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He pulled you up by your hair, slamming your skull against the table once more. The world spun, your legs wobbled. You would’ve stumbled over, had you not been sandwiched between Rex and the console. You whined his name, barely managing to crane your neck far enough to glimpse his manic grin. You hadn’t seen him this excited in a while.
“C’mon, you’re not blacking out on me, are you?” he twisted his fingers in your hair, earning a wince, “I’m just getting started!”
You choked out something akin to refusal, nowhere near a coherent string of words. You felt blood drip from your nose, pooling against your cheek. You struggled to breathe through it, made worse by the growing panic taking root in your chest. You knew full well that if he wanted, or even if he simply lost control… Well, he swore he wouldn’t go that far.
“How are you holdin’ up?” he picked your head back up, leaning closer to study the welts forming across your face. Genuine concern, teasing, or simply a chance to admire the damage he’d done; probably all three.
“I… I’m fine,” you muttered, your lie painfully obvious. “You?”
He chuckled, dropping you back down with a thud. You heard his belt buckle rattle, the shuffling of fabric following. He pressed his pelvis against your backside, sighing shakily.
“Doin’ pretty damn well, kid.”
He kicked your legs apart, and you barely managed to stay upright as your balance was offset. He pulled your arms behind your back, twisting and shoving downward. Maybe on instinct, or to play into the bit, you struggled uselessly against his grip.
He rutted into you, sighing contentedly. Testing it further, you pushed against the ground in an attempt to shake him off of you. You kicked aimlessly behind you to land a blow to his shins. He only caged you in more, his legs flush against yours, holding you in place. A jolt of terror tore through you; even as you escalated to the most violent struggle you could manage, he didn’t budge an inch. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on further.
Even if you truly wanted out, you’d stay put anyhow. You felt lightheaded at the thought.
He quickly undid your belt and yanked your pants down.
“Ah,” you startled, shaking your head, “Wait, I’m not-”
“‘Wait?’” his tone went cold, bending your arm near enough to snap. “Are you seriously trying to tell me what to do?”
You whimpered, shaking your head. He wasn’t having it, closing his fingers around your throat and squeezing.
“Use your words,” he grunted, leaning close to your ear. You sputtered mindless pleas for mercy between shallow gasps. “What did I tell you?”
“Y-you-” you stuttered, mustering every ounce of focus to get the words out before you lost consciousness, “You’re in- in charge-!”
He released you. You wheezed, gulping down air as quickly as your lungs would allow. Tears slid down your cheeks, sweet relief spreading warm throughout your body. For just a moment, everything was almost okay again.
He flipped you over, pinning your wrists above your head.
“Now, I’m ready to go,” he pulled your underwear aside, just far enough to slip past the fabric. “Are you?”
You opened your mouth to respond, a false agreement. Instead, all that he received was a sudden cry as he shoved himself inside, barely managing to fit. You tensed against the intrusion, squirming in discomfort.
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, laughing. You walked into that one.
Thank god you were as wet as you were, it was just about the only thing separating an otherwise abysmal experience from a barely-pleasurable one. This wasn’t your first rodeo, after all. Rex wasn’t exactly patient when it came to this sort of thing. You knew, eventually, it would shift in the other direction. You just had to endure quite a bit less gentleness this time around.
Luckily, even if you never managed to get there, it didn’t seem like he’d be lasting long. You’d never seen him this eager, driving into you relentlessly as if he’d never get another chance. You reveled in his attention, his neediness, electric and heart-stopping. He couldn’t help but be transparent in his adoration of you, even if it was concealed in violence, like a pill in peanut butter. A nice juxtaposition to his usual faux-detachment.
He groaned with every thrust, squeezing at the soft parts of you with gloved hands. You couldn’t wait to examine the bruises he’d leave behind, littering your stomach and thighs. He grabbed at your scalp again and jerked your head to the side. He buried his face in your neck and wasted no time sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh. He sucked at the resulting wound, his cock twitching inside of you. He must have drawn blood, given the resulting moan, muffled against your neck.
“...You look good like this,” he breathed, retreating again to study the injuries he’d left behind. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”
You agreed, in the most pathetic tone you could manage. It was no shocker to you that Rex had this sort of power fantasy. Abandoned and insulted throughout his entire life, who wouldn’t wanna take it out on someone lesser? Who wouldn’t wanna be on top for once, figuratively and literally?
Sex with him sometimes felt like a therapy session. He needed this, some sort of catharsis, even if he wouldn’t admit it. And maybe you got something out of martyring yourself for his sake. After all, you were the one to plant this idea in the first place. You’d practically begged him to beat you senseless.
He fell into a speed that couldn’t possibly be maintained for long. He must be getting close. You weren’t so lucky, but that could change, if he’d allow it.
“Rex…” you gasped, “Please- Can I please touch myself…?”
“Hmm…” he slowed down, an impressive show of self-control. “I dunno… Think you’ve earned it?”
You weren’t sure what more you could have possibly done to ‘earn it’, but you played along.
“Please, please-” your voice effortlessly slipped into a whine, dripping with pathetic desperation, “I need it, please. You feel so good, I can’t- I need you to tell me I can- I need you to, please-!”
He watched you squirm under him in sheer desperation, fighting the urge to push against his grip on your wrists. His smile widened, somewhere between sadistic and utterly infatuated.
He must really love you, to let himself indulge so openly; to admit to wanting this, even without words.
“Alright, alright…” he sighed, shaking his head as if he was merely humoring you, “You’ve been a real trooper, go ahead.”
He’d barely released your wrist before your fingers found their mark. Your brain went fuzzy with relief, muscles beginning to relax in spite of all the abuse they have and will continue to take. For the first time this evening, you manage to smile, admiring him in what you could only imagine was a stupidly lovesick gaze. If his reaction meant anything at all, the feeling was mutual, if a little blunted on his end.
But even he couldn’t pretend, not right now. Not when he was so, so close.
It astonished you, how something so innocuous to any regular person could so easily flip a switch in you. Hardcore sadomasochism was nothing, but the slightest sign of genuine love? It didn’t take more than a few seconds for the complimentary pleasure and pain to overwhelm you. That last little touch, some pressure in just the right spot, was enough to do you in. You would’ve been embarrassed by it, if Rex hadn’t been too blissed out to notice. You clenched around him, crying out his name in choked sobs, slipping your pinned wrist down just enough to intertwine your fingers with his.
To your immense delight, he’s just as affection-starved as you; he followed your orgasm only seconds later. He clenched his teeth to prevent anything too humiliating from slipping out, a low groan escaping instead. Even so, you swore you caught the first syllable of your name tumbling from his mouth. Heat spilled inside of you, leaking out around him as he remained buried inside.
It didn’t take long for him to pull out, leaving a mess behind. You were too dazed to worry about cleaning up his console, or even yourself. Exhaustion hit you all at once, the afterglow fading to reveal the true extent of your injuries. You’d be feeling this night for the next week, minimum.
Rex loomed over you for a few moments, eyes closed and features relaxed. The sight was a rare treat. His eyes met yours for only a moment before he averted them again.
Maybe he was more shame-prone than you thought.
“Shoot… I really did a number on you, huh?” he stood back and laughed sheepishly, concealing a deeper worry, “Are you, uh... All good?”
He ran a gloved hand over your thigh, rubbing gentle circles around the dark bruises littering them. A dull ache spread in their wake.
You weakly nodded, wincing as you propped yourself up. You’d never been so sore in your life; you silently noted each scratch, bruise, mark, and streak of blood staining your body.
He sighed, taking a seat next to you on the console, awkwardly rubbing your back in an attempt to make up for all the pain he caused. You appreciated the gesture, unnecessary as it was. He’d never been one for aftercare.
“Look, if I like, went too far or anything, you can tell me,” his hand tensed around your shoulder, “You know I don't wanna actually hurt you, right...?”
You nodded again, leaning into him further. Your silence didn't seem to help his anxieties. He continued, "If it was too much, we don't have to do it any-"
“Rex,” you interrupted, unable to tear your gaze away from your injuries.
He swallowed nervously, concealing his anxiety as best he could. “Yeah?”
You finally turned to face him, expression instantly softening into a loving smile. Your heart skipped at how guilty he looked, reveling in the undeniable evidence of his care for you.
“As soon as these are gone…” you motioned over your body, “I need you to do that again.”