The dangerous ones aren’t the brutes, the fat and muscled dullards that grab you and slap you around. Not really. You can see them a mile away, they’re predictable, quick to anger, mini-hulk’s in all their fury. They can be fun to bait for, to tease, to taunt. They’ll hurt you, maybe even badly. They always leave bruises and sometimes bloody you, maybe even break a bone if crazy enough. But they aren’t really dangerous, just bottled fun, pain, orgasms, and blood. A quick snack during a dry period, for when you are dead inside and have to remember you are alive, no matter the cost.
No, those are the ones that are the easiest to recover from, beautiful bruises fade, yellowing to nothing. Split lips that are so delicious to run your tongue along heal, allowing you a return to normalcy. It was just some asshole, you can pretend, that’s all. A one off in a weak moment, nothing more. They aren’t dangerous. The ones that are dangerous are the ones that made you, molded you, broke you and rebuilt you to their liking. Any thug can beat you, but the dangerous ones are the ones who fuck your soul to oblivion, slice your self worth into tatters, feeding the scraps to you. They make you doubt every word, every thought you have, until you think you are stupid. They make you believe your only worth is between your legs, and even make you crave the abuse. Leading you down the darkest alleys of your life, never to return whole again.
Those are the dangerous ones.
Peter was my dangerous one, handsome at 6 feet, a slick talker. If you hung around with him long enough, you might notice he was full of shit, but in the moment, he made everyone drunk with his words and charm. Just turning 40, he had a full head of hair and unlike so many at that age, kept his body fit. Not overcompensating, not soft, just toned to perfection. Easy on the eyes, with a commanding voice that made you want to obey him without thought. The kind of man every woman with a daddy issue gravitates towards if their dad wasn’t a drunk. I was hooked on him immediately.
I was 19 at the time, fresh out of small town USA, ready to take on the world. My family had always been poor and I hadn’t been able to afford college, but I got a decent job in the city and moved in with a friend who had moved there the year before. I was short and slim, 5’2, 100 lbs wet, with some nice B cups and long brown hair. And at the start, things were going well. I had had a few rough experiences, a few parties that had gotten out of control, some asshole boyfriends, but I had survived all that. I knew guys could get rough, especially if drunk. I knew the signs and avoided those. Sometimes I missed the roughness though, the rush of adrenaline. It always left me feeling guilty, shamed that I had those thoughts. But overall, things were going good.
When I met Peter, who also lived in the apartment complex, it was lust at first sight. He almost immediately charmed the pants right off me, and not long after literally did so as well. He was mature, smart, and was funny in a teasing way. Sometimes it felt a bit mean, but then he’d grin his grin and well, I was just being sensitive you know. When he asked me out, I almost told him no. In fact, I did say no, but he just kept explaining to me why I should. He was so much older than me, but I did find him attractive. We went out to a nice place and he looked sharp all dressed up. I was in my best dress, but I frowned when he said he thought I was going to dress up for him. He told me if I wasn’t going to put any effort, why was he buying me dinner. I felt confused, angry, and ashamed. I whispered that I didn’t have any money and then, the charmer was back. He held my chin and apologized for being a boorish ass, and that if things hit off between us, he’d take me shopping. He spared no expense that night and kept feeding me drinks until I could barely walk.
I don’t remember much that first night, him walking me back to his car. I remember his hand on my thigh, sliding up it, as I weakly tried to push it away. I remember us parking, him kissing me. My seat being lowered as his weight pressed on me. I felt his hands pull up my dress, parting my legs as he clumsily fucked me, pushing into me. He called me a whore as I pushed at him, muttering no. And then, it was over, wet between my legs, him driving us back to the apartment. I don’t even remember going to my room, just black until the morning.
When I woke, I wasn’t even sure it had happened, I checked myself, but I couldn’t find my panties. Otherwise I felt fine other than hung over. I showered, confused about the night, chewing my lip until it was time to head to work. When I got home, he was there, waiting for me. I told him that he shouldn’t have done what he did last night and asked him what happened to my panties. And you know what, he laughed at me. He was confused as fuck because I had came onto him, begging him to fuck me. That I even had given him my panties as a memento and he felt embarrassed about accepting them. He told me I should have had more respect for myself. Then he frowned and apologized. The fault was his really. He said he was sorry, and hugged me. I told him it was ok, that I was sorry. I wasn’t even sure why, but I shouldn’t have put him in that position right? And thus, it all started.
We dated for a bit. I drank too much, would throw myself at him, but I rarely remembered it that way. He even showed a video of me, saying fuck me, just a short clip. I thought we had been talking, him telling me to say something but I had just been confused. I was confused a lot. He told me I shouldn’t feel stupid, it was just cause I was from the country. Before him, I had really never felt stupid. I always did around him though, he was so smart. He’d chuckle and pat my head, telling me not to burn a brain cell thinking to hard. At least I was pretty. He reminded me of that all the time. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I was pretty. He liked showing me off, making guys jealous. He liked buying me dresses as well, short tight numbers. The first time I complained, he got so upset. I was being ungrateful, and I guess I was. He was being so nice buying me things and here I was, being a bitch. He was upset the whole way back and I asked him if I could do anything to make it up. He told me to give him a blowjob and when I hesitated, he got even madder. So I did.
I unzipped him, nervous as cars drove by. He told me to get on my knees in my seat and I did. I kissed his cock, then took it in my mouth. It was nice and warm, with a bit of a musk to it. He told me I was a good girl for doing that and I felt happier than I had in a while. He twirled my hair in his hand, telling me to relax, as he shoved my head down, gagging me. He let up a second to pull at my dress, pulling it up, then shoved my head down again harder. My eyes were watering, I was drooling hard, barely able to breathe through my runny nose. I tried to lift my head and he just pushed down harder, jerking my head up and down ruthlessly. My legs were twitching and I heard another car honk it’s horn and I just cried around his cock, my face a mess as he pumped into my throat, fucking it raw. He spurted, heat sliding to my stomach before letting me go as I cried and sobbed. And then, he told me I was amazing and that he loved me. Here he was, just raping my throat and showing my ass and pussy to passing cars and the only thing I had heard was that he loved me. I smiled, shaking, heart hammering as I cried some more. He held me close, stroking my hair all the way back.
Of course, it didn’t stop there. If he wanted sex but I was on my period or not in the mood, I was being selfish. I mean, he did take me out all the time and bought me stuff, even helped me with my rent. So, even though I felt bloated, I laid down a towel and let him mount me. It actually helped a bit with my cramps and he roughly fucked me. He told me he knew I was a slut, fucking him on the rag, laughing at me. I just blushed as he bit my tits and choked me. Then, he spurted in me and pulling out. I screamed as he grabbed my hair, shoving my head down. I didn’t want to do that I screamed and he said he was tired of me being a fucking tease all the time, wearing those short dresses but not doing anything with him. What the fuck was he supposed to think. Crying I said he bought those but he just slapped me and called me an idiot. Of course he bought them, I had begged him for them because they made me feel sexy. Jesus, he was tired of me treating him like shit he said. Maybe it wasn’t working out. That triggered me and the next thing I knew, I was sucking his cock, covered in red, as he said that was so nasty. He didn’t tell me to stop and the coppery taste was nasty. But after a long blowjob, he stroked my head and said that was a good girl.
Anal was much the same way, every girl did it, but it was ok that I didn’t. But he’d watch anal porn, making sure that I saw him watching it, but it was ok. I didn’t have to do that, he guessed. But then he’d sigh, going back to stroking it or having me blow him as he watched it. Finally, I told him I’d do it. I asked about prep, but he said not to worry about it. We went out and I drank too much again, in a short dress. When we got back, he shoved me down, pulling my ass up in the air. I felt him spit on me, moaning as he licked my ass. It felt good and I felt an electric thrill run through me. And then I felt his head and it was agony as he battered his way in. I screamed and begged him to stop and he got mad, calling me a tease again. He told me it would be over soon. Just relax. I felt like sandpaper was being rubbed inside me and my guts hurt. He thrusted again and again, holding me in place, until he came in my ass. I just laid there sobbing. He pulled my head to his lap and I smelled it before I tasted it. I retched but he held me tight, shoving me down on him. I threw up and he slapped me, then kept at it until he was “clean”. Then he shoved me in front of the mirror, my makeup and dress ruined, puke on my chest, brown on my lips.
“You’re lucky I even bother with you. Jesus you fucking eat shit, how fucked up is that? You know how many guys would want a sick whore like you,” he asked. I cried, looking in the mirror at the wreck looking back at me. He hugged me and told me that no matter what I did, he did love me. I clung to him and tried to kiss him, but he shoved me away, telling me to brush my fucking teeth before I get around him. I did, then he held and kissed me again. I really was lucky to have me. Who would put up with my stupid shit otherwise?
Finally, he started getting angry, punching me, hitting me, whenever something went wrong. After a sale fell through, he had been furious and I dropped the beer I had been bringing him. I never even saw the punch, just found myself on the floor. He kicked my sides, telling me I was so fucking stupid and I was and I cried and told him I was sorry. I pulled down my pants, telling him he could fuck my ass if he wouldn’t be mad at me. I just wanted him to love me. He stepped on my bleeding face, screaming at me that I was just a fucking whore. Then he mounted me, shoving into my ass dry. His cock pistoned in and out of me, harder than he ever did. I screamed and screamed as he vented on me, kicking me aside when he was done. I crawled to the bathroom, bleeding into it. I finally had to go to the hospital after that, he had torn my ass. The hospital contacted the police and though I didn’t press charges, he was done with me. He said no one would ever want me and I had ruined it and dumped me there in the hospital.
Eventually, I learned what he had done, gaslighting me, manipulating me, raping me, abusing me. And I felt stupid, just like he had always said. I knew I shouldn’t but I did. He had torn me apart physically but even more mentally. The scary ones, the dangerous ones, aren’t the big guys, but the ones like David. As for me, I don’t need David or men like him anymore. I don’t need to be torn down, because I’m already at the bottom. I stay up all not chatting with me who promise to hurt me and when I let them, I’m alive again. It’s probably stupid but I am, no matter what they say. I’m just a cunt, who needs to be hurt and so I avoid the David’s, but the mean big guys, when the urge builds up, do what I need. And when I smile a bloody confused smile, soaking wet, I hear a voice laughing at me, but I don’t care, I tell them to hurt me more and I scream and cum and always feel alive.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/gil3cy/the_dangerous_ones_mf_nc_gaslighting
wow, that’s kind of fucked up