The Power to Break

280 words using the inktober prompt build.

I asked him to break me down and then build me up again. Whatever it took.


The once soft carpet stabbed like needles into my knees after so long on them. He’d come in periodically, examine my expression, and declare in such a mild tone: “Almost there.”

Almost there. Whatever it took.

Yesterday, he pried my thighs open so wide the ache of it made me scream. He covered my mouth and fucked me until I begged him to let me cum. When he did, he drew more orgasm from me until I begged him to let me rest. He told me then, as I lay panting on my side that I was almost there.

Or the day before when he took the cane to my ass and thighs, drawing cries from me that were more wounded animal than woman, he whispered those words in my ear.

Almost there.

I quavered as I knelt there on the rug, waiting. This was harder than anything else for me. I could take a beating or a fucking, but to wait? It wore me down faster than anything else.

I heard his light tread on the carpet, the light quivering turning to full shakes as he neared. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I waited as he circled me, convinced I was ready.

“Almost there.”

Something in me break, like a dam cracking. Sudden tears sprung to my eyes and before I could stop it a sob left my lips. There was no stemming the flow and I was unable to stay in position as I slid to all fours.

“Now you’re there.” He pulled me into his arms to comfort me. “Now I can build you back up.”

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