Lincoln Loud wore a mask. Every morning, he slipped it on before he left his bedroom and every night, he took it off before he went to bed. It was not a physical mask, one of plastic or rubber, but a metaphorical mask, one that you could not see but was there regardless. On the outside, he was an affable guy, the perfect all-American boy: He got good grades in school, helped little old ladies cross the street, said "please", "thank you," "ma'am," and "sir". He ate his vegetables and read comic books. He liked anime and video games. He was, in a word, normal. If you met him, you would come away thinking that he was polite, wholesome, and without a single malicious bone on his body.

But you would be wrong.

Underneath the figurative mask that he donned at the beginning of each day, Lincoln was something else, something darker, a callous and unfeeling pervert whose only concern was fulfilling his increasingly violent desires. He watched brutal BDSM porn on his phone, spied on girls as they changed, and had installed cameras in the girls locker room at school so that he could watch them bathe. Last year, he and Clyde worked at Flip's for a few weeks, and Lincoln drilled a hole in the grimy wall of the women's room so that he could peep through from the adjacent cooler every time a woman went to take a piss. There was something deeply arousing about secretly watching someone in such an intimate moment, something that called and beckoned him, demanding that he do it again and again. It gave him an all over thrill like nothing else he knew. It was primarily sexual, but there was also an element of danger and uncertainty. He could be caught at any moment, and that added to the fun.

Lincoln couldn't say where, how, or why this all started. The psychologists he saw on TV and in the movies were always so sure that people like Lincoln were made the way they are. If someone has a perversion, an illness, a mania, or a "demon", they must have suffered some sort of trauma, their thinking went. Lincoln had searched every nook and cranny of his memory, but could find nothing that could be called a "trigger event." Nothing that you could look on and go "Yep, that explains it."

In the show Dexter - of which he watched a few episodes hoping for hardcore nudity - the titualr character is a serial killer working for the Miami PD. He has a strange blood fetish and takes a drop of blood from each of his victims (always a bad guy cuz we gotta have that moral center) and puts it on a glass slide. At some point, it's revealed that as a toddler, Dexter witnessed his mother being murdered with a chainsaw and spent hours covered in her blood.

Yep. That explains it.

Only it didn't.

Not that it bothered him, of course. He liked who he was, and even though society pounded into everyone that being like him was a bad thing, he suspected that there were a lot more people like him out there than anyone let on. Oh, they acted all rightious and upright, but most of them were like he was, if not worse.

He was self-centered and proud, but one thing he wasn't: A liar. He saw nothing wrong with who he was. And if everyone else is the same way, what are we doing? Why are we all lying to one another?

Just the way it was, he supposed. Oh well.

Anyway, he wore a mask and he did it well. He had everyone fooled. And that, he reckoned, was why he hadn't been caught yet, even though he had been steadily upping the ante. He put up cameras where no cameras should go, he intentionally brushed against girls at school, he raided his sisters' underwear drawers, he even flashed his massive, oversized dick to a bunch of little girls from the Catholic school down the street. He made it look like a pure accident and acted embarrassed, but in actuality, it was one of the biggest thrills he had ever gotten. In fact, if he did have a "trigger event," that was it, for it was the thrill that came with exposing himself that inspired him to come out of the closet, so to speak. Oh, he had to be careful and not reveal himself too much, but he was committed to letting himself off his leash whenever and wherever he could.

So far, despite all of his risky behaviors, his mask had never slipped, and no one had seen what lie beneath.

No one but Lucy.

Three days ago, the rest of the family set off to visit Aunt Ruth. Aunt Ruth was old, overweight, and suffered every malady under the sun, from gout to high blood pressure. She was in and out of the hospital, always sick, and in near constant pain. Mom and Dad were the only members of the extended Loud clan who bothered with her, so they were always dragging everyone up to Ann Arbor to suffer the fat witch. No one liked going there, but for Lucy, it was the worst torment imaginable. Like a skittish cat, she liked spending massive amounts of time alone, hiding in the darkness. Any time of the day or night, you were likely to find her shoved into one of the vents like a massive, pale faced spider. She had been diagnosed with anxiety and other made up ailments that she was most definitely faking, so she didn't do well always being around everyone else. She needed her "alone time" in her "special dark place."

What a liar lol. She was as transparent as a piece of glass. She had a lot to learn about hiding who she really was if she wanted to get along in life.

To get out of having to go to Aunt Ruth's dank, smelly, moldy little house on Cherry Street, Lucy pretended to have a stomach bug. Lincoln saw through her instantly and volunteered his services, since he didn't want to go either. He backed her up, offered to stay with her. He told Mom that there was a 48 hour bug going around school, and that Lucy probably had that. Mom's plan was to wait until Lucy was better, then come back and picked them up. To avoid that, once Lucy was "well" again, Lincoln would fake being sick. That way, neither one of them would have to go to Aunt Ruth's at all.

It was true that Lincoln didn't want to go to Aunt Ruth's, but he had other motives for helping Lucy. Darker motives.

Motives that involved finally, at long last, indulging in his blackest, most evil fantasies. He could read Lucy like a book, but she was too young and stupid to read him. Maybe if she was older and more experienced she would be able to see past his facade, but then again, he was very good at hiding his true face. Either way, poor little Lucy, like a lamb being led to the slaughter, had no idea what she was in for when Mom and Dad pulled out of the driveway. If she did, she wouldn't have been smugly smiling and talking about how "We really fooled them."

Oh, yes, Lucy, we did, but none of them are anywhere near as fooled as you are.

That first part of that first day, Lincoln played it cool, luling Lucy into a false sense of security. Then, later on, he struck. For weeks, maybe months, leading up to that glorious day, Lincoln had dreamed of forcing himself on girls. When he masturbated, he couldn't get off unless he thought of holding a girl by the throat and making her have sex with him against her will. He wanted screaming, crying, tears, and begging. Nothing else did it for him anymore and he already knew that when he finally found a girl to have sex with, he would be rough with her. He wouldn't be able to control himself. He would hurt her and there was nothing he could do about it. He would have to be careful with who he chose.

And that was part of the reason he picked Lucy. He knew her well enough to know that he could keep her silent. Her weakness and vulnerability wafted off of her in sickening waves. He knew that he could manipulate and control her. Another girl, maybe not as much, but Lucy was his for the taking.

And took her he did.

He delighted in forcing himself on her. He finally got to take out all of his frustrations on her pallid flesh, bruising her, beating her, biting her, and fucking her so hard that she cried and bled. He made her suffer and call him "master." He took her dignity and whatever little self-confidence she had managed to build up. He humiliated her and brought her as low as he possibly could. In the back of his mind, he was kind of afraid that Lucy's freaky ass would wind up enjoying being raped and humiliated by her own brother He didn't want her to enjoy it. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted tears and agony. He wanted her to hate every second of it but to be powerless to stop him.

Lincoln's ultimate goal was to break her down mentally, spiritually, and emotionally, thus turning her into the perfect sex slave. Failing that, he would settle for just breaking her down. When he was done with her, she would bear his mark, would be molded to his whims and desires like a memory foam mattress to a fat guy's ass. She would belong to him and him alone, eternally and forever. She would never fit another man the way she fit him, because he would force her, and then break her so that no one else could ever use her again.

And that's all she or any other girl was good for - being used.

Dawn on the third day of Lucy's torture crept across the rooftops like a spreading orange ink stain. Birds cried joyously out from their nests and a light mist leftover from the night before clung to the ground like the smoke from a thousand invisible fires. Lincoln's eyelids fluttered lazily open and he gave a big stretch and a bear like yawn. Smacking his lips together, he sat up in bed and let the sheet fall away from his naked torso. His hair stuck out at funny angles, lending him the appearance of one of those troll dolls his mother collected, and there was still a blurry, sleepy haze in his eyes. He absent-mindedly scratched his stomach and turned to look at Lucy, who was curled up on the floor asleep, naked save for a collar attached to a leash. The leash was tied to the bedpost, keeping her in place like the dog she was.

Her pale skin was dotted with ugly purple bruises and red marks that hadn't yet turned into bruises. Her bottom lip was split and there was three knuckle marks on her chin from where Lincoln punched her during sex. He didn't meant to hit her like that, it just kind of…happened. He wasn't the first guy to lose himself during the act of fucking, it wasn't that big a deal. He just hoped that it faded before Mom and Dad got home. If it didn't, he would have Lucy concoct some story about being bullied at the park or something. They'd believe that. It wouldn;t be the first time that Lucy was pushed around by some other kids. Lincoln could even tell them how he swooped in and saved the day like a knight in shining armor, make himself sound like a real hero. They'd buy that, too.

Lincoln rolled onto his side, grabbed the leash, and gave it a sharp jerk. It tightened around Lucy's neck and her head wrenched to the side. She came awake with a shocked gasp and Lincoln glared at her. "Get up here," he commanded.

For a second, the little goth hesitated, perhaps still muddled with sleep. Her pause was enough to infuriate Lincoln."Now," he ordered, tugging on the leash again.

Obeidently, Lucy got up and crawled into the bed, her movements stiff and sore. Her bangs fell away from her face, and he caught a glimpse of one watery, agony filled eye. She said nothing and offered no resistance, knowing already that it would do her no good. Lincoln was a cruel and demanding god, and nothing would forestall his unslakable thirst for tribute. She stretched out on her back for him as she had done a thousand times over the past several days and braced herself for what was to come. She stared up at the ceiling, her little breasts rising and falling with the labored rhythm of her breathing. She was cold, numb, hoping that this time, she wouldn't feel pain, that by now, she would be used to being raped. She knew, however, that it would hurt. Lincoln would see to that. No matter how many times he did it, now matter how many times she closed her eyes and let him screw her, she would never get used to it.

Getting to his knees, Lincoln forced her legs roughly apart, sending twin streaks of fiery pain into her hips. Aside from a slight winced that he couldn't see for the hair in her face, she made no sign that she felt even the slightest discomfort. He got off on her pain and the only way she could fight back was to not give it to him, to remain passive and limp.

How long could she do it? Not long, she reckoned. Lincoln would get the reaction he wanted from her…one way or another.

Lincoln grabbed her ankles and forced them behind her head, the balls of her heels touching her ears. Her muscles screamed in pain and she sucked a hissing breath through her teeth. She gritted them together and tried to ignore the burning sensation in her legs. Lincoln slipped out of his shorts and his massive monster cock sprang out like a terrible jack in the box. A quiver of horror went through Lucy's tiny body and she squeezed her eyes shut with such force that tears rolled down her cheeks. Lincoln pressed the head of his dick to her opening and lingered there for a moment, relishing her dread anticipation. An ugly sneer rippled across his face, and he thrusted deep into her. Red hot pain exploded in Lucy's skull and she couldn't contain the scream that built up in her throat. Her body clamped around his shaft, trying desperately to expel the foregin intrusion. Lincoln leaned over, pushing her feet against the pillow, and her body tightened around him even more.

He was so big that she felt like she was going to rip down the center like a piece of paper. She thought, in some vague and half formed way, that her body would eventually adjust to his size, but it never had, and each time felt like the first. Grunting, Lincoln pounded her pussy, his balls slapping her ass and his nails digging into the tops of her feet. Each thrust send his dick head smashing against her limit and knocked an anguished sob from her throat. Hot, stinging tears flooded her eyes and blurred her vision. Lincoln's dick tore through her like a buzz saw, scraping her sensitive walls and forcing her muscles apart to admit his prodigious girth. Her entire lower half blazed with pain and she regulated her breathing to keep from hyperventilating.

Lincoln could see the pain written clearly across her face even though she did her best to conceal it from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. An evil grin cleaved across his face and he jerked his hips, hitting her cervix full on with the tip of his dick. A pained gasp dislodged from her throat and her passage instinctively shrank around his cock. The pain was exquisite and, hating herself, she broke down crying.

"That's right," Lincoln said in a raspy whisper, "that's right, Luce. Cry for me."

He took her already wounded bottom lip between his teeth and bit down on it so hard that he drew blood. Lucy winced and tried to pull away, but Lincoln held on like a dog with a steak. She simply had to endure it and hope that he didn't go farther. When he fucked her, her went out of his mind, an animal in a frenzy, and there was no telling what he might do.

Finally, he let go of her lip and nestled his face in the crook of her neck. He lapped and nipped the side of her throat, sucking on her throbbing pulse and tracing it with his teeth. An electric tingle raced down Lucy's spine and she braced herself, sure that he would go too far and wind up ripping out her jugular. Instead, he only nibbled it, his breath hot and rank against her skin. His pace had slackened while he chewed her, and now he was still, his dick motionless and throbbing inside of her like a malignant heartbeat. He regained his composure and started to rut her once more, this time with renewed violence. He stabbed her again and again, tearing her already battered pussy and making her cry even harder. She tried to stop, knowing that he was getting off on it and not wanting to give him the pleasure of hearing her misery, but she couldn't hold it inside. It came whether she wanted it to or not. She was powerless, vulnerable, hurt, and afraid.

Lincoln could read her like an open book. He knew all of this, could hear it in her crying, feel it in the way her body pulsed around him like a throbbing wound in a cartoon, smell it on her like sour sweat and desperation. She hitched and sobbed, and the shaking her of small, frightened body pushed him over the edge. His balls tightened, his dick swelled, and hot lead bubbled up from deep inside of him. He gave one final thrust, getting himself as deep into his little sister as possible, then released long, ropy ribbons of burning cum into her womb. The sensation of liquid fire filling her stomach and then overspilling around Lincoln's pumping shaft made Lucy wince. She hated this part most of all. Every time he orgasmed, he shot so much cum. Lucy didn't know what the normal male was supposed to ejaculate, but she was fairly certain that it wasn't the collosal amount that Lincoln did.

For a long time, Lincoln stayed where he was, sweating and catching his breath, then he rolled off of her and stretched out on his back, one hand slipping under the back of his head and the other resting on his chest. Lucy curled up on her side and faced away from him, her arms crossing defensively over her chest and her knees drawing up to her stomach. She could feel his thick, cooling seed dibbling out of her, and a shudder tore through her body. Tears threatened to overwhelm her once more, but this time, she was successful in holding them back. She blotted her eyes with the heel of her palm and licked her chapped lips, tasting the faint, coppery trace of blood. The wound wasn't deep and had already stopped bleeding.

Beside her, Lincoln sucked great gulps of air, pleasently winded, like a man after an invigorating workout. Hatred and revulsion swept through Lucy and her teeth ground lightly together. She hated him. She hated everything about him and wished he would die.

She could never say that out loud, though. If he knew how she felt, he would make it hurt even more next time.

Finally having caught his breath, Lincoln looked at her. "I'm starved," he said. "Make me some breakfast. Now."

Lucy didn't move.

Leaning over, Lincoln unhooked the leash from her collar, freeing her from her bonds. The leash could come off but the collar couldn't. He told her that he wanted her to wear it at all times to remind herself that she was his dog now.

Obeying without question, Lucy got up and went to put her clothes on, but Lincoln stopped her. "No," he said firmly, "the maid outfit."

He had ordered a black and white French maid outfit online, and demanded that she wear it as she completed domestic tasks around the house. Lincoln liked making her work almost as much as he liked raping her. Something about her dusting, doing dishes, and generally playing the part of the stereotypical housewife really turned him on.

Robotically, Lucy put on the outfit, complete with heels and fishnet stockings. While Lincoln dressed, Lucy dragged herself down the stairs and into the kitchen. As she went, Lincoln's load continued to leak from her, coating her inner thighs with stickiness. A bead of cum coursed down her leg and dripped onto her heel. Lucy's middle squished with every step she took and she winced at the feeling of it.

In the kitchen, she dragged a chair over to the counter and climbed on. She opened an overhead cabinet and fetched a heavy cast iron skillet. Her arm muscles strained and she almost dropped it, heart sinking. If she did that, Lincoln would get mad and yell at her. If she made the slightest mistake, he would mete out the most terrible sexual punishment he could imagine.

Closing the cabinet, she hopped down from the chair, dragged it back to the table, and started making breakfast. She cracked three eggs into the skillet and aded five strips of bacon. She tossed in the last two sausage patties and put two slices of bread into the toaster. The skillet cracked and popped with grease, and Lucy hurried over to flip the eggs and bacon before they burned. Cold fear filled her at the thought of what Lincoln would do if she burned his breakfast. He would probably put it in her butt again.

A violent tremor raced through the little girl. She hated it when he did that. It hurt so bad that she might pass out like she did the last two times he had done it. Walking still hurt, and the last time she had pooped, it hurt so badly that she cried.

Footsteps found her ears and she stiffened like a skittish dog. Lincoln came into the kitchen talking on his cellphone. "My stomach hurts so bad," he said with a little moan. He must have been talking to Mom. They had been expecting her to call and see how Lucy was doing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "I'll be okay, though, I have Lucy." He looked at her with an evil smile. "Okay, Mom. Love you, bye."

He ended the call and shoved the phone into the hip pocket of his jeans. "Mission accomplished," he said more to himself than to Lucy. That told Lucy that Mom wouldn't be coming back for them.

Suddenly, she wished she'd gone.

Aunt Ruth's was heaven compared to being with Lincoln.

Lincoln walked over to the skillet and wafted the good smelling steam into his nose. Lucy flipped the eggs and bacon again. "I'll be back," he said and walked away. Lucy let out a pent up breath that she didn't realize she had been holding, and her tense body relaxed a little.

Unbeknownst to her, Lincoln had sneaked back into the kitchen on his tippy toes like a cat burglar in a cartoon. He crept up behind her He snatched a handful of her black hair and wrenched it hard, cracking her neck. She let out a startled cry and her balance upset. She fell back against him and he pressed his lips to her ear, his fetid breath breaking against her skin and making her shiver. "Get on your fucking knees," he said.

Without waiting for her to comply, he forced her to the floor, shoving her down to a kneeling position with surprising strength. She collapsed to her knees and pain shot into her hips. She already knew what was coming, and she reflexively gagged in the back of her throat. She hated letting him put it in her butt, but she hated sucking him almost as much. His cum was thick and warm, like snot, and the salty taste of it made her want to puke.

At least it wouldn't hurt.

He unzipped his pants and took of his dick. It was so big that Lucy went cross-eyed looking ar it. It put her in mind of a fat worm, the slit forming a sinlge, malevolent, all seeing eye. She expected him to be rock hard, but he was only half erect, as though he weren't fully aroused yet. He had astonishing stamina when it came to sex. He could cum and then get hard again in under five minuites. He was a lot like the Energizer Bunny: He kept going and going.

Resigned to her fate, Lucy took it in her hand and brought it to her lips, but Lincoln slapped her in the side of the head. Stars burst across her field of vision and she almost lost her balance, nearly fell to the floor in a heap. "No," he said, as if to a disodedient puppy.

She released his dick and rocked back on her knees. He probably wanted to fuck her mouth. That was a whole lot different from a blowjob and might hurt.

Lucy gulped.

Taking his dick in his hand, Lincoln pointed it semi-flaccid dick at her like a fire hose. For a moment, nothing happened, then, all at once, a yellow stream of warm, slimy, vile smelling urine shot from his opening. It hit her right in the face and she let out a cry of repulsion. Piss soaked her face and rushed down her chin in stinking rivulets, soaking the front of her dress and getting into her mouth. She clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes, too afraid to move lest she incur Lincoln's wrath. Her face rippled with disgust and she made sounds of horror in the back of her throat, unable to stop or control them. Lincoln laughed like a cruel boy ripping the wings from flies and watching them writhe. He moved his dick from side to side, drenching her face and hair. Lucy didn't know why, but his piss smelled so bad. Acrid, rotten, the most stomach turning shade of horrible that had ever assaulted her nostrils.

Lucy did her best to not breathe through her nose, but the stink wormed its way in anyhow, and she felt hot bile rising in the back of her throat. Her stomach clenched, and for a terrible moment, she thought she was going to throw up. In fact, hot liquid filled her mouth, threatening to burst from her in a geyser, but she swallowed it back down again, knowing full well that Lincoln wouldn't like it if she vomited.

And the piss kept coming. The stream hit her square in the nose, and when she turned her head, it hit her cheek. She was absolutely drenched in it now, even her hair was sopping. Laughing and going "Hee hee, whoo whoo," in a mocking tone, Lincoln moved his dick around in every direction, making sure piss got everywhere. Lucy held her breath and fought back tears; she just sat there on her knees and took it, letting him do whatever he wanted to do because she had no other choice. She was too weak and vulnerable to fight back. He was bigger than her, and stronger too. She knew the penalty for fighting back, so she let him do what he wanted, like she always did.

"Piss slut," Lincoln said as he sprayed her face with chest with hot, reeking urine. "You like it, don't you?"

Lucy's lips began to quiver. Like a girl praying, she bowed her head…and began to cry.

The top of her head now took the brunt of Lincoln's piss. It hung in her face, soggy and stinking, but she barely noticed. She cried so hard that her shoulders shook and her chest heaved. Suddenly, Lincoln grabbed her by the hair, wrenched her head back, and jammed his still pissing cock into her mouth. Piss splashed down the back of her throat and coated her tongue, the taste bitter and strong. Lucy tried to fight back, but Lincoln pulled her hair so hard that she was stunned into compliance.

When he was done, he pulled out and shoved her back; she lay on the floor crying. "You're disgusting," he said. "You need a shower."

Upstairs, Lincoln forced her to strip naked and get in the shower with him. He turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. Maybe it was the room, maybe it was her own inner chill, but Luxy was cold and crossed her arms over her naked chest, her knees knocking in terror at whatever foul act Lincoln had planned for her. She knew that this wouldn't be a simple showe. It would be another rape. It was always another rape. He couldn't resist her naked body. If she showed so much as a little ankle, it would turn him on like a carnivorous machine, and she would suffer his lust.

When the water was to his liking, he stepped in and Lucy followed, head down. She took a hitching breath and tried to stave off the fear that was beginning to form in her chest. Steam filled the air and the hiss of the shower head, the gurgle of water splashing down the drain found her ears. Lincoln stood in front of her, head back, and washed himself, whistling a happy tune that sounded like birdsong. His muscles flexed and rippled under his skin and his butt cheeks seemed to clench in anticipation. They did that every time he got hard, his dick being so big that his butt almost crumpled like an empty Capri Sun pouch when he got an erection, as if all the juice in his body were being drawn to the stallion-like thing between his legs.

Lincoln handed her a bar of soap. "Wash my back," he commanded.

Lucy took the soap and ran it up and down his back, getting it nice and lathered up. He turned to let the water sluice it all off, and his dick brushed against her. "Wash that too," he said.

This time, Lucy lathered up her hands and then stroked his cock, making sure to get the little area under the head. Lincoln watched her intently as she worked, enjoying the feeling of her nimble, girlish fingers on his meat. When he was hot, he switched spots with her and made her wash the piss from her body. He stood right behind her, his dick pressed snugly against her butt and his hands on her hips. He shifted, and his dick head slipped between her butt cheeks, prodding just above her butt hole. A chunk of black ice dropped into Lucy's stomach and an electric crackle streaked down her spine.

Oh, God, what did he have in mind?

Reaching around, Lincoln fondled her tiny breasts, his disk mashing against her and driving her forward. She stumbled a little but managed to keep her footing. He pinched her nipples between this thumbs and forefingers, and Lucy hissed in pain. Lincoln kissed her shoulder and she shuddered. There was no love in it, no tenderness, only dark and primal hunger. That was confirmed when he bit down hard, making her cry out. Lincoln ran his hands down her stomach, forced his fingers between her sensitive lips, and plunged one into her. His breathing became heavy and ragged and Lucy gritted her teeth at the feeling of his forceful penetration. She offered no resistence whatsoever, neither vocal nor physical, in the hopes that he wouldn't hurt her.

Much.

Lincoln reached down, grabbed his dick, and brushed it up and down between her butt cheeks, from the cleft down to her pussy. She was hoping that he would put it there, but when she felt it pushing against her butt hole, she let out a miserable half moan, half sob. He shoved her flat against the water slicked wall and a gasp was forced from Lucy's lungs. She pressed her cheek to the wall and stared at the shower head with wide, frightened eyes. Lincoln's dick squeezed to get in the tight opening, and her butt puckered as if in a vain attempt to keep him out.

Finally, he gave a violent push, and his cock tore into her like the steely blade of a sword. She cried out in agony and Lincoln issued a long, protracted sigh. Her walls formed tightly around his shaft and she could feel every curve and ridge of his dick spreading her to the point of breaking. He thrusted, pushing her face against the wall, and such hot pain filled her that she couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think. The pasin was exquisite and all consuming, fiery and stabbing. She had never been impaled with a pike the way Vlad the Impaler used to do to Turks, but she couldn't imagine it feeling much worse than this.

Panting and rasping, Lincoln began to slam hard into her, being as rough as humanly possible. He knew ways to make it hurt, and he did that now. His hips flew back and forth as his dick tore her insides, in and out, deep, deeper, so deep she imagined she could feel the head pushing out the front of her stomach. She was filled with him, and she was sure that this time, at last, something was going to rip and tear.

Without warning, Lincoln slammed his fist into her side, and her body clamped down around him. He felt even bigger now, and a blood curdling scream ripped from Lucy's throat. Lincoln threw back his head and moaned in pleasure. Surely it had to hurt him too, but maybe he liked receiving pain as well as meteing it out. He quickly recovered himself and began to thrust with renkewed vigor, fucking her hard and fast. He panted like a wild dog and nipped at her neck again, a clear and sure fire sign that he was losing himself in the midst of his terrible thirst.

Her knees gave out and he pressed her flush to the wall, holding her limply up as he indulged his dark fantasy, jack hammering her already sore and aching butt.

Totally gone now, Lincoln wrestled her to the floor and mounted her from behind. The water pounded down on the back of her head as he raped her asshole doggystyle. He brought his hand down on her butt with a meaty smack and stinging pain burst over her. She bowed her head and sobbed in pain and horror, Lincoln going faster and smacking her butt with both hands. He clawed at her soft flesh with his fingernails, leaving angry red marks behind.

The pain became too great for Lucy, and her knees gave out, spilling her face first to the wet floor. Lincoln didn't stop, didn't slow; he was nearing his climax and all that mattered to him was reaching that mountaintop. He slapped, scratched, and slammed. Finally, with a guttural growl, he came, filling her ass with his cum. It oozed out around him and leaked from her ruined asshole like cream filling from a donut. He pulled out, slapped her ass one final time, and climbed out of the shower. Curling up in a ball, Lucy hugged herself and sobbed.

She felt dirty.

So, so dirty.

And no matter how long she stayed in the shower, or how much she scrubbed herself, she would never, ever, feel clean again.