Writer's Block Kicked to the Curb

...apparently.

“You need my cock.”
I whimpered in response.
His free hand slapped my ass. I went up on my toes, my legs shaking.
“I need your cock.” I whispered.
“Louder.”
“I need your cock.” I said, my voice not quite normal volume, but a tone of desperation made it echo loudly in my ears.
His fingers became more insistent, and I heard his belt buckle clang against his zipper.
“This cock?” he asked softly, pressing his hardness up against my ass.
“Yes.”
“You need this cock? My cock? Did you need it this morning?”
“Yes.” I stopped resisting, and pressed backwards against him.
“But you didn’t ask for it. You waited until I left and then played with your cunt. Out of the kindness of your heart?” he sneered.
It sounded ridiculous, saying it that way. In essence, it was true. But it sounded sarcastic and almost deceitful.
“Yes.” I said miserably.
With one final push, he had two fingers buried in my ass. “And you love this, too, don’t you? Love being treated this way. Love being my whore…”
“I am your whore.” I said softly, pressing back against him and giving up all my fight.