her weight shifting to try and knock him over, to stop him. It isn’t until she feels her vision closing blurring the darkness and the shapes in front of her that she stumbles slightly.

Her back is met with the bed, and she swears he growls in victory as she kicks at him. Losing control of her muscles slowly as she clings to consciousness.

“You know this is pointless.”  He is laughing, whether it’s at her or at the pathetic play fight that she attempted – she doesn’t know.

“It is…”  She can’t get enough air to respond as she pushed her leg back out and finally connects with part of his body as she tries to kick him backwards. “The whole point.” The grip on her throat releases and she immediately lashes forwards, teeth connecting with skin as she tries desperately to assert some level of control over the situation.

The same hand fists into her hair and yanks, hard, she makes a sound – it is desperate and loud. But she is still fighting. She is sliding off the bed as she is dragged by her hair, the pain is subtle but enough, she’s already wet thinking about it. The struggle is half the fun, her face flush in the darkness of the room.

She hits the floor hard as she reaches to try and shove at the person above her, they laugh again.

“This is the best part. Because you know you can’t win.” He is laughing again as he presses his foot into her chest, hair pulled taught as he stares down at her still attempting to fight him.

She groans at the pressure against her chest and squirms, she is stuck now, and the alcohol makes her head rush to the point that the room is spinning slightly. That was a lot of alcohol for her – she doesn’t drink much anymore.

Her thoughts are a distraction as the weight shifts off her chest and her hair is yanked as the man moves above her. She hears him kicking and she twists violently to pull away, but hands are back on her throat again, as she is lifted – stomach pressed to the floor with her head craned upwards by her hair. She could push her legs up under her, but the angle of her neck makes it hard to move and if she presses her head down her airway is closed.

She feels the tip of his dick pressed into her lips and she attempts to open her mouth to speak, and he seizes his opportunity. It presses her jaw open and tears immediately spring to her eyes as he hits the back of her throat with an audible sound of relief.

She doesn’t hesitate, as much as she wants to put up some relentless fight, instead she swirls her tongue and hollows her cheeks dragging him in. He swears and she grins against his shaft. Afterall, despite her defiance, she is here to please.

She shifts to find a more comfortable position, but the hand tightens again, forcing her head back awkwardly as he fucks her mouth. Drool rolls down her chin as she tries to suck air in through her nose. The lewd sounds of her face connecting with his hips as he fucks her mouth relentlessly. She doesn’t protest, in fact, as he yanks backwards a sound escapes her lips of desire – she wants him back. Wants to be fucked stupid, thoughtless, wordless.

“Please?”  She whispers theatrically, taking the reprieve to lick her lips like a woman starved. But she is lifted from her sprawled position on the floor, and she struggles deftly as she hits the bed, and her hair is tangled up into his fist. He drags her towards the edge of the bed, still dressed in her sweater. He releases her hair and pulls the sweater off her, yanking it up over her head before returning to her hair.

Her head hangs off the bed and as his arm moves, she snags it with her teeth again, the repercussions of her actions echo as his hand connects with her face. She laughs though, tempted by the opportunity and goes to move before the hand finds her throat and he fills her mouth again relentlessly.

“I don’t think so.”  The voice is chiding her, but she moans against his cock as he presses back into her mouth again, he tastes salty and warm and for a moment she savors it, eyes closed. But is interrupted when fingers twist her nipple, and she nearly screams into him, but her face is buried so far into his pubic bone it is almost inaudible. She sucks harder and tries to reach a hand in to reach for him, but it is pinned between his leg and the bed. Her nails drag against his skin in protest, and he pushes as hard as he can, arching her neck fully backwards and she chokes on him. Her wretch is audible, but he stands still, tears roll down her face and catch in her hair as she tries to withhold another gag.

When he finally pulls away, he backs away from her, she blinks rapidly trying to clear the tears so she can see him moving but as she does her face is coated in warmth as he coats her face with his cum, it runs into her eyes and over her mouth. She laughs again, almost triumphantly as she swipes her tongue over her lips, “I am disappointed.”  She manages to choke out before he swipes his fingers over her face and rams them back into her mouth, she chokes again.

“It’s still early.” He says sarcastically as she gags on his fingers, but happily sucks them clean, they leave her mouth with an audible sound, and she sighs.

“I hope so.”