She Hates It When I Laugh
by Mackenzie Anderson
Rating: R
She hates it when I laugh. She’d rather me cry, loves it when I look up at her, fear reflected in my eyes. I know she’s better than me, I know that she’s the stronger one. She knows it too, and plans to use it against me for the rest of my life.
“Please,” I whimper, but she mercilessly smirks and shakes her head.
“Not this time, B,” she whispers, plunging her fingers into me. I cry out.
“Please!” I scream, hating myself for feeling pleasured, hating her for getting this reaction out of me. She smiles.
“Aw, B, you’re making me feel like you don’t want this,” she mocks dangerously.
“N-no,” I protest, but it’s too late; the damage has been gone.
I’m only able to lay there, helpless as she continues to fuck me. My hands strain against the chains, but she knows what she’s doing; not even the slayer strength can break them. Which I should’ve figured out by now.
“Please,” I say.
“I’m really getting tired of hearing that word,” she comments, sitting up and looking down at me.
I close my eyes. It’s dangerous to piss her off, the lesson I’ve learned all too well, too many times.
“C’mon, B,” she coaxes. “This isn’t that bad. I could be torturing you.”
This isn’t torture? I want to scream. But she’s right; it isn’t.
The only torture is not being able to touch her.
Of knowing that I want this.
And hating myself for it.
She bites my breast, hard, and I gasp. “Cry,” she whispers.
As she continues to brutally fuck me, I begin to cry, and she smiles.
She hates it when I laugh.