The Older Man

Taylor's cheeks were still red and sore where he'd slapped them when she came back from the fridge with his beer. He took it (without thanking her, of course) and touched the cold glass of the bottle to her nipple. She flinched and he let out half a laugh as he took a drink.

"Let me look at you," he said, as if she needed the instruction. She was naked and at his mercy, her mouth crammed with his stinking socks. She realised her mouth had been occupied one way or another ever since he arrived; first with his cock, then kissing his shoes, then stuffed with the socks. It turned her on that he was using her mouth so much, all so dehumanising; like she wasn't a person who got to talk and have ideas and desires but a hole for his pleasure, and her suffering. She liked being less than human for him.

He started moving her face around with his hand, only a little roughly. He was looking at her face from all angles. Men and some women had looked at her plenty of times, but nobody else had inspected her like this, with such a strong combination of entitlement and control. She had thought he'd find her physically attractive and surely he did, but in this moment he seemed more like he was evaluating an object (a piece of meat, maybe) than checking someone out.

"Hands behind your back," he said, as he grabbed her left breast. His touch was gentle at first and she could feel the rough surface of his fingers--his wrinkles--as they caressed her. She shivered and his touch got rougher, kneading and squeezing until he extracted grunts of pain from her. Now he focused on her nipples, again shifting from gentle strokes to harsh, painful pinches; her knees softened and she clutched her hands together tightly to keep them behind her back. With a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, he looked into her eyes and he slowly, steadily increased the pressure, rolling the nipples as he squeezed and she squealed dumbly into the socks. The sensation went quickly from bad to really bad to unbearable and she would have spat out the socks to use her safeword if he'd released them one moment later. But there was no relief, and he started slapping her breasts with hard, unpredictable strokes. He was still looking into her eyes. She felt unable to look away and that she wanted him to see all this, this, the vulnerability he must be able to see in her eyes, the tears she was on the verge of, how hard she was fighting her impulses to resist, how badly she was working to please him.

"Dumb cocksucker," he said as he continued to hit her. "I hope you fuck better than you suck. But you need to understand I'm not punishing you for that terrible blowjob you gave me. I'm hurting you because I like hurting you. Because I can. Because you're here to do whatever makes my dick hard and this makes my dick hard. You should enjoy the pain I give you because you should enjoy pleasing me. And I'll decide what to do about your shitty cocksucking later."

When he mentioned his dick getting hard she looked down and saw that it was starting to tent his pants. "Yes Sir," she said, incomprehensible with the socks in her mouth.

She only realised he'd stopped slapping her tits when he pushed two fingers into her cunt. "Open your legs," he said, and she shuffled her feet apart. She wasso wet, it was completely humiliating, and she was thrilled that he could feel how much he was turning her on. She registered again the difference in their ages, 40-something years, and how shameful it was that she was letting such an old man touch her like this. She was not attracted to him, not physically, and it turned her on even more that she was being groped and used by a man she didn't find attractive. He ran his thumb--his wrinkled, old thumb--over her clit and she thrust her hips forward, desperate for more. He pulled his hand away and laughed, not even bothering to tell her that her pleasure didn't matter to him.

"Turn around, bend over, and put your hands against the door." She did, realising he was about to give her asshole the same treatment. He slid his finger into her ass, lubricated just with her own fluids, and she let out a moan halfway between pleasure and humiliation. He started sliding the finger in and out, then pushed in a second; she felt a mild discomfort as she stretched to accommodate them. She was very conscious that he was fingering her ass in a way he hadn't done to her cunt, where it would have felt so good.

Abruptly he pulled his fingers from her hole and stepped up behind her, so she could feel his half-hard cock against her ass. She rocked her hips back towards him. His hand was in her hair again and she realised he was using her hair to wipe off the fingers that had been in her cunt and ass.

He stepped back, not far but enough to bring his hands down on her ass. He built up the intensity of the spanking quickly and steadily, and soon her cheeks were burning. "You like that, you stupid cunt?" he asked as he stopped hitting her with his palms and drew a thick leather belt out from his belt loops, doubling it in his hand. She grunted a noise that would have been 'yes sir' except she was cut off half way by her own scream as the first belt stroke fell across her ass. "Keep it down, you dumb bitch," he bellowed. This was ridiculous; his voice must have been louder than the muffled sock-noises she was capable of. "You want my neighbours to know what a dirty slut you are? You want to bother them?"

The beating hurt too badly for her to worry about what his neighbours thought, until he said, "Maybe later I'll let you apologise to them," a prospect which filled her with dread and shame. Would he really? This had all gotten so intense so fast, it wasn't hard to believe he'd deliver on the threat. But again, this thought was driven from her head by the sharp sting of the belt, which he kept bringing down relentlessly across the same part of her ass.

She tried her hardest to keep her hands against the door where he'd told her but at some point in the beating, the pain got overwhelming. First it was pulling a hand away from the door to make a fist as a kind of defence against the pain for a moment before she reset. But soon she couldn't help squirming and twisting to try and get away from the belt. His free hand grabbed tightly at one of her wrists and pushed it back, hard against the door. Now that she was largely immobilised, he let her twist in his grip, but it only meant the same harsh belt strokes fell on the front of her thighs or--once, making her jerk so hard she almost broke his grip--her cunt. Although the words were mashed together by the socks, he could tell she was begging, and the combination of muffledpleases and muffled screams turned him on so much he couldn't wait any more.

He pushed his fingers into her cunt again. She was a little surprised that she was still soaking, that the intensity of the pain and her desperation hadn't diminished her arousal. He was using her juices as lube, stroking his cock with them and then, again, two wet fingers in her ass. It was just enough lubrication that when he pulled his fingers out and she felt the head of his dick press against her ass it was only uncomfortable, a dull stretching ache as he pushed inside. She thought again about how shameful this was, this 60 year old man who had only hurt and humiliated her, showed no sign of caring about her or even liking her, and was now fucking her in the ass. God, she wanted it to be good for him. She started pushing back, grinding her ass up into his dick, even as this movement made the fucking more painful for her.

"That's it slut, fuck my dick. Did you think I was going to do all the work for you?" He slapped her sore ass as his own hips stopped moving and she realised he was going to make her ride him in this awkward, bent over position. She arched her back some more and pushed back into him, slamming her ass up and down his dick. She wished she could talk so she could ask him what would feel best for him, what speed and angle, and realised how absurd this was. There was no way this wasn't going to feel good for him, a 20 year old pumping her ass on his dick while he stood, relaxing and drinking his beer. But she felt an overwhelming, sincere desire to make this as good for him as she could.

It was hard work. He was a 60 year old who'd come less than half an hour before and no amount of sadism was going to make this next orgasm come quickly. But she couldn't ask for a different position and she wanted badly for him to come inside her, so she kept it up as she grew sweaty and her muscles started to burn.

Finally he said, "Get on your knees." She was surprised because he hadn't come yet and she'd assumed she'd have to keep going until he did. She felt his cock pop out of her ass and turned to face him, dropping again to her knees. "Put the socks on the floor." Her jaws ached as they were able to relax again. She felt a pang of anxiety at this, because it seemed suddenly like he was being nice to her, something unprecedented between them, and she had the dim awareness that this must only be so he could make things worse some other way. She realised how as he pushed his hard cock towards her face.

She was disgusted by the taste of her own ass as her fucked her mouth. The first time he'd pushed straight into her throat but this time, although he occasionally pushed deep enough to make her gag, he mostly stayed in her mouth so she could taste herself. And it only took a few thrusts before he said, "Don't swallow, keep it in your mouth," and came, a thicker load than she'd expected that sat wet and heavy on her tongue.

Looking up, she saw the deep pleasure and relaxation on his face. Her cunt pulsed and she felt incredibly happy.

He took a few moments to relax, took a mouthful of his beer, and said, "Spit my cum onto the socks." She hesistated, confused, and then immediately understood; the socks would go back in her mouth, but first he was making them worse. She let a mouthful of cum and ass- and cock-infused spit dribble out over the socks. "You can use your mouth to clean my dick before you put the socks back," he said, and since she did experience this as a moment of generosity she replied "Thank you Sir."

His cock was shrinking and softening and still tasted faintly of her ass, but she was happy to lap at it with her tongue and suck the juices from his thick grey pubic hair. It felt good to dote on his cock in this soft, tender way after all the brutality.

"All right, that's enough. Bring the socks." She wasn't sure what 'bring the socks' meant but then his hand was in her hair and he was dragging her down the hall, his grip low enough that she could only crawl behind him, one hand awkwardly clutching the cummy socks. He'd brought her to the bathroom and pushed her into the shower cubicle, twisting to turn her so she faced him again. She briefly entertained the thought that he was going to clean her up before he said "Open your mouth" and started to piss over her face, a thin stream at first that quickly thickened.

She caught as much as she could in her mouth, gagging and swallowing, but he moved the stream around so it splashed over her face and body, even (it was incredibly hot and humiliating, how good this felt) her cunt. It was hot and salty in her mouth, and the warmth was surprisingly pleasant against her skin. When the stream petered out he shook the last few drops out over her open mouth and she thanked him again.

Reaching only with his fingertips for the cleanest corner of the socks, which were now piss soaked on top of everything else, he took them from her. "Clean yourself off, you look disgusting. I want another beer and you can't get it until you've washed yourself." She quickly stood and reached for the tap and then shrank back as he added, "No hot water." She turned to give him a pleading look; a hot shower now would feelso good, whereas cold... But he had already looked away, and it didn't seem like he was even going to watch her take the cold shower. She would suffer just for suffering's sake, not even his visual pleasure.

She flinched and doubled over as the icy water cascaded over her skin. Her instinct was to keep as little of her body under the stream as possible, minimise the awful coldness, but she could see that would just make it slower to actually get clean. The best thing was to plunge in. She did, and hated it. As quickly as she could she lathered her hands with a bar of soap (not even body wash!) and rubbed them briskly all over her face, chest, thighs. The cold water was not quite enough to suppress her desire to linger over her cunt, so wet and swollen, but she still avoided any more than the most basic contact out of an obedient impulse she didn't quite understand. He hadn't told her she couldn't, and yet? Finally she was clean and wrenched the taps off, shivering as cold water dripped off her.

"Dry yourself and gag yourself again. Then get me another beer." She grabbed a towel hanging from a hook on the toilet door and quickly dried herself off. Her breasts were still a little pink from the beating, and she tried twisting enough to see if her ass was bruised but couldn't get a clear view. The socks were sitting in the sink and she reached for them tentatively, wondering if she could fold them in a way that would keep the worst of the piss and ass juice inside where she'd taste them less. But no; by now she had such a strong desire to degrade herself for him that she did the opposite, quickly, before she could change her mind. The socks didn't taste much worse, maybe saltier, but the texture was awful now; soaking wet, and stiffening in places where the cum was drying. They squeezed horribly against her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

He was sitting in a lounge chair when she brought him a beer which, again, he amused himself by pressing against her hard nipple. "All fours," he said, "you're my footrest now." She climbed down into position and he rested his feet on her back. He had his mobile phone in his hand and, whatever he was doing with it, he continued. What did 60 year olds use phones for anyway? Checking Facebook and falling for obvious scams? But she quickly remembered where she was, and that she was in no position to feel superior to anyone.

It turned her on, she was surprised to realise, that he was ignoring her like this, but mostly it was just boring. She couldn't talk, he didn't talk to her, and whatever entertainment his phone was giving him he didn't share. Although her ass was still sore from the beating and fucking she started wishing he'd start hurting her more actively to break the tedium.

She was sure she'd been there half an hour at least when he said, "Don't waste your time down there. I want you to think about what you can do to improve your blowjobs. I'm not putting up with a dumb bitch who can't even suck cock properly." She fumed again at this insult to her sexual skills, but also at the way he was making her an active participant in this humiliation.Think about what you can do to improve. Was there going to be a test? Oh God, surely there was: he was going to make her tell him what she could do to be a better cocksucker, which was basically a way of admitting she was a bad cocksucker. She hated it. She was such a good cocksucker! He could go fuck himself. She kicked her right foot a little, holding the rest of her body rigid; the merest hint of a tantrum. If he noticed he didn't say anything, which was even worse.

But as more minutes ticked by she did think about it; what else was there to do? So, how could she improve her blowjobs? She remembered the months she'd invested in learning to deep throat, practicing with the floppiest dildo she could find while she gagged and choked until she could reliably swallow it all the way to the base. She could practice more, but she wasn't gonna get much deeper and depth wasn't the problem; of course, he hadn't told her what the problem was (she angrily told herself:that's because there is no problem, but then shushed that part of herself so she could keep working on the problem) which made it harder to improve.

It had been at least another half hour, she was sure, when he said, "Go and put the socks in the washing machine, and come back and tell me what you're going to do about your lousy cocksucking. And I'd better be impressed." The implicit threat of that last sentence hung over her as she crawled (he hadn't said she could stand) towards where she thought the laundry must be. Sure enough, she found it, and came up to standing long enough to spit the socks into the washer, stretching her jaw left and right to try and settle the ache.

She crawled back in front of him and, because he didn't give any further instructions, knelt again with her legs spread and her hands behind her back. He seemed satisfied with this and continued to poke at his phone a few moments before he laid it aside and looked down at her.

"What do you think we should do about your terrible cocksucking?" he said. It didn't matter how many times he said it, there was still a flash of anger inside her at the idea. She pushed it aside.

"Sir," she said, "I could set aside time each day to practice with a dildo. Maybe send you videos so you can evaluate my progress. Especially if you could tell me what specifically I need to improve?"

His expression was unreadable. "Come up here and sit on my lap," he said, and she did. She felt nervous, wondering what was about to happen. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him and, to her great surprise, kissed her. She felt his tongue inside her mouth and, while there was a rough and dominant quality to the way he kissed, there was also tenderness. As if to compensate, he reached out and pinched her nipple hard so that she squirmed and groaned as he kissed her.

"That's it, grind on my cock. Get me hard again so I can fuck the last hole I haven't tried." If her arousal had lessened while she was his footrest, the combination of kissing and objectification brought it back fast and she realised how badly she needed his cock in her pussy. She ground against him with abandon, trying to express somehow, with the movement of her hips and by pressing her breast harder into the hand that was hurting it and intensifying the passion she was kissing back with, how much she wanted him and how much she wanted to be his hole. And she felt some pride that this old man was hard now for the third time, that she was going to get another load from him.

He unbuttoned his fly and with a gesture directed her to climb on his dick. It felt amazing to slide her wet pussy down over his cock, but he pinched down hard on her nipple as she started to fuck and said, "No." She was confused and looked to him for an explanation. The humiliation she felt in this moment, so open and exposed and desperate to ride the cock that was inside her while he seemed indifferent, was almost overwhelming.

"I want to see you masturbate with my cock inside you. Don't fuck me, just sit on it and touch yourself."

She reached towards her pussy then stopped and moved her hand to her mouth, waiting for his nod of approval before sucking on her fingers to moisten them. She knew that, as turned on as she had been for hours now, she could bring herself off quickly. But she wanted to put on a show and was sure he'd like to see her tease herself, so that's what she did. Light, teasing strokes up and down her lips and then, slowly, closer and closer to her clit. As she let out a long, low moan he said, "All right, fuck me now," and she quickly started moving herself up and down on him.

"I want to tell you about my approach to training," he said, and abruptly added (at the last moment before it was too late) "Don't come unless I say you can." She howled with frustration and quickly, gasping for air, asked, "Please can I come Sir?"