Note: This is an intense and violent story that is not intended for everyone. If you don’t enjoy the things in the tags, please stop and read something else. For the rest of you, enjoy!
My hand trembled a bit as I sat down in my bedroom, getting ready for my date. I shouldn’t go, not again, not after how the last date went. “Date” was perhaps too strong of a word, I thought to myself, as I looked in the mirror. My black eye had faded to a more ugly yellow and the swelling in my nose was almost completely gone. He had laughed about the swelling giving me a “Jew” nose. It was funny to him. The past few days at work I’d had to use copious amounts of makeup to hide what had been done. Thick lipstick to cover my split lip, eye shadow, coverup, heavy eyeliner. Of course, that was just to hide what was visible from my co-workers.
The bruises under my dress, that was a different matter. Teeth marks on my breasts, bruises, still very purple, hid under my bra. My butt and thighs matched my breasts in marks and color. My male co-workers thought I was jumpy and easy to startle since I often jerked or flinched around them.
The truth of the matter was that the man I had been dating was the cause. Him and his friends. I got to meet them on the last date. They must have thought I was funny as they laughed almost non-stop. When they weren’t choking, slapping, punching, or raping me. Maybe that was it. I was the literal punch line?
I steadied myself. I couldn’t be crying again. It would streak the makeup so I cleaned myself up again for him. Why? I didn’t know. I knew I barely cried anymore, at least on the outside, as that just encouraged him. Enraged the monster within him to beat the innocence out of me. A dark twisted symmetry. Maybe he reminded me of my stepdad or my first boyfriend. Or my first boyfriend’s friends. Or the guys at that frat party my first year of college. They all gave me what I wanted, right? They all knew what I was. They all told me what I was. And the fucked up thing is, they were right. Maybe not at the start, but they were right.
I checked my makeup as I finished and hoped that it looked good enough for my date. I honestly did want to look pretty for him. I walked nude to the closet and started going through it, looking for the dress that he liked. The one from our first date.
I had met him online because those men that came before him were now right about me. Fully and deeply, I was a broken clock that was only right when I was the rapebait they wanted. I had tried dating normal guys but that just turned my dull, flat gray into meaningless ash. I’m sure they were wonderful guys who would make a woman happy someday. Just not a woman like me. I had tried plenty of drugs and alcohol and they were all temporary fixes, although the molly I regularly took was good. For a little while, I didn’t care about anything because as the Lego Movie said, everything was awesome. But eventually, even that went flat and left me even more numb than before.
So, I met him. He’d had me take plenty of pictures of my limited wardrobe and picked out a red dress that he liked. It was a bit tight on me now, as I’d gained a bit of weight, making me bulge in both the right and wrong places. Heels along with it, the tallest I had at five inches. No bra, no underwear though. Despite everything, that had brought a tingle. He was exactly as he described, about ten years older than me, smart-looking, distinguished, clearly a professional. He had asked about what places I wanted to eat and when he picked me up in his BMW, I thought I had hit the jackpot.
We didn’t eat out that night. He drove me to a cheap ass hotel, the kind that you paid for by the hour. He said he had to have me before we ate. I started to argue and he slapped me, grabbed my jaw, and said “We’re going here first, understand?” He then nodded my head yes and in we went. He asked me if I’d had anal before and I told him I hated it. He said ok, shoved me to my knees, and fucked my mouth. A sharp kick to the gut doubled me up a few minutes later, and as I sobbed, he stepped behind me and shoved me forward. He mounted me, pressed at my ass, as I screamed, kicked, and tried to pull away. He said something to me, cruel sounding, but I couldn’t process it as he slammed me headfirst into the floor not once but twice. Then he spat on my ass and slowly, painfully, forced his way in as I cried, confused. There was nothing but a haze of pain as he reamed my ass, covered my mouth, and pumped deeply in me. After a short bit, my guts were flooded with his cum and he pulled out of me.
What happened next was my fault, I should have prepped I guess. It was always my fault. His cock was messy. I’d bled on him and worse and he slapped me again, again, and again. Finally, as snot flowed down my face, he forced me to clean him. He was a gentleman though. He pulled a bucket over for me when I got sick as I cried and looked at him with brown stained lips. Eventually, I was done, he was clean, and my stomach was emptied out. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up and put a tampon in my ass to stop the minor bleeding. When I came out he was gone. That should have been the last night but it wasn’t. No matter what else had happened that night, I had been alive. I had felt something. So I walked stiffly to the bus stop and cried the whole way home.
I looked at the dress now and I touched myself to that memory, felt my wetness. I absentmindedly licked my fingertips and then put the dress on, and then the heels. I looked around for my purse. It was hidden somewhere here. My apartment was a mess; it was always a mess, more chaotic than my thoughts. I panicked for a moment because I needed to find the collar. He’d given me it on our second date, just a few days ago. My heart raced until I found it by the trash can. I picked it up and held the small black collar that simply said “Slut”. If he’d given that to me, it meant he had to care, right?
I shouldn’t have answered when he called but I did. He told me he had a blast last time. I was on auto-pilot and meekly nodded and agreed as he said he wanted to have me over, for a real dinner this time, home-cooked. I should have said no or hung up, but I didn’t. Instead, I told him sure, and I’d be ready. This time he picked out a halter top and my shortest skirt, along with those same heels. He said we’d have a blast this time and they did.
When we pulled up to his house, the first thing I noticed was all the cars. 5 or 6 cars in his driveway. I asked him if he was having a cookout or something and he slapped me, telling me that “No one wants to hear your thoughts, you stupid bitch,” which was true and I shut up. Until we got in. He said the entertainment had arrived and I guess it, or I, had.
I’m still not sure how many were there. I think there had been 8 or 10. All his “friends” or so he claimed. He told me to do some lines and then strip for them, but it wasn’t like any strip show I’d ever seen. I was surrounded on all sides as I danced and striped and whimpered as they pawed, clawed, and groped me. Not even five minutes there and I had multiple fingers from multiple men in my pussy and ass, my mouth, all over my body. Not one of them cared about me. But he did. Because he wanted to share me. He had to care, otherwise, why would I feel so alive only with him? And so, when I got pushed down, I took it, each man, taking their turns. When they flipped me over because my cunt was leaking cum, I took it. Not that my eventual hysterical sobbing deterred any of them. Eventually, even my ass was leaking cum. My hair was matted, and my makeup was ruined. And then, they got creative.
I breathed slowly as I held that collar, then kissed it and pressed it to my cheek. My hands shook with the memory as I put it on. I felt the emptiness flow away as I became special.
I had to be special didn’t I, why would 10 men want to do all the things they did if I wasn’t unique and funny. They laughed when they shoved a beer bottle easily in my cunt. My ass proved more difficult even with the abuse and they spread my legs wide and one man just kicked it, again and again, until it was almost all the way in. I screamed as they tugged and jerked at my tits and my cunt lips, pinched my clit until it felt like it was going to explode.
Then the biggest joke of the night, that they found the funniest. Someone had a couple of fleshlights and they took out the beer bottles shoved in me and replaced them. Then some of them fucked me, or more accurately the fleshlights, again. They told me how tight I was now, no longer a used-up, fucked out cunt. I came still, somehow, from that alone. Some of the guys left after that, but one guy wanted to have more fun. He asked my date if he could hurt me (as if they’d been playing patty cake before) and was told to do whatever he wanted. He started by punching me in my gut and tits and slapped me around. The last thing I remembered until morning was him holding me up by my hair and punching my nose and face.
I woke up the next morning with a swollen eye and sore nose that my date mocked. He took me to the mirror and told me it was the most beautiful he’d ever seen me. Then he kissed me, led me into the bathroom, and pissed on me. He then shoved my head in the toilet, which had not been flushed since someone had last peed in it, and fucked my ass as I choked on the water. The cold numbed my face as I swallowed in a desperate bid to breathe. Occasionally he’d flush and give me a few brief seconds to breathe before I was under again. I didn’t feel him cum this time, he just pulled me up and make me suck his bloody, messy cock. He told me to shower and when I got out, my dress, torn, was there and he had a small box for me. I opened it and he took out my collar and said my life was never going to be the same. I knew he was telling the truth. It was why I cried so much as I left there, on the drive home, and in the cold shower at my apartment.
And now, I looked at myself in the mirror, my dress pulled up as I touched myself, and waited for him to knock. He didn’t. I heard my door being unlocked and I never gave him a key. He smiled at my surprise and stroked my face and my nose, saying “You can barely tell you got a black eye”. I nodded.
“Close your eyes,” he told me and I did. I barely felt the punch in my good eye as I stumbled back, hit the wall, and slid down it dazed. He picked up a long bag he’d brought and took it to me, as I flinched in the corner, holding my face. He told me he has a present, and he did. It was a brand. The words “Damaged Goods” are spelled out on it and he told me that I would be his forever. I smiled as I cried, shaking on the floor.
He was right. They were all right. And now my life was going to change forever and at least I’d never feel empty or gray again.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/11qldfb/damaged_goods_mf_m30_f20_impact_play_bruised_nc