This is my first posted story, i hope you enjoy it.
I don't own anyone, if i did i wouldn't waste my time writing!
Fooled
I snuck out the back door like a thief. I had seen him going into the locker room and thought I would have time sneak a smoke. I struck the match, inhaling deeply and blowing out the tiny flame. The harsh smoke felt good. It was noisy back there, the AC units rattling and groaning. It was hot too, still over 90, even though the sun had set. I took another drag, thinking that I had to break it off with him. He was getting meaner, and I was starting to be afraid of him. I couldn't tell anyone, they wouldn't believe me. Not about the clean cut, up and coming young Superstar. I started to take another drag, but the cigarette fell from my fingers as someone grabbed me by my hair and yanked me back. I was thrown down, landing hard on my knees on the cracked pavement. I cursed myself for being distracted and letting him catch me.
"Thought you were getting away with something, did you?" he sneered, backhanding me viscously. My lip split and I tasted blood. "I guess you didn't learn your lesson last time." His hand flew again, setting fire to my jaw. He always backhanded me, it didn't leave handprints that way.
"I'm sorry, I didn't.." I babbled, trying to appease him.
"Shut up bitch." He growled at me. "It's real simple, do as I say."
He grabbed my hair in one hand, using the other to pull down his trunks and jock enough to free his hard on. He forced himself into my mouth, blood from my split lip running down my chin. 'Oh god, please, no' I thought as he hit the back of my throat. I closed my eyes, tears leaking down my face as he used me.
"Stupid cunt," he said, pulling out of my mouth, backhanding me once more. "Can't you even give decent head?" he moved behind me, dropping to his knees. 'Lucky bastard, at least you have knee pads' I thought. He yanked my pants down. "Guess I'll just have to fuck you."
He thrust into me roughly, making me cry out in pain. He grabbed my hips, his short fingernails digging into my skin. Holding me still, he drove into me violently again and again, finally grunting and cumming deep in me.
"Get up," he said, rising and tucking himself back into his trunks. "Get cleaned up. I'll see you after my match." He strode away.
I rose slowly to my feet, pulling my pants up and leaning against the AC unit until the dizziness faded. The knees of my jeans were torn up, and the skin under them. I wondered what my face looked like.
I made my way slowly to the back door. Luck was with me, the hall was empty. I got to an employee bathroom and cleaned myself up as well as I could. I couldn't stand for anyone to see me like this. My face was already bruising, my lip split and the skin gone from both my knees. Looks like I fell down again.
I leaned my head against the wall, able to hear the crowd through the wall. I heard his music hit, heard the crowd cheer and imagined him entering the arena, innocent smile in place, waving to the crowd. I wondered what they would think if they knew they were cheering a sadistic rapist.
Tears leaked down my face as I listened to them, screaming for their high flying hero, chanting "Air Bourne, Air Bourne!" Like me, they had been fooled.