She didn’t know how long she had been in the hotel room, what day it was, or the hour. None of it. The only thing that she knew was every part of her body was in pain. She knew thirst and hunger as well. The only diet she’d had during her time here had been a steady one of piss and cum. Mostly cum. Her arms were numb, tied up above the booth, barely able to tell flashes were going off through the blindfold they had put on her. Her legs were splayed. She didn’t try to keep her legs together anymore, they hit her for that. Instead, her raw sex gaped, dripping white. Ten men? Twenty? She didn’t know. Nothing mattered anymore. She was spent, ruined. All because she had cheated on her fiance.

She hadn’t planned to do it. It had been on impulse, buzzing after partying with friends celebrating her promotion. An older man had danced with her and she had felt electric. He was bold, touching her body, his eyes daring her to stop him. She hadn’t. He had groped her on the dance floor, pushed her to a corner, fingered her in the open, her soaked panties shoved to the side. Then, for the first time ever, she had let a stranger fuck her bareback in an alley, pumping her against a dirty trash bin as she came on his cock. He had left her a fifty as she shook there, the realization of what she had done hitting her as cum dripped down her legs.

The guilt had gotten to her over the next week. She didn’t want to admit to her soon-to-be husband what she had done. But the stain on her dress where the man had wiped his cock on her afterward, and the stain on the seat of her car where his cum had dripped haunted her. She finally broke down in tears and admitted the entire affair, including the shameful bit about the money he had paid her, thinking her a common whore. Her fiance had said nothing for the longest time, staring down as she cried, telling him to yell at her, hate her, just say something. He never did. He slapped her once so hard she fell to the floor and he walked out as she clung to his leg, begging him to stay. He pulled away and left her, crying alone.

That had been two weeks ago. No communication other than the wedding was called off, and everything was done and finished. It was over. She had gotten drunk, hating that she had thrown it all away, but the worst thing had been the lack of closure. Not once had he talked to her, not once had he spoken a single word. Everything came from friends and former friends, she hadn’t even seen him since that night. And so, when he had texted her to ask her to come to a hotel, she had eagerly. Even if he was just going to yell at her, tell her he never wanted to see her again, it would be worth it for the closure. She wouldn’t even complain if he slapped her again. She had deserved it. And if there was a chance for forgiveness, she was willing to do whatever it took to make it work. He deserved that if he gave her a chance.

She had put on his favorite dress and his favorite lipstick, a dark shade of red, and headed out. She arrived at the hotel, hoping he wasn’t living there. It was run down and pretty out of the way, but she figured he didn’t want friends or family finding out before he told them if he was going to take her back. She straightened her dress, heading to the room he had texted to her. She started to knock, but he opened the door before she could and waved her inside. She frowned at his intense glare, bubbling with anger. Cold. She figured he was going to leave her for good once he vented. She understood.

As soon as he shut the door, she started to speak and apologize once again but a hard slap stunned her. She looked down at the floor, whimpering that she was sorry when he slapped her again. She was scared, but she’d betrayed him. She looked up, really saw into his eyes, and finally felt afraid.

She never saw the punch, just a blur as he hit her right in the mouth, sending her back to the wall. She had never been punched before by anyone and the first thing she thought was that it strangely didn’t hurt. She was confused, she couldn’t focus, but the slaps had hurt more. And then, her head started pounding. The pain in her split lip burned, and the dull ache of impact coursed through her. The slaps had surged her with adrenaline. The punch was the opposite, she already felt tired and weak, sapped. She whimpered at his feet, apologizing. He didn’t accept it.