Allison sat down at the dingy bar and ordered a beer. It had been a long week and she was tired. She would have rather just gotten drunk in her shitty apartment, but she was out of beer and didn’t feel like riding a bus or getting an Uber to pick up something. So, she had instead just thrown on a dirty blouse and some jean shorts and headed over to the nearby dive. It was too loud for her liking, so she took her beer to the back of the bar to nurse her warmup drink in privacy. That didn’t last however, it never did.

The first one was the normal guy hoping for a quick lay, and her death glare spooked him off. She was on her second beer when the next guy bothered her, plopping down next to her. She looked up at the older man, heavyset but muscled underneath, hard looking. He vaguely reminded her of her dad for some reason.

“Listen, I’m not in the mood...,” she said, before he interrupted her.

“I don’t remember asking you to fucking talk,” he said, making her jerk up in surprise. He eyed her hard and whatever retort she had died in her throat. He gave her his own glare. One that spoke of barely contained violence. “That’s right you dumb fucking cunt,” he said, almost bringing tears to her eyes. Not because the words hurt her, but because she was frozen as something primal screamed inside her. He grabbed her knee and spread them apart, leaning in towards her face. She just shook silently, trembling. He then looked down at her thighs that he had just spread.

“Nice scars. Couple dozen I see. Why’d you hate yourself?” he asked. When she didn’t say anything, he grabbed her skin of her inner thigh and mashed hard, making her whimper. “Why?”

She didn’t know why this was happening, how men like him always found her, when she was tired, low, depressed. She tried to speak, but started stuttering, which made her eyes water. Hundreds of hours of therapy, and in seconds, her stutter was back.

“I ... I ... I ... p ... p ... Please,” she barely muttered before he started mashing her thigh again. “Ahnnn ... m ... m ... m ... my D ... d ... Dad” she said, shaking. She had gone pale, which only made the man in front of her smile.

“Is that all your scars cunt?” he asked, holding her chin, looking into her eyes. “Did you do them all?”

All she could do was whimper, nodding no to both. He stroked her hair and smelled piss. Her shorts were turning a dark blue as she wet herself, just like she had hundreds of times growing up. He stood her up and took her back towards the alley. She walked along meekly, reeking of piss and failure.

“You’re getting some new ones tonight cunt,” is all he said as they stepped out back. He shoved her hard against the dumpster, then tore down her shorts. She was wet not only from the piss, that familiar slickness he always found on the broken ones. He kicked her legs apart, unzipped, and thrust in her as hard as he could. Her soft cry told him he’d hit home, and he started slam fucking her hard against the trash dumpster, holding her face down. Before long, he shuddered, filling her cunt. He turned her around, cum running down her legs, and kissed her hard. She leaned into it, sobbing with need.