this is normally the sort of thing I might put on Dark Fantasies…but yanno…sometimes the dragons have a mind of their own…~nilla~

She shuddered as she heard footfalls coming down the hallway, the creak of the door opening. She wished she’d followed through on her first desire, that of a nice warm bubble bath, candles flickering, and an early bed. Damn her friends for suggesting a night out was the best way to get over her annoyance with Andy.

Damn her for her half-drunk boast that she could beat anyone in the bar at darts.

As the footsteps came closer, she closed her eyes and prayed.


“Andy is an asshole for breaking up with you.”

“I told you. He didn’t break up with me. He didn’t call, text or anything for 4 days. I am thinking of breaking up with him.”

They didn’t know, of course, that he was a Dom, that she was his slut. They didn’t know, nor would she tell them, that they had talked about this. Or rather, that he had talked, and she knelt at his feet and listened. He had told her that she was expected to deal with his absence, to be a good girl. They didn’t know that he was not a fan of pouting, or carrying on.

And definitely  not a fan of her anger or outrage.

She’d known he was going to be away on business. She’d known that he would mostly be out of contact. But she hadn’t known how hard it would be for him to be gone for so long, without a single, needed, craved, word.

“Neglectful bastard!”

Her two friends had shown up at her door unexpectedly. The tub was empty, the candles unlit. There went her quiet evening. She wanted to sit and sulk, pout and cry. They all but dragged her into her room, dug through her closet, tossing clothing with abandon. Outfits were examined, discussed, discarded. Finally pleased with the low-cut red tank with sparkly shoulder straps and the black skinny jeans, they finished the outfit off with a black silk shirt, buttoned just enough to show off the cleavage and red tank beneath.

“Pretty panties and a push-up bra to show off your assets–and who knows, you could score.”

“Revenge sex is the best,” nodded Vera.

“You two…I just want a bath and a good cry…”

“No crying over crummy boyfriends. Nope, trust me, you need out time. You want to be strutting your stuff and showing the world that you don’t give a fuck about that jerk.”

She sighed. She knew there was perhaps a nugget of truth in those words. And gods above, Lorrie had been through more boyfriends in a year than she had in a decade. Maybe there was something to what she said.

Already Lorrie was digging through her lingerie drawer, picking out black lace undies and matching bra. She tossed them at Maggie.

“Here, this’ll give you HUMUNGEOUS cleavage. Your girls will look fantastic bulging out of that.” She pointed to the red tank top. “You have the best tits, Mags. I’d be fucking jealous if I didn’t have the better ass.”

Maggie had to laugh. Lorrie was outrageous, sexy, sensual, the prototypical wild child. Knowing it was futile to argue with her, she began dressing, even as Vera sorted through her shoes.

“I don’t know if I want to kill you or kiss you,” she said, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked hot. Amazing what these two could do with her limited wardrobe. And Vera had done something sexy with her eyes, something smokey and languid, while Lorries cherry red lipstick gleamed on her mouth.

“I look like …”

“Stunning. Just short of whorish, if I do say so myself.” Lorrie fluffed her own hair, then grabbed her friends by the arm, steering them out the door.

“Let’s not waste all this gorgeous girl glam on your wallpaper–time to go out and get some honey.”


The bar was just that close to being a dive, a setting that perfectly matched their slut-like dressing. The beer was cold, the lighting, dim. They’d certainly been hit on multiple times; both of her friends grinding it out on the dance floor. A shadow fell across the table.

“Wanna dance?”

Her feet were killing her already. Having no desire to further punish them, she shook her head.


“Well,” she half drawled, feeling a curious itch. “I don’t know. I’m the best damned darts player you’ll  ever see. I’d hate to hurt your manly pride by giving you a bowl of whoop-ass.”

She had no idea where the sudden bravado came from, but looking at the bottles on the table, she had a suspicion that they were hops-borne.

“That so? Well, how’s about you prove that?”

She pushed away from the table, rising. Whoa. She was even more drunker now that she’d attempted to stand up. Was drunker even a word, she wondered? Blinking, she held onto the edge of the table, then smiled up at the guy who was gonna get trounced.

And trounce she did. Game one, over and done, won handily. He took it with good grace, buying her another beer. Challenged, she played another. And another. The faces blurred, but the guys surrounding her were cheering her on. They were surrounding her, and if she thought she occasionally felt a hand caressing her ass, she shrugged it off. She was in the zone.

A voice from behind her issued the bet.

“You win, you get to pick one of us to take home with you tonight. I win, I get to do whatever I want with you.”

In her inebriation, and growing hornyness, it sounded like a win-win to her.

“yup…you’re on.”

She turned, but her competitor’s face was a blur. He thrust out his hand, shook hers.

“Game on!”

Taking up her first dart she made a throw. This dart felt heavier than her first few had. Too much beer, she mused, as the dart nosed down and barely hit the board.

He threw, scoring in a double.

She threw, trying hard to figure out which of the two boards she was now seeing was the right one. Her throw was wide to the left, and she moaned.

He scored a bullseye.

When she felt her hand taken in his for the final handshake, she knew she’d done the inconceivable.

She’d lost.

“A pretty bracelet for the lady.”

He closed the cool metal around her wrist, making the cuff tight.

His words were tinged with dark meaning. She was tugged down the hallway to the bathrooms. They passed the woman’s room, and though she balked when they paused in front of the men’s room, he easily pulled her inside.

“You get to be the toilet mascot. Pretty slut.”

Did she know that voice? It was familiar, she thought. But there was a hum in her head. And a tingle in her pussy. Maybe he would fuck her. That’d teach her Sir, the bastard.  Ignoring her, going away like that. She had needs, she did.  Her nipples ached they were so hard. She was so fucking buzzed. Not enough drunk to not know she was in the boy’s room. Enough to not struggle when he pushed her into the handicapped bath stall and secured the other end of the handcuff on the security railing. She stared at it curiously, tugged it, turned a quizzical face to him. Wished she could see him, and  not with the blur and whirl of her besotted state. He was tall. Maybe handsome? She saw teeth, figured he was smiling. The sound of the cuff on the metal railing made her look down at her hand.


He pushed her to her knees, squatting, he tugged her tank top down, then pulled her tits free.


“You’re a fucking mess. Open your mouth.”

His cock filled her hot, drunk mouth. When she would have pulled away, his hands grabbed her hair, holding her steady. Gagging as his cock slid down the back of her throat, she tugged her wrist. Secured. Stuck. Her free hand flopped around, but he grabbed it, holding it as he took her mouth. Pulling away, he squirted his cum onto her face, her tits.

“Now, about that other hand,” he said, and pulling his belt from his pants, secured her hand to the other bar.

He walked out.


Her throat hurt. There was vomit now, joining the cum and piss on her clothing. Some really big dicks had slid between her lips, large enough to make her not only gag, but hurl. They’d laughed, even as they had dodged out of the way of her sputum. Several had come in and just pissed on her. She was cold, half-sober, and wanted to go home.

Footsteps were the harbingers of another round. She prayed he wouldn’t come down to this stall. There was a pause. Then the splash of piss into the urinal. Thank goodness. Her throat hurt. She needed to go  home.


An hour later, more blow jobs had made her throat raspy and raw, she cried softly. There was a split on the corner of her lips where two fucktards had tried to shove both their cocks into her mouth at the same time. She was cold. She stank of cum and piss and puke. She felt the drying crust on her skin, the itching making her wild.

She shuddered as she heard footfalls coming down the hallway, the creak of the door opening. She wished she’d followed through on her first desire, that of a nice warm bubble bath, candles flickering, followed by an early bed. Damn her friends for suggesting a night out was the best way to get over her pique with Andy.

Damn her for her half-drunk boast that she could beat anyone in the bar at darts.

As the footsteps came closer, she closed her eyes and prayed.

The door opened slowly.

He stood there, staring at her, a curious smile on his face.

“Little slut had enough? You’re a fucking mess. Let’s get you home now. I sent your friends on their way.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

She sniffed back tears as Andy unfastened her wrists, and taking a hunk of hair, tugged her to her feet.

“There’s a shower in the back. You’re not stinking up my car with your pissy self. Of course, you have to pay Fred for the use of it, but what’s another cock in your mouth, right?”

A long glide of a dark tear slid down her cheek. Mascara and liner had streaked her cheeks with black. His finger smeared one line, wrote across her soiled tits.

“Andy’s slut.”

12 thoughts on “Loser

    • Bummer for the confusion.

      Well, in my head they weren’t. But that’s the good thing about stories….. you have to draw your own conclusions sometimes.


    • they went on a rampage! but better to have them out there (gestures to the sky) rather than cooped up in here (points to head)!


  1. Yuck…this was disgusting. Disturbing me in a way, that called more on my anger and protectiveness than my sluttiness. I’m so glad it’s just a fantasy – in real life it would have been assault and abuse!

    • well…not everyone’s kink looks the same way…one persons abuse is another’s deepest slavery. As I said, this is the sort of thing that I would normally put on Dark Fantasies, but once in a while the Dragons like to …air out. 🙂


    • LadyP, I’ve been thinking about your comment all day…and I wanted to add to my previous response. As a writer, I appreciate knowing that my words made you feel *something* …whether deep pleasure, or disgust, or stirring of your protectiveness….my words drew that emotional reaction. While it wasn’t your favorite tale of mine, I’m really glad that you were comfortable enough to share that you had such a visceral response–your response moved me.

      Thank you, dear Lady.


      • Yes, I fully agree. What can look like abuse to one person, may be a strong fetish for another.
        I was just about to comment on your first comment, when I saw the next:
        That’s right! It testifies to your writing skills, that you can paint the picture so accurately with your words, that I feel disgusted, abused, exploited …
        …I was a little confused about the characters as well, but so was she – being awfully drunk. I saw that as part of the story. I love your writing, even when it turns me off.
        And I read them all, even when I don’t comment.
        Thank you, Nilla.

      • Thanks Lady P…and you *got* it…those disjointed parts were because of her growing impairment. And thank you for understanding my two comment replies to you. 🙂 I deeply value this kind of exchange, where you feel comfortable enough to say that something is unpleasant to you, and know it doesn’t offend me–it informs me.


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