Fuck Me Like You Hate Me!

[SoftGameHunter]

Teaser: Harry hates a lifetime of women. Carla is traumatized by personal demons. Their collision course one rainy night will sink them both in cathartic, degrading lust.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
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Title: Fuck Me Like You Hate Me!
Author: SoftGameHunter
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The usual scene, the usual crowd. A city bar, not too upscale, not too slummy. Barflies, some strangers. A bit of overflow from the bus station. Johnny owned it and tended bar, and the old Army Ranger didn’t tolerate violent crap. His bouncer buddy Gene concurred. So McTaffies remained a decent place to get numb without much hassle.

At the far end of the bar Harry usually sat. It was a crappy seat for views of the TV, but it meant he could spout off without much of a care. The waitresses, Carol and Bev, were happy to avoid his rantings. Harry had a tendency towards loss of control of his mouth. He decided four years earlier that he hated women and nothing had dissuaded him from telling the world about it.

“Fuck yeah, I’d turn gay if I could,” he sometimes growled. “I’m not paying any fucking whore another penny in this lifetime, and the rest of them aren’t exactly lining up for my cock up in ‘em. So fuck ‘em, that’s what I say. In all ways.”

“So, does that mean you’re just not paying prostitutes?” Jim asked. “Or not paying any woman, because only prostitutes actually take money, by definition, you know?”

Harry glared at the smart-ass. “I’m saying all women are fucking whores and I ain’t giving them any more fucking money than what the court said. All women!” he repeated. “Hell, they all got their price. Dangle enough glitter and anything with a cunt will come a running for her take! Useless! Worthless!”

“Too bad about that whole propagation of the species thing,” Jim continued, chuckling into his beer.

Harry just snorted. “Enough kids out there to become doctors and treat me in my old age. After that who gives a shit? Shoot their bitch-ass selves in the head and stuff ‘em for decoration! Naked, silent, motionless. Preferably cold. Then you’ve got a woman who’s starting to generate some value! Starting!”

“Voice is carrying!” Bev said simply, walking by. Harry grumbled and said nothing. Johnny had set the boundary clear enough.

Outside the bar, walking along the wet sidewalks, destiny was changing as Carla Petrel strode towards McTaffies. She knew where she was going, which was good. She couldn’t see sideways that afternoon. Too much effort and pain. She let the rain soak her hair. It didn’t matter. She was stalking. It felt like stalking. She knew full well it wasn’t actual stalking. She was hardly a predator, especially now.

She entered and nodded to Gene. Put her coat on the rack. Sat down, alone.

“What’ll it be, Carla?” Johnny asked.

“Scotch,” she said. With a raised eyebrow he fetched her drink. She downed it and tapped the glass on the counter. Johnny nodded and filled it again. She tossed it back again.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Just put it on Harry’s tab,” she said loudly. Loud enough for Harry to hear it back in his corner.

Harry looked over at her. So did the guys around him. “Don’t fuck with me, Carla,” he said. “We’re not friends!”

She walked slowly over to him. Regulars stopped talking. Gene shifted his attention to the back. Carla looked around. Everyone was staring, waiting for the wreck before it began. It was all the insurance she cared to have. She turned back and poked Harry in the chest, hard. “Don’t want a friend, Harry. Don’t need one. Don’t need,” she paused. Most everyone heard her choke back something in her throat. “Don’t need nothing! I’m just stating a fact. You, Harry Pierce, you’re going to take me to your home tonight. You! No questions asked. No strings.”

Now the bar grew deathly quiet. Harry, they all knew, was no blowhard. He backed his words with fists to anyone who dared. Win or lose, he’d take it outside in a heartbeat. But this was different. He hated women, but would he start a fight? Or finish it? Carla was twenty years his junior, but he could probably wipe the floor with her.

“I told you, Carla, we’re not friends. Take your game and fuck the fuck off!”

“You!” she said loudly, poking him again. “Your place. Fuck me! You decide how! No strings! Lots of witnesses!”

“Jeez, Carla,” Bev said quietly. The woman had tears welling in her eyes, but so far said nothing about why.

“Not your business, Bev! I’m an adult. I’m thirty-fucking-five years old for Chrisakes!” She turned back to Harry. “Well, gonna put your cock where your mouth is, so to speak? Anything you want to do to this body!”

He grinned. Not a happy grin. Some patrons were sure he was salivated at the option in front of him. “Sure! Why not?”

“Good,” Carla said. “Then pay for my drinks!”

“No,” he said calmly.

“It goes both ways, asshole! You’ve got to show me something.”

“No,” he repeated, settling back onto his stool. “Hey, Johnny, another beer. I’m not driving anywhere soon.” He turned to Carla. “Now that you’ve advertised what you really are, a two-shot whore, go piss the fuck off.”

Carla stood there, flushed. Shaking. Slowly she shuffled back to her first seat. Johnny poured her another shot. Her hands trembled. She downed it. Some of the regulars there at that time of the early afternoon returned to their conversations. But Carla couldn’t return. She took out her purse and put some bills down on the bar. Then she went back over to Harry.

“I paid my own bill. Now let’s go, you and me.”

“No,” Harry said. “Not until you pay my bill too.”

“Jeez, Harry, what the fuck?” Andy asked.

“She’ll pay,” he said. “Won’t you, Carla? Won’t you? You’re going to pay me. Pay me to fuck you!”

A few even laughed as Carla, shaking and flushing deep red, reached into her purse and handed Johnny the credit card. “What he’s had,” she said.

“My tab for the month,” Harry added with a smirk. Everything was quiet again. Someone even turned the TV down. But Carla gave a slight nod, a tear dripping from her eye. Johnny rang it up without a word.

“Well?” she said.

“Well, now I know you mean it,” he said. “If you still mean it tomorrow, well, let’s leave that to God, shall we?” He got up and grabbed his coat. Carla grabbed hers. “Hold that beer for now, Johnny,” he said.

“Hey, Harry…” Johnny replied, trying to speak without words.

“Johnny, my man, count twenty witnesses. She came to me. Paid for it. And if her body gets fished out of the river in a few days…” He paused. “Well, not going to go down that way. Harry Pierce, everyone. And Carla Petrel. If any cops ask, those are the names to give. But they won’t be asking nothing.” He smirked at Carla. “No woman’s worth even a single night in jail.” He strode out. Carla followed him. She continued to follow him as he walked to his truck. He got in, started the engine, and then unlocked her side. She scurried in. He drove off in silence.

She hadn’t expected conversation, and she got none. Harry didn’t offer her a single word as they drove out of town a few miles to a somewhat shabby but decent-sized house. She got out when he stopped. Then followed him inside.

“Just so we’re clear,” she began.

“I’m clear,” he said, breaking her off. “Get your clothes off or get out and walk back.”

Carla felt cold chills at his words and tone. Her being there hadn’t thawed his hatred and anger in the slightest. But she felt a rush of nerves. She was playing with fire and they both knew it. Another time, her pussy might have tingled. Maybe it was, but she wasn’t feeling it. He was right for her, finally. She wordlessly and quickly pulled her clothes off her body, letting them lie in a heap by the front door. She didn’t fuck around, pausing at her undies or jewelry or anything. Everything came off at once.

“Downstairs,” he said, pointing down the stairs. She felt a rush of intensity. Fear, even. Maybe he would keep his head clear and not kill her. But she couldn’t know. And he was taking her clearly down to the basement. Did he have a dungeon down there?

Maybe, once upon a time. There was a bed frame covered with boxes. There were chains, dusty, hanging on the walls. There was some other stuff, long unused. “Clear the bed off. Be useful,” he told her. She did so without a word, picking up dusty old boxes and carrying them to the far corner of the room. He watched her struggle with the heavy ones and get her naked self all dirtied from them. Now the dusty mattress was bare. It was grimy and gross, and Carla’s pussy tingled for real. At least it was paying attention. She was on the glide path now, and happy to be back on her familiar old path downhill.

“You picked a Friday afternoon,” he said as she finished up. “Who’s expecting you at home?”

“No one,” she said. “As if!”

“Lie down. Spread yourself out like a whore.” She obeyed him. He rooted through a drawer and then produced some sturdy tape. She had her arms up by the metal headboard. He gave her body a tug and slid her up so her wrists were even with a bar. Then he used tape, lots of tape, to secure her hand before walking around and doing the same. Her hands were going nowhere. She was going nowhere, even had he left her feet alone. Which he didn’t. She saw then felt the cuffs on her ankles, and these he chained down to the footboard. There was little slack. Carla was helpless. Her life was in his hands for sure.

She didn’t know what to expect. Harry hated women. And he seemed to have the rudiments of kinky play. But so what? What would he really do to her? She didn’t know.

“You seem to have me,” she said. “What are you going to do to me?”

He started undressing. Not like she had, naked. Just below the belt. It was a bit nippy in the old basement. He had no intention of feeling the chill like Carla was. He was ready. His cock was ready. He hadn’t even jacked it in a couple weeks. Now he was raring to go. Carla lay there, displayed like a whore, except she’d paid him. He mounted her without a word and then pushed in. Hell, she was wet. She meant it. Carla really was a slut after all. Not that it really mattered. He was going to fuck her like he hated her. No play acting required. He hated all of them. That was why he started fast and kept going fast. The bitch was not going to get foreplay, and he was going to cum first if he could manage.

Hard and fast, pounding and thrusting with energy and effort. He pummeled her hips with his own. And with nothing in the last couple weeks, he came fast. Gob after gob of cum spurted into her belly, and her gasps and whines made it clear she wasn’t there yet. She said nothing. But when he’d drained his balls into her, he pulled out in a hurry. She was left flustered and sweaty, straining at her bonds. She continued panting while he got dressed.

“Well, that’s it then,” he said once he had his clothes back on.

“That’s, you, but…” Carla said, still flustered and babbling. She couldn’t tell if he was serious. After all that, and it was a degrading fuck and all, but still. Was that it?

“Scream if you want, no one who gives a shit is close enough.” He turned and left, turning the lights off. Closing the door. Carla was plunged into deep darkness and quiet. So, it wasn’t over. He was going to let her stew a bit. She assumed he’d just go upstairs, get a beer. Maybe watch Jeopardy or whatever. She’d lie there with her newest personal demons and stew in her own misery. And fear. Despair. A lifetime of regret and second thoughts. In the dark.

Harry had other plans. A bit over an hour after leaving the bar he strode back in again, alone. Faces turned upward to look at him. But he just returned to his corner of the far bar to complete his evening. Everyone was waiting for him to speak. “Anyone catch the press conference at city hall?” he asked. The evening continued.

Sex picked up again at midnight. Harry got home. He took a long pee and then went downstairs, stepping on Carla’s clothes with his wet shoes each time passing them. If he’d thought ahead, he could have skipped the bathroom and used the whore instead. Toilet-mouthed bitch. When he opened the door and flipped the lights back on, there was Carla. Right where he left her. Bound. Face red and puffy from crying. Wet, yellowed mattress. She turned her head to look at him. Her tears were long gone, but her grief and pain were raw and close to the surface. “Got something to say?” he asked her.

“That was a bastard thing to do,” she said quietly.

“And saying so is going to cost you,” he told her.

“Good. I hope it does. I hope you’re up to the job!” she replied. “I want it to cost me. So do it. Pretend you’re a real man and do it!”

He got half undressed again. Mounted her again. And then backhanded her across her face. She cried out and tasted blood. He’d hit her hard. “Don’t mouth off to me you stupid cunt,” he snarled. “I don’t know or care why you’re trolling. But I’ll indulge myself on your body and you just shut the fuck up and take it. Work out your own demons in silence!” He backhanded her again even harder, then slammed his cock into her. Carla grunted in shock and rage but kept quiet as he fucked her again. He tried to be quick, but he’d scored already that day and wasn’t as fast now, even after a six-hour rest. She was going to cum too. So he stopped.

“What the fuck, Harry,” she muttered as he got off her. But he just moved up and shoved his dick to her face.

“Don’t be dumb,” he said, pushing it to her lips. Carla scowled but opened wide. Gross. Disgusting. Debasing. Well, it was what she got. Only Harry could care, she assumed, if she came or not. He assumed she cared. Once her mouth was open he shoved it far back in her throat, maybe trying to make her gag. Maybe trying to make her puke. It was, in fact, exactly what he was trying for. Carla had practiced too much deep throating in her life, though. Not recently, but it was like riding a bike. So for the next ten minutes he hate-fucked her mouth until his cum came boiling up and out. He pulled out to give her a facial, trying his damnedest to spread it around her eyes and cheeks and nose as well as her mouth. After squeezing out every drop he climbed off her and dressed. He stood over her, leering down at her tied body. She glared back up.

“Well, we’re not friends, are we?” she challenged him. “You gonna untie me?”

“Yeah,” he said, opening a cabinet door she couldn’t see into. “Let me show you my new way of undoing knots.”

It was just an old belt. But he brought it down across her lumpy chest with furious abandon. Her eyes opened wide as the moment struck her. He struck her again a second time before she had time to register the pain, suck in her breath, and scream her lungs out. But Harry just kept at her. He wasn’t overly strong. He wasn’t young, nor an athlete. But the leverage was all his, and he could swing his old well-chosen belt from years earlier at Carla’s chest and belly without regard for her comfort or wishes or her now frantic fears. She was going to get hurt and that was that. He thrashed her tits. Thrashed them with hate and rage and all the pent-up slights he had ever filed away against women. Onto her tits, and then finally onto her cunt, he vented his most furious rage onto her womanhood until her body sweated and his eyes flowed and his jaw hurt from clenching.

Time stopped him. He stood, leaning on the wall for steadiness, breathing hard, staring down at his victim. Carla finally stopped screaming. She was in agony. Her body was swollen up. Cum dried on her face and hair. She never did climax herself.

Harry released her feet first. Then her hands, just cutting the tape holding her. She sat up awkwardly, coughing. “So, did you work out whatever demons have got you in a mood today?” he asked.

She glared back at him. “Have you stopped your infantile hatred of women?”

He just chuckled. “Yeah, whatever. Your clothes are where you left them. Get the fuck out of my house.” He walked back upstairs to shower. When he was done, Carla’s clothes were gone, as was she. He locked up and went to bed. He gave her no further thought. He meant everything he had ever said.