[M4F] Tainted Rendevous

I am 18+, and all participants and characters must be 18+

It begins with a phone call. She calls. He never picks up. It is so insulting that he never picks up. Instead, she leaves a voicemail. "Please, Sir! I need it." She whispers. Embarrassed. Ashamed at her need, her desire. Her longing to be controlled and transformed, she knows she will never be the same after, and yet, she still calls. 

Sometimes he does not show up. She never knows why. Sometimes the call goes out, and nothing. When he does show up, though... that is when the fun really begins. Sometimes he arrives at her door and knocks. Sometimes he arrives while she is asleep. Sometimes he snatches her off the street. It is never really the same. Always a surprise. 

The approach foreshadows what happens next. He shows up at her door. Flowers and takeout in hand. They have a lovely dinner and chat and catch up. When he is sweet si when it is the worst, because the entire time her soul is flinching, waiting for the moment he strikes. No matter how sweet, how cordial he is. She knows it will get worse. When he slips into her apartment after the lights go out, at least she knows it will begin right then and there. Regardless of how he comes, the ending is the same. 

She is broken on the floor, bleeding, battered, covered in bruises and cuts, and full of cum. Sometimes he has a new knife he wants to play with. Sometimes he learned new ways to choke or hit. Sometimes he has a new toy he wants to try out. It is never the same. This time he wanted to see what kind of damage he could do with just his hands. Nothing else. This time he stretched her holes with his fist, pulled her flesh until it tore, cut her with his sharpened nails, and held her down while he bored out every single hole she had. Covered her body in bruises, evidence of his love and who she belonged to. 

Those moments are the exciting part, the part that makes her blood boil and her heart leap with desire and need, but it isn't the end. When she is completely done, torn asunder, ready to give up the ghost, he stops. Her barely conscious body lies on the floor, her heart pounding in her chest, her holes filled with his seed. He kisses her on the cheek, with just a whispered "Thank you, my dear," and exits. 

But this is not the end. Still not the end. On the way out, he lays a card down by the door. She knows that card. In the morning she will find it, she will call the number, she will go to the doctor. He will fix everything. Every wound, every bruise, every torn strip of flesh, every bite mark, every broken finger will be repaired. She will have no scars, no lasting damage. She doesn't even know how the doctor accomplishes this. But it does not end there. She always leaves changed. Sometimes her lips are fuller, her breasts bigger, her tummy tucked; it is never the same, but she knows every time she is damaged, every time she is broken, he will have her put back together and made just a little bit better, a bit closer to his image of a perfect doll. 

That's the part that keeps her calling. That is the true horror of this cycle. As much as she loves the sweetness, the excitement, the use. What keeps her calling after all this time is the promise that after one more session, one more alteration, one more change... he won't leave. This time he will take her as his forever. 

So she calls one more time. When she gets up the courage, when she feels ready, or just when she is so desperate that she needs to belong to somebody. "Please, sir, I need it"