by Belle Aurora
His thumb rubs the puckered flesh more firmly. Leaning over me, he spits right on my back entrance, and I tense as the wet warmth slowly slides down the parted flesh. My mind yells at me as he pushes the tip of his thumb into my back entrance half an inch. He doesn’t make a move to push it deeper. And I know what this is. I get it.
This is Twitch asserting his role. This is Twitch showing me who’s boss.
And even though the thought of his length up my wrong-end makes me cringe, I like the dominance he’s displaying. He’s turning me on so much that I all but forget where his thumb is. He continues his slow, torturous assault on me and I fell myself getting wetter. The thought of his length penetrating me there makes me cringe but his dominance is turning me on so much that I almost want it. This is just how I pictured it in my head.
Raw and gritty, and dirty as hell.
And it’s not often you see your fantasies come to life. This fantasy though? It’s scaring the shit out of me. I wonder if I’ll wake up soon to find this was all a dream.
Caught up in concentrating on my breathing, I haven’t even noticed Twitch move until he places the tip of his cock at my entrance. The warmth of him makes me gasp lightly.
Oh, I want this so badly!
Removing his thumb from me, I breathe a sigh of relief, and leaning forward, he whispers into my ear, “Good girl.”
Gripping himself, he works the head of his cock up and down my folds, transferring my arousal onto him. He doesn’t say a single word when he slowly pushes into me. I feel the balls of his piercing slide past my entrance, and it adds a sensation I’ve never felt before. I’m subconsciously aware of it being there, but not in a bad or distracting way. He doesn’t have to say a damn thing. He pushes further into me and I gasp lightly. The feel of him – the thickness of him – makes me feel fuller than I’ve ever been. I feel as if a lost part of me has returned.
A dangerous thought. One I don’t actually want to think about.
My eyes close, and I let out a soft sigh as his hand comes around my waist once more, and he pulls me back gently as he pushes forward. It’s a strange feeling! The balls of his piercing hit something deep inside of me, and my entire body tingles. Toes curling, I grip the sheets tightly and moan out loud. I yelp when Twitch nips my back and answers my unasked question, “That’s your G-Spot, babe.”
I think it takes a selfless man to pierce his cock just for the pleasure of women.
Fully seated on him, he waits a moment for me to adjust before he orders quietly, “Put your hands behind your back, Lexi.”
Having my G-Spot tickled, I don’t even bat a lash at his request. My hands meet at the small of my back and he holds them both in one of his humungous ones. He pushes a little too deep into me and a twinge of pain hits my belly, but quickly enough, he pulls back and begins to rock into me.
Oh. My. God.
Mouth parted, my breathing deepens even further and my eyes roll back into my head.
He’s good. Really good.
Angling himself to the left side of my body, with every short thrust, he hits that same spot over and over. And suddenly, my body burns up, my core begins to contract, and I push back into him.
Then he’s gone.
What the fuck in fucking hell? What the fuck, Twitch? Goddamn it!
Face framed in an expression of disbelief, I turn back to find Twitch sitting back on his heels, lips pursed in disappointment. I ask heatedly, “What the fuck? Why’d you stop?”
Leaning forward, so close, his nose almost touches mine; his eyes pierce mine when he explains, “You are not in charge here. You don’t get to come without me allowing it. I am responsible for your orgasm, not you. You get me, girl?”
I don’t really understand, but I want this stupid conversation to end so he can stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey again. I nod, and he asks, “Then why are you pushing back on me and trying to take control?”
Feeling a bit like a child being told off, I pout and dip my chin. “I didn’t realize I was. This is new to me, Twitch. I’m used to participating. Sorry.”
In my peripheral vision, I see his hands move to his hips. He breathes deep and replies on an exhale, “You’re seriously fucking up my mojo right now.”
And I can’t help it.
I burst into laughter.
This is the strangest sexual encounter I’ve ever had. In my life. Still chuckling, I look up at Twitch.
He doesn’t look amused.
Rolling my eyes, I mimic his position and sit back on my heels. “Oh, come on. You don’t think this is even a little funny? I’m in bed with a stranger who won’t let me participate in sex…” Flipping the end of the belt with the tips of my fingers, I add, “I have a belt around my neck, and the guy I’m fucking tells me I’m making him lose his mojo! But no, not any guy. A guy who stalks me on a daily basis! A guy who saved me from being raped! This whole situation…it’s fucking ridiculous!” I exclaim on a chuckle.
When Twitch’s face doesn’t show any signs of him finding my story amusing, my chuckles die a slow death. I sit back on my heels and watch him through weary eyes.
Then something miraculous happens.
His lip curves up in what is the most gorgeous, gleaming smile I’ve ever seen. And it’s contagious. Smiling back at him, he scratches his chin and admits confusedly, “This was not what I had planned for tonight.”
Suddenly nervous, I admit back, “Me either.”
When his face turns hard and calculating, I risk my pride. Which is a surprisingly hard thing to do.
Flipping back over, I lie on my stomach with my ass in the air and my hands at the small of my back. “Tonight, my body is yours to do with as you please. Show me how to submit. I want to submit to you.”
It takes ten slow seconds before I feel the bed move, but my still heart beats again. Not wasting time with foreplay this time around, his arm returns to hold me up under my stomach; he places the tip of his cock at my slick entrance and pushes all the way in.
I’m full of steel heat. And it’s bliss.
The arm around me wraps me tight and he begins to thrust into me. I’m so careful this time around not to make a sound or do something stupid, like come before I’m told. I need what he’s offering, as fucked up as it is. I need to reclaim the sexuality I was so close to losing tonight.
He pumps into me, stroking me deeply, and I moan low in my throat. Closing my eyes, I feel his chest press down to my back. He rocks into me, and the connection – the closeness – feels almost intimate. His hand cups my chin and he squeezes lightly, turning my face as far to the side as it will go. My core begins to pulse and my eyes shoot open. He watches me through smiling eyes and a hard face. My eyes plead with him. I need to come. Now!
Looking deep into my eyes, he asks, “You gonna come on my cock, Lexi?”
I nod my head rapidly. Tingles line my spine, and white spots blur my vision. Just as my eyes close in bliss, Twitch whispers, “Come for me.”
Gripping his cock tight, I pulse around him and moan, “Yes. God, yes.”
His thrusts pick up and become harder, almost violent. Lifting himself off my back, he grips my hips tightly and pulls me back into his thrusts. In a sex coma, all I can do is moan and sigh as he does what he does. It’s feels amazing. He suddenly grates out, “You on the pill?”
My eyes snap open. My sex coma gone.
Shit on a stick! We aren’t using protection! What the hell is wrong with me?
I blame Twitch for my lack of thinkage. He has me all wound up, and now I have the dumb.
A slap to my ass brings me back to reality. “Yes. I’m on the pill.”
Not a second after I respond to him, his fingers tighten around my hips, and he thrusts so hard, so deeply into me, that it feels like I’m bouncing on a trampoline. His grip tightens on me. He impales himself into me one last time and holds my hips tightly in place.
And I feel it.
His orgasm.
He groans deeply, then stills
as his cock jerks, and with every throb of his release, a feeling of comfort washes over me. And what a feeling! Wet warmth coats me from the inside. It’s amazing. I’ve never had sex bare.
My brain interrupts me with, “You do realize you just had crazy-assed sex with a homeless, crazy-assed stalker-dude, right? You also let this guy come inside you and you’ve known him about a minute and a half.” My brain’s eyes widen and it nods. “You, my dear, are a stupid ho.”
Twitch still hasn’t removed himself from inside of me. His thumb absently strokes my hip, and the only sounds that can be heard in my room is a duet of heavy breathing. I smile to myself.
Meh.
I’ll worry about the BS tomorrow.
What the fuck was all that?
My head itches around the empty space where my brain should be.
Get out of there, man.
This was not how things were meant to go tonight. She was meant to be scared, and weak, and fragile. Not all…fucking hell.
She was meant to be everything I needed. She was meant to be something I could work with.
Who says she isn’t?
I’m getting used to ignoring my mind’s voice when it talks stupid smack like that.
She says the magic words – I give in – and my cock gets happy. I can’t wait to break her in and start what I’ve waited years for. But no. She doesn’t give in so easily…and even when she thinks she’s giving in, she’s only giving up a small part of herself. Not what I need her to give for this to work.
And it’s not e-fucking-nough for me.
I need her. I want her. I will own her.
The need to punish her is getting worse.
So why didn’t you?
Searching for my tee, I find it by the front door with the rest of my clothes and slip it over my head. Like I said, tonight did not go as planned. And I need to get away from her. From her sweet smell and soft mouth. I need to think.
Walking back to her room, I sit on the edge of her bed and go about putting my shoes on. Without turning to her, I walk back down the hall, grab my jacket from the sofa and walk out the front door. Giving her a false indication of what tonight meant to me.
Nothing.
I know I’m an asshole. I’m not even sorry.
As I close the door behind me, I force my eyes down, making sure not to look down the hall and into those big blue eyes.
No. Tonight definitely did not go as planned.
I hear the latch click over as Twitch walks out of my apartment. I’m not really sure what I expected…but that was not it. I think I expected at least a goodnight.
My brow furrows. My brain works overtime.
With that exit, I’m left feeling like a hooker who paid her hero back through sexual favors.
And I suddenly feel dirty.
Standing on shaky legs, our combined juices run down my legs as I make it the bathroom just in time to throw up.
I woke this morning in a foul mood. This was expected. I went to bed in a foul mood, so it makes sense to wake up in one too.
After Twitch left and I made my mad dash to the bathroom to lose the contents of my stomach, I showered for the second time that night to wash the dirty feeling off of me. And while I was showering, I wondered what in the hell I was thinking allowing a man I don’t know – a potentially dangerous man – to have his way with me.
My mind blanked. I had no answer.
It was a stupid thing to do. Something I’ll never do again. I vow to never do anything like that again.
Because I am better than that.
“What’s up your ass today?” asks Ling through narrowed eyes.
I barely spare her a glance and keep reading the newspaper without answering. But, Ling being Ling, she can’t help herself. “No, seriously, Twitch? Or should I drop the t-w and add a b instead?”
I hear the smile in her voice and I want to turn her over my knee. This wouldn’t be an unusual thing between us. In fact, most mornings lead to a hard and rough quickie. But my mind is on last night. In short, I’m not up to it.
More like my cock isn’t up to it. Ling is not the person he wants to play with.
I’m rethinking a lot of things since last night. I take a good look around me, at the rooms of my house that are visible from the dining table, and I think the view should make me happy. But today, it doesn’t.
What do you do when the goal you’ve been working toward your whole life goes up in a cloud of smoke?
Right. You find a new goal.
As of today, my new goal is set.
Lexi.
I smile cruelly into my paper.
I’m going to break her.
A week has passed.
A week of bad moods. A week of gut churning anxiety. A week of silent depression.
Sigh.
It’s been a hard week.
Why, you ask?
Well, that’s quite simple. Twitch has disappeared.
Throughout the week I’ve been keeping an eye out for him, hoping he’ll show. Make an appearance. Something. I normally feel his eyes on me before I even see him. Feel something. But, he’s just… gone.
Which leaves me with the following thoughts racing through my head:
Was the sex really that bad? So bad that your stalker dumped you? I know it was awkward, but it ended well…didn’t it?
Being dropped by your stalker is pretty bad. I mean he watches you week-in, week-out for almost a year, and then you have sex and he’s like ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. We no longer require your position as victim. Don’t call us; we’ll call you. It’s not you…it’s me. We’re just at different stages of our stalker/stalkee relationship. I need space.’
How pathetic are you? You’re actually ticked off that your stalker is no longer skulking around in the shadows. That’s just…pitiful.
I know it’s weird, dammit! Which is part of the reason for my super bad mood. So when I settle at my desk, bring my coffee to my lips, and am I’m interrupted by a knock at the door, I growl. Yes. Actually growl out loud. “What is it?”
Charlie appears there, poking his sweet round face into my office, “Hey Lex, you got a minute?”
How could I ever be mad at Charlie? He’s always so polite and gentle when he speaks. I feel like a bitch for growling at him. He makes me feel even worse when his face shows worry and he asks quietly, “Lex, are you okay? You look a little down.”
Shit. Make me feel like a turd, why don’t you?!
Forcing a smile, I tell him, “Just a little headache is all. Nothing a few painkillers won’t fix.”
His worry doesn’t cease. “I can get someone else to do this. It’s not a big deal.”
Smiling harder, I slap my desk. “Lay it on me, Charles! What’s up?”
Seeming convinced I’m okay, he explains, “We’ve got a new sponsor. A plastics company who wants to make a yearly contribution for the next five years.”
That is awesome! Although we’re government funded, there are tons of non-profit organizations and charities out there who need money to keep doing what they’re doing. The government helps out where they can, but the funds are limited and most of them miss out. Which is truly sad. Services like women’s shelters, and homeless dinner drop-off and drop-in centers for street kids depend on private donations to stay afloat. And if we’re talking a five year commitment, we must be talking big money.
Containing my sudden excitement, I ask quietly, “How much per year?”
Charlie’s smile gleams, “Five-hundred-thousand.”
And I grip the edges on my desk to stop myself from sliding onto the floor in a clean swoon.
That is a lot of dough for one company to give. That’s two-point-five-million dollars over five years! That is incredible…amazing…astounding! This is an amount we can work with to make something big happen. Big money over a period of time means big projects.
I’m giddy!
Standing so quickly my head spins, I walk over to Charlie and place my hands
on his forearms, gripping them in excitement. I open my mouth to convey my level of excitement…but nothing comes out. Charlie watches my mouth gape and chuckles softly. “This is why I wanted it to be you that took the details.” His eyes turn soft. “No one cares about people more than you do, Lex.”
Finding my voice, I smile my first genuine smile in a week. “Send them in.”
Charlies smile falters, “Okay. But Lex…” He drifts off and I raise my brows in question. But Charlie shakes his head slowly and utters, “Just…just remember our motto, yeah?”
Turning, he walks out of my office, leaving me confused and wary. Our motto.
Equality over stereotype.
In our field, we deal with all kinds of people from different backgrounds, races, and religions. There is no such thing as normal in our job. And the sad truth is that it’s easy to place a stereotype on a person you don’t know. One look at a person is all it takes for our minds to be made up on the type of person we think they are.
And ninety-nine percent of the time, we are wrong.
Well, now I’m a little nervous. Taking my coffee, I walk towards the door, when my heel catches. I wobble on the spot a moment and manage to steady myself, but not before spilling coffee down my arm and onto the floor.
Lifting my head in silent prayer, I breathe deeply, then walk around my desk, pulling a handful of napkins out of my drawer. Lifting my skirt an inch, I kneel down on the floor and start to mop up the mess.
Someone clears their throat. More specifically, a man.
A foot away from me, a pair of Italian leather dress shoes comes into focus. Nice. Working my way up the black slacks, which encase strong, thick and very male legs, my eyes pass over his crotch, up to his belt…
That belt.
My eyes widen.
That belt!
Skimming over his crisp white shirt, silk black tie, and classy black suit jacket, my eyes move up fast to meet a pair of hooded, soft brown ones.
My heart races.
What is happening here?
Searching his face as he looks down on me, my eyes drift over the small ‘13’ tattooed on his cheekbone, then down lower at the artistic swirls, color, and grey shading peeking out from under his shirt that decorate his neck. We spend a moment watching each other closely. Me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and him, trying to gauge my reaction to seeing him in a more…professional sense.
