Chapter 3 - Broken In
The following week came and went, just like the first time. I sat, naked in my bed, trembling and crying, holding my phone, waiting for him. I didn’t know if I’d call the police or part my legs or both. The power he had over me was intoxicating, a vicious drug I couldn’t let go. I had cum as I believed I was being strangled to death. How can that happen and me not be damaged or wrong. There had to be something fucked up inside me, broken or ruined. So I waited, hour by hour, and finally cried myself to sleep, a dark ring around my neck, fading.
Much like last time, however, when I woke, I realized while he hadn’t came and raped me, he had came and visited. No mail this time, which would have been a relief. No. This time I knew he had came because in my fridge was a cup of yellow piss with a note on it. It simply read, “This is the only thing you deserve to drink”. I poured it out and sobbed, because he had been inside my house. Again. I hadn’t even heard him; he’d snuck in, just to taunt me. I knew how dangerous he was. I had lost my new job because of him. I wasn’t about to show up there with a bloodied nose and swollen bruise around my neck, barely able to speak above a whisper.
So I had stayed home, the victim. And now he was violating not just me, but my very own home. It didn’t stop there however. Indeed, it only got far worse. One morning there was cum splattered on my bathroom mirror. A pile of shit on the kitchen floor. Pee in my bedroom trash can. A wad of my panties used as toilet paper. Each day I wake, or come home to a fresh violation that said this place, and by extension me, belonged to him.
Waking up led to panic attacks as I searched my home. Returning from shopping, very much the same. My chest pounding, under the oppressive weight of what was coming next. I nearly collapsed when I found all my birth control pills opened and tossed in the toilet. Two days later it was my Klonopin and Zoloft that was gone. That day I couldn’t even leave the bed. I just shut down, didn’t eat, and literally pissed myself. I couldn’t function, couldn’t breathe, I literally couldn’t BE.
Thankfully that day passed but I barely functioned after that, minimal cleaning, upkeep, nothing mattered. I had given up. It couldn’t get worse. I was wrong, but I didn’t know that yet. I didn’t realize I still had more to lose. I got drunk one night and woke, soaked in piss. Some of it might have been from myself, but I think it was all his. My hair reeked, my t-shirt reeked, he’d defiled me. I barely even cried.
And then, that’s when he moved in.
It was that simple, one day, I’m piss soaked and barely functioning, the next, I’m coming home with beer and frozen dinners and the house is clean. Sparkling even. It had a sharp, and probably needed chemical smell to it, but it looked like a home and not a hovel that a broken cunt was living in. I just dropped everything as I entered, stunned, when I found him there, sipping some coffee. I cried and he came over and stroked my face, not even saying a word. He pulled me to the shower and stripped me. I honestly expected another violent bathroom rape. But there wasn’t one. Instead, he took me in the shower and washed me, my body, and my hair. Despite touching me all over, he never groped or pawed at me. Finally, clean, he pulled me out and helped me into a beautiful gown. I felt beautiful in it, and so confused.
I had no idea what was going on, but he sat me down and cooked a dinner, never speaking, neither of us. I honestly think I was in shock. I felt clean and cared for the first time in three weeks since he’d been fucking with things in my house. I just watched him, my stomach churning at the delicious smells. I felt human again. That was my mistake.
When he finished the meal, he fixed two plates, and poured wine at both settings. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions I had rushing over me, I both wanted to flinch and lean in to him. My eyes were literally watering as he took my hand and stood me up and kissed me deeply on my mouth. It was never, ever, a question of whether I’d give into that kiss. I melted instantly and it was perhaps the longest, deepest, and most intimate kisses of my life. He then stepped behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and tore my dress in half, dropping it to the floor. I was dumbfounded, as he next hurled me against the wall, sliding down it to the floor. I whimpered and sobbed as he kicked my stomach once, then dragged me over by the table again, shoving me on all fours.
Then my dinner was dropped before me. A dog dish. A dog dish full of dog food. I looked at him and asked him, begged him. He said I would always have a choice, as he pulled out that black cord once again. He smiled then and I cried, cried and leaned over and ate dog food for the first time in my live. He sat next to me, eating the delicious dinner, as I ate dog food. I should have fought, struggled, at least then maybe it would come to an end, even if a violent one. Instead I ate like a stupid bitch. His hand would wander to my nipples or probe my holes, and I just took it. Eventually, taking too much time, we both finished our meals.
“Sammie, my wonderful useless Sammie, I want you to know how much you mean to me that you let me move in,” he said mockingly. “I got us a pet, to celebrate!”
With that, he excitedly left the room. I should have run, I should have done anything. But I knew all my choices were lies. I just leaned forward, head on the floor as I had another panic attack, the pressure smashing and crushing me to the floor. I barely noticed when he returned, with a huge dog, a Mastiff I’d later learn. I just knew the dog looked bigger than me. It was well trained as it just sat when he snapped his fingers, then pulled out of a cabinet a camera and tripod, aiming it at the floor. I started to scream then, realizing just what he intended. I begged, I pleaded, and I freaked out and got dizzy. He just kicked me to the floor a few times and resumed work, until he was ready. Then I was positioned and he made a strange whistle and then, then I think I had a psychotic break as I was mounted and with his guiding hand, impaled by the massive beast.
I thought I had known shame, I had known abuse, but there is likely some torturous level of hell for people like me, that cum, repeatedly, as they are raped by a huge dog. I had never felt anything like it in my life. It wasn’t that the dog was bigger, though he was. It was the pace, the intensity that he fucked me with. It was like being fucked on fast forward, as the dogs paws clawed and scratched my back, shaking me as he rutted in me like I was a common bitch. I didn’t know then that people could have sex with animals or how it would feel. Tears exploded from my face as I was violently dog raped, with my tormentor filming it all. I lost control during my first orgasm and I remember nothing after, until the knot. I’ve seen the video since, that broken bitch on the screen cumming. God I hated her so much.
But I went away as I was owned by a simple beast, a beast that was better than me, worth more than me, and when I felt the knot, I didn’t know what it was but gods, it hurt. He started laughing when that brought me back, my desperate attempts to pull myself off of dog cock. The dog had pulled in the opposite direction but we were still locked as he came up and raped my throat, gagging me, coughing up dog food and swallowing it again in a desperate bid to breathe. He didn’t care, and honestly, if I had been able to think, I wouldn’t have either. I was just on automatic until that cum spurted down my throat, filling my gut. I slumped to the floor, only my hips pulled up, until several minutes later the knot pulled free. He took shots and I just laid there, a dog fucker. I had cum, I knew that much, and I knew that was wrong. I was a dog fucker.
He pulled my head up in my lap, stroked my hair, kissed my cheek, then opened my mouth and spit in it, as he fingered my gaped cum filled cunt, and smeared the dog cum all over my lips. He then leaned over me, whispering in my ear.
“I told you before, you always have a choice. I can post that video to 4chan, motherless, and tumblr. No info, but popular sites. Maybe no one will ever recognize you. Maybe they’ll recognize you the next time you step out. But I’ll make sure the internet knows that you’re a bitch that’s been bred by a dog. Maybe even the cops will find out. How would you like that? Being arrested for bestiality? How would you like that?”
I sobbed, as he spit in my eye, still softly stroking my cheek.
“You’re other choice is on the table there. It’s much simpler. You hold up the card, you read the words, and I put it out, not on the open internet, but the dark web. On message boards that no decent person will ever look at. It’s not hard, you just say your name, and your address, and ask them to come, whenever they want, to do whatever they want. And they will. Maybe I’ll keep things sane and under control. Maybe I’ll encourage their worst instincts. Who knows? So, Sammie the dog fucker, what do you choose?” he asked.
In the end, it was no choice at all. I sat up on the floor, naked, cold, spit and cum and sweat on my face.
“My name is Sammie, and I live at……”
