Rid of Me: A Love Story with a Body Count

Chapter 1

He was fucking me, but not like a lover. Hell, not even like a whore. But like a thing. A thing to be used to satisfy his lustful desires. His back arched as I ground on his cock. His body flinched as I dragged my nails down his chest. I felt his dick growing inside of me as I tried to milk him dry, but he wasn't ready to come. Good, I thought. I wasn't done. I was on top. I was in control. He was lucky to have me. Hell, he only brought me two drinks before I decided to take him home. Kurt or Kevin or Kenny or whatever his fucking name was. He should be thanking God for the honor of being between my legs. My pussy engulfed his cock as I bounced my ass up and down. The mattress squeaked like a pogo stick as the headboard attacked the wall like a wrecking ball. I hoped we didn't wake up the neighbors. The walls were thin in this apartment complex. Then, he flipped the script.

He slapped his hand on my ass, leaving his large handprint on my fair skin. He lifted me off and put me on the stomach. He slapped my ass again as he ordered me to get on all fours. He was lucky that I like it a little rough, just a little.

"Yes, Daddy," I answered. If he wanted to own this pussy, he had to work for it. He spread my cheeks as he plowed his cock inside. Both of his hands gripped the side of my ass. Then, he grabbed a fist full of my long fiery red hair and he pulled it like he was breaking in a wild bronco. I let out a scream in agony, but his dick was still giving me pleasure. He was still playing in the safe zone. His other hand was still clinging to the side of my ass until he decided to smack it again. It stung as the pain raced up my spine.

"Who pussy is this?" He asked as he pounded me harder and harder.

I answered with moans and grunts. I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. He hasn't earned it. This was still my pussy, not his. He might be renting it, but he didn't own it. Relieved that he didn't ask me to scream his name, because I didn't know it. Was it Keith or Corey? Damn, I really got to pay attention.

He pulled my hair again and smack my ass so hard that it echoed in the bedroom. "Take it like a slut, you fucking cunt."

"That's it," I yelled. His ass was getting evicted. He crossed the motherfucking line. I pushed him off of me and his ass flew off the bed and landed on the floor. I reached into my nightstand. He got on his feet and walked towards me. I quickly turned around and without a second thought, stabbed him in the stomach with a long ass knife. He looked at his wound as the blood poured out, staining the hardwood floors. I pushed my hand on his forehead to expose his neck. I brought the blade up to his neck and quickly raced it crossed his throat. Some of his blood splatter onto my face and chest. Great, I smelt like sex and blood.

He gasped for air as his hands went to his neck to stop the bleeding. But it was pointless. His blood continued to escape his body. He tried to reach for me. My smirk held in my laughter as he fell to the floor. He wasn't my first victim and he wasn't going to be my last either. He was going to die regardless if he called me a cunt or not. His stupid mouth just hastened his demise.

"This is going to be a bitch to clean up." But I was no stranger in clean up messes. My dad taught me at a young age how to clean. Bitch, clean your room. Bitch, clean the kitchen. These were the orders he would always bark at me. Hell, for years I thought my name was bitch. I knew why my mother left us. I wasn't the only one he called bitch, but when he called her bitch, it was followed by a slap or a punch. I didn't blame her for leaving. I wished she would have taken me with her.

But she left me with him. That created some serious daddy issues. He tried to find me a new mommy or mommy replacement, but they never worked out. They left after they realized how much an asshole he was. When I turned sixteen, he stopped looking for mommy replacement, because he found one, me. He always liked my bright red hair, light green eyes, and my freckles. Freckles. At first, I hated them, they covered my face and most of my body. Now, I found them cute and a little sexy. But, those features weren't the only reason I was a perfect replacement for mommy. It was my body. I'm was short barely reaching five foot four, but the rest of me developed quite nicely. My tits were full and firm. Father time would take over them one day, but I was young. He was no match. My ass was my biggest assets. Okay, that was corny. What I meant was it wasn't saggy, droopy or spread like butter over morning toast. It was tight and tone. It jiggled a little when I walked, but in a good way.