Harder

He grabs me by the throat, slams me against the wall.

"Little slut, is that what you like? Tell me how much of a whore you are."

I fervently shake my head, no, no, I won't, I will never admit what I like because I want to be a good girl. But secretly I do want this, I might even need it, and the thought both frightens and arouses me.

Of course my arousal is not something that is going to escape his notice. He slaps me, bringing me back to the present, shaking his head in imitation of mine.

"No? You won't admit what a dirty little slut you are? But why not? You know that I already know, and you already know."

But the embarrassment, the shame in admitting out loud what I want keeps me mute, save for a few incoherent syllables that come out of my mouth. I start to fall a little, my knees growing weak. He notices, and pushes me harder back against the wall.

"I wonder what your pussy has to say about all this. How is it feeling? Does it yearn for my cock?" With a quick motion, his fingers are inside me, feeling around roughly, encountering the clearly evident wetness there. "Looks like some parts of you can't lie, darling."

He catches my eye and forces the contact. I whimper. He lets me go, and I slide to the ground.

"That's right. At the floor, by my feet. Exactly where a worthless little slut like you should be."