I went to use the toilet, left him in the kitchen with the roommate - an element of safety is always nice. I hear the masculine voices engaged in conversation from behind the door in the hall bathroom. I stare at my reflection; my green eyes staring back, the pink flush on the cheeks of my fair face and my lovely dark curly hair. I reach up and pull a curl down and watch it spring back. I then took a small lock in the back and held it up, soft between the fingers of my left hand, grabbed the sheers from the counter with my right and cut it halfway down - the shorter hair falling back to my scalp, I let the curls fall from my fingers, choking back a sob, you love my hair and I am sorry. “What am I doing?” I don’t answer myself, I shut off the light and head for the living room, it’s time to relax.
Forward. It’s twenty minutes in, he takes a phone call on the front porch - he’s out there, I can hear him, if I were rude I’d go to my bedroom and listen in from my open window, I can’t be bothered, I don’t give a shit who he’s talking to. After fifteen minutes, I open the door - he looks up at me, I smile. “Do you need to go, it’s cool if you need to go.” He puts his hand over the receiver. “I’ll just be a minute.” I close the front door behind me and stand in the living room. Mindlessly watching whatever movie is on - I forget, what was it Cradle to the Grave, Jet Li and whatshisface. I zone, not thinking of anything, slide back down onto the sofa, my legs akimbo, my black hoodie up around my face. I’m headed for the raw, I’m not there yet - but I can see it before me, waiting; its legs wide apart, idly fingering and stroking itself. I let out a sigh, he hears it when he walks back in.
Forward. He’s next to me now on the couch, holding my hand. Looking at my mitts. “You have small hands.” he says, turning my right one over, palm down and then palm up again, holding it in his own. I look down, bemused. “They’re not small.” I smirk, “nothing about me is small or delicate or brittle or breakable.” He leans forward and kisses the palm of my hand, his lips are warm and moist, I close my eyes and not for the first or for the last time - I want it to be you. Why can’t I live in the now? Why can’t I just experience this? I lose myself from the here, the now - I’m with you. Then he speaks and it’s not your voice I hear, the spell is broken again. He still has my hand. “They are small. You have small hands.” I withdraw my hand from his grasp and look at it, like I’m looking at it for the first time and oddly enough - it looks smaller than I had thought. My fingers seem stubby, but the palms of my hands still look large to me. “They’re large, for a lady’s hands, they are large.”
Forward. He’s in front of me now - when did he stand up? He takes my hands in his, I’m fluid now - liquid - flowing - I just go with it. He lifts them up, not trying to make me stand, just holding them out in front of me to see. “They’re small, get over it.” he brings them up over my head then and pins them to the couch with one of his own. “And now, you’re pinned.” he leans forward, pressing his knee into my crotch and kisses me softly on the lips. I let him. I can’t recall the last time I’ve been kissed like this. He pulls my lower lip into his mouth and sucks, very lightly, opening my mouth with his own. When my mouth opened, when I let it happen, it just happened… I kiss him back. I had forgotten what kissing someone who was good at kissing felt like. My eyes close, his lips soft, moist, his tongue warm - just enough spit to make it pleasant. I was so wrapped up in the kiss, I didn’t notice my hands were starting to tingle. I went to take a breath, a break to pull apart from him, as soon as I did - his lips moved from my own, to my neck and ears, sucking, biting, licking, kissing. Turning from gentle to very eager and hungry. (he’s going to eat me alive) his knee pushes into my crotch, the pressure is offensive, I can feel my cunt soaking my panties, my face flushes with indignant rage. (what am I doing!?) “I need to...” his mouth is on mine again, sucking my lips, my tongue, biting, just to hear me squeak. I break away from his mouth again with a gasp for air, he’s back to my neck - I think of all the marks I’m going to have there. “I need to…” his hand is at my throat, he’s choking me. My eyes are still closed, I gasp for air - it sounds tight and painful. He kisses my now open mouth, his tongue probing and licking the inside of my mouth - I know how that feels, the insides of lips of cheeks, like soft moist satin. He releases his grip and I shove him off of me. “I need to stand up.” I get off the couch, my knees quiver a bit. “Don’t run away.” he says to my back, his hands slip under my shirt, around my bare waist. “You’re so soft.” he lets his fingers glide over the skin above my hips, caressing and tickling.
Forward. We’re in my bedroom now. I’ve lit a candle, he’s lying on my bed looking up at me, I take off my bra - but leave my shirt on. He’s up again, standing behind me, his hands up my shirt, cupping my tits, then down my sides, he’s touching me everywhere. Every piece of flesh that sees the light, he touches and kisses and bites. All this stimulation, it’s like a bright spot on the mind - a place rubbed shiny. I’m forgetting to breathe, so that when I do breathe I’m light headed. I’m out of it, out of practice, I can’t even be aggressive. B. E. aggressive. He picks up on this, submissiveness and goes with it.
Forward. Always forward. I’m on the bed with him, my feet propped up on the rail - my shirt is gone, he’s doing a number on my tits, his hands have my hands pinned above my head - no problem. He gets this huge thrill of allowing me to move my arms up to a certain point and just slamming them back down on the mattress as if to say, you don’t matter. I’m starting to feel a little panicked, however I feel like I’ve an obligation at this point. Then he does it, I feel the rather savage bite and subsequent suck on the flesh of my left breast, oh fuck it hurts and I know I’ll have a bruise days from now - he, no doubt, wants me to think of him when I see it. I gasp from the intensity of the pain, my gut reaction to touch the place he harmed, but I can’t, I’m still pinned down and helpless - I sob instead. He hears it like a mating call and is back to my lips, kissing me again - his hands move away from mine, cupping my breast, then moving down my stomach to the button on my jeans, I let out a moan, my legs are already spread wide like a wanton whore. He flicks the button with his thumb - that easy and the zipper slowly opens, gently, building anticipation. He goes down the front, on top of my panties at first and laughs when he gets to my cunt.
“What a good little whore, fuck you’re so wet.” he shoves his tongue back in my mouth, pulls my panties aside and flicks my clit with the tip of his finger. “oh yes…” he flicks and rubs and I pant like a bitch in heat, my hips vibrating in time with his fingers. Except I can’t come - this isn’t my body betraying my mind, this is my mind betraying my body. I want to enjoy this, but I can’t. He’s warm and real and someone I can cling to for the time being - but I don’t want to, well, I want to, but I don’t. I’ve gotten this far in and now it feels wrong, it feels all wrong. But I’ve reached this point in the situation that I feel like I can’t stop him because he’s here and it’s not terrible, it’s just not what I want, I don’t want to come with him, I don’t want to come for him, I just want it to be over, I want this weird fascination he has with me to run its course already and to be done with it, to be done with him.
“I can’t come. But I want you to. Fuck me.”
“Oh, I think you can - we’re going to try.” he smiles, kisses me. “What’s your safe word?”
“I don’t have one.” I close my eyes.
“Think of one, tell me what it is.” his lips against my ear, kissing, nibbling, sucking.
“Pineapple.” I breathe. “Just fuck me.”
“You haven’t earned it yet.” his fingers still tirelessly rubbing my clit, moving back and forth almost as fast as a vibrator.
“Finger fuck me then.” I regret it as soon as I say it. He slides I don’t know how many of his long fingers inside of me, filling me, stroking me, invading me. He pulls his fingers out and starts yanking at my jeans, one, two, three tugs and they’re off. Then my panties are all but ripped from me. It wasn't until he got me completely bare and open that he began tearing me down in earnest. I resist as soon as I realize what is happening, but there's only so much resistance in a fractured mind. He puts me in a position of helplessness; he’s between my legs - a dick’s length away, so that my legs are propped up by his knees, he braces one of his arms down across my pelvis, his elbow jams into my right thigh and his fist wedges into my left thigh, I am completely unable to close my legs - his forearm applies this weird pressure to my pelvic mound. With his other hand, he finger fucks me and rubs my clit. Endless. Tireless. Unrelenting. He just keeps going, it doesn’t matter how I whine or beg or cry. He just keeps rubbing me, stimulating, trying to wring just one orgasm out of me.
“God.. you are a stubborn cunt.”
“Fuck you!” I spit. He slaps me hard across the face, his other hand still between my legs, squeezes and pinches. Every little bit of my flesh, he has either pinched or bit or sucked on, prodded me in some way. Marking me. The whole act starts getting to me. Who does he think he is? “No!” I squeak and twist. “Stop. Just stop. Just fuck me. I can’t come. Just fuck me.” at that he just leans forward, his cock pushing into me. “You mean this? You want this in you.” he fucks me hard, my tits bouncing up and down, he grabs my left nipple between his teeth and I cry out - it’s all too much, I can’t contain it. I feel a few tears roll down my cheek, I don’t want to wipe them away, I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that they’re there at all. He sees them anyway and slaps me again and he pulls out, starts to rub my clit again, bracing me open once more, still wanting me to come. This time I give up and sob at him. “I can’t, please stop, just fuck me.”
He growls at me and grabs my hips, turning me over, ass up - I have a moment of panic considering he might fuck me in the ass and I would take exception to it and use the safe word that I’ve already forgotten. He shoves inside me, unceremoniously, I feel his cock hit my cervix and I scream. He thinks it a scream of pleasure, he grabs me by the back of my hair and just slams into me over and over and over. I think to myself, at this rate he can’t last that long. I hate when I’m wrong. He’s fucking me so hard, my neck is creaking, my hair feels like it’s coming out by the roots, my mouth open, drool hanging off my bottom lip… a single… continuous tone escaping me… not quite a scream, not quite a moan, not quite anything but grief. My body just fails me, my knees give out and I sink slowly into the bed, he’s still inside me, fucking me, his hand at the back of my head, pushing my face into the pillow. “Oh, that's good.” he croons. He’s got me braced open from the back now, fucking me hard, his free hand pushing down my lower back, forcing my pelvis to tilt.
When I think I can’t take it anymore, he quivers and comes.
Forward. He’s gone. My room smells like sex. My body feels like it’s been pulverized, put through a grinder. I’ve got bruises on top of bruises. I’ve got bruises where I’ve never had bruises before. I hurt in places that just don’t have occasion to hurt. I have been worked. fucking. over.
