Cruel2BKind, thanks for proofreading!


I’m rounding the corner when Monday grabs me.

I’m thrown to the ground, and a familiar dread bubbles in my gut as I recognize my assailant.

Fuck, I think. It knows.

Monday is the jealous type. I’m a total slut for the weekend, though, and just could not say no to a wild night with Friday. And, somehow, the certainty of punishment didn’t stop me from making slow, lazy love to Saturday and Sunday. Never has.

Guess I might be a masochist, or something.

Now I’m going to pay, though. I know it, Monday knows it, and I realize it’s the knowing that makes this kind of torture so awful.

“Where the fuck were you?”

I don’t answer. Monday knows where I was. I feel guilty, now, for being such a whore. Sure, Monday abuses me, but I mostly deserve it. I decide I’m definitely a masochist.

My pants are yanked down to my ankles, and suddenly, I’m on all fours, ass in the air. I shiver in anticipation of Monday’s violent ministrations. It doesn’t like that I’m not wearing any underwear.

“You fucking slut!”

I don’t deny it. I consider begging to suck Monday off. Sometimes that works, and I’m left alone if I just swallow enough spunk.

No such luck, today. Before I can open my mouth, I hear the crack of a whip.

Fuuuck. Not again. I’ve still got the scars from my last whipping.

Monday smacks my ass with a hand, first. It pinches the same cheek and I can tell it’s enjoying this. It gets off on punishing me.

“Why you always gotta be such a sadistic fuck?” I mutter under my breath.

Monday hears me. Oops.

“Bitch! Did I say you could talk?”

The lashes fall quickly, then, sharp and hot. It’s an ugly whip. I grit my teeth and try not to whimper. Showing weakness is pretty much the worst mistake you can make with Monday.

Nothing makes Monday so hard as a brutal lashing, so I know I’m in for a good reaming. When the whip is finally tossed aside, I can’t suppress a shudder.

Monday sees it. “I’m gonna fuck your ass today,” it drawls. I can hear the smirk. I fucking hate that spiteful bastard.

“Rather you didn’t,” I say, as casually as I can manage.

“Fuck you!”

Did I mention Monday has an evil temper?

I cringe as I hear it unzipping its fly. Monday’s dick is so big, it won’t return Spielberg’s calls. Monday’s dick could fuck Tuesday, if it wanted to. The FDIC won’t let Monday’s dick fail.

Monday starts beating my ass cheeks with its heavy cock. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I always come back to you,” I moan miserably, knowing this argument won’t save me.

Monday laughs. “Yeah, and fuck if I know why. How stupid are you?”

Oh, so now it’s my fault.

Monday shoves my knees further apart and positions its monster cock at my anus. It teases me for a little while, letting me think I could be spared. I’m not dumb enough to hope, but I know better than to tell Monday this. It rubs the welts on my ass cheeks and whispers obscenities until I’m blushing. Monday’s a nasty fucker, but nothing if not creative.

Finally, with no warning except an enthusiastic holler, Monday shoves its dick up my ass. No condom, no lube.

I clench down around the invader, hoping to snap it off. Wouldn’t that make my life.

It doesn’t work. Instead of breaking, Monday’s dick buries its entire, rock hard length painfully inside my rectum. FML.

Before I have a chance to adjust, Monday is slamming away, stuffing its thick meat into my bowels at a frightening pace. I tell myself it hurts less if you relax, but it’s in my nature to fight back. I can’t help it.

I wonder why I do keep coming back. I mean, I’m in love with Friday. Really. I’d do anything for Friday, rimming and ATM included.

So why Monday? Why do I keep coming back? I don’t like the scat play, or its creepy asphyxiation fetish.

It’s the domination, I suppose. Like I said, I’ve got a masochistic streak that Friday just can’t satisfy, and Monday is the best fucking Dom I ever met. So good, in fact, that I forget how much shit it makes me eat. And that it never heard of a safety word.

Monday’s making horrible noises, now, smug little squeals as it starts slapping my bruised cheeks with each rocking stroke.

“Take it!” it bellows. “Take my fat dick up your tight ass.”

My asshole is on fire.

Monday reads my mind. “Bitch, I hope it burns. You’re my bitch, hear? My! Shit! Twat!” What kind of childhood provokes this sort of depravity?

With a lurid groan, Monday yanks my pelvis back into its dick and starts pistoning like an M240, spraying my insides with entire magazines of cum. The feel of Monday’s hot jizz slurrying my shit finally knocks the fight out of me. I collapse and take it.

Monday rapes me twice again that day. Thinking of Friday is the only thing that keeps me going. After the last time, it kicks my pants back towards me and sneers. “Learn any lessons today?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “You sure ripped me a new one, Monday. Won’t happen again.” Prick.

I wonder just how many assholes I’ll have by the time I retire.

September 2018
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