Saturday rape

It's the next day, Saturday morning, I'm asleep in our bed. Feeling like I've got the bends. Nauseous. Confused. He comes upstairs. Shakes me awake. I ask him why he's hard. 

"Because I'm going to rape you".

"Please don't."

Too late. He smears a little lubricant on himself and me and tips me onto my knees. He begins to raggedly fuck me. It's pretty painful. I kneel totally still. He tells me I smell like sex and like fear. Is that any surprise? 

He continues to fuck me and hurt me.  He pulls out and adds more lubricant. Momentarily rubbing himself against my clit and outer lips. A small spark is ignited. When he pushes back in I ask if I can touch. I know this wont stop until I climax. I know he'll carry on and on until he pulls that for me, until he mutilates something beautiful and cleansing into dirty bodily betrayal. 

I just want to come. I want it to be over. I'm hurting and over working myself. Please just make it stop. It takes a while. Relentless thoughtless penetration. It hurts when I come. It's like a painful punch. Unaroused and mechanical. He moans and chuckles and draws in breath and air like he's leeching something from me. 

He pushes me away from him and I collapse in a crumpled heap on the bed. The room spins. My head spins. I curl into him.