Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  “It's Devils' Day,” I repeat again, using my legs to pull him closer. Our mouths slant together, like two pieces of flint, striking hot, starting an ember, edging into flame. The corset-like bodice of my dress is attached to the full skirts; it takes Barron a moment to figure that out and he curses. Sitting up, he grabs hold of the waist part of the dress and tugs on it, sliding it over my breasts, my stomach, my legs, before tossing the garment onto the blue-covered cushions on the pews.

  I cross my arms over my breasts, hiding my nipples from Barron's assessing gaze.

  “I just ate your pussy out, Karma,” he says, and I groan, closing my eyes in frustration even as Barron chuckles at me. “What do you think hiding those perky nipples of yours is going to do for either of us? Don't you want me to touch them?”

  He leans forward, putting a palm on either side of my face, waiting for me to open my eyes and look up at him. I can smell him now, this mix of fresh sweat and a woody aroma that brings to mind a fresh case of charcoal pencils, just waiting to be sharpened and put to the page. That's something that he and I have in common that neither of the other boys does: we're both artists.

  “Have you ever drawn these?” I ask, my voice getting huskier, darker, thick with need. Slowly, I draw my hands away, so Barron can see the small but full mounds of my breasts. His mismatched eyes take them in hungrily, and I have to bite back a gasp of surprise when he drops his mouth to them and takes the right nipple between his teeth.

  “Do you remember last year, during our swimming sessions?” he asks, releasing my nipple and then running his tongue in a circle around it. “I couldn't get that swimsuit out of my mind.”

  “It was a school-issued suit,” I murmur, remembering the tight blue one-piece I'd worn during PE last year. Barron was in my class, and I remember thinking how weird it was to see him shirtless and wet, and without any snacks or sketchbooks around him.

  “But the way you wore it … I drew you in a hundred different positions in that suit, nipples peaked against the fabric …” He trails off again, sucking my nipple into his mouth as he settles his body between my legs again, grinding the bulge of his cock against the scalding apex between my thighs. “But I can only draw something I've seen.”

  “Now you'll draw them?” I whisper, wondering if he's realized what he just said. “I can only draw something I've seen.” So all those images in his sketchbook, of me and him in the butterfly cave, of us kissing during the first Devils' Day party … Does he wonder where those came from?

  “I'll draw them,” he says, looking down at me with a stark hunger in his face, years of repressed want spilling out of that dual-colored gaze. Barron cups my left breast with his right hand, kneading the tender flesh and rubbing his thumb across the pink point of my nipple. He drops his lips to my neck, kissing up my throat and along my jaw. The longer we go, our bodies pressed up against one another, the more I want him. “No condom, huh?” he finally says as our bodies grind together, seeking that hot, wet friction that we both need. “This'll be a first for me, I'll be honest.”

  I don't let him know how much I like the sound of that. Instead, I sit up on my elbows, watching in earnest as Barron leans back on his heels, reaching down to his leather pants and opening the fly. His cock springs out, thick and heavy, pre-ejac beading on the tip in excitement. I sit up a bit further, reaching out to wrap my hand around the base. My black and red nails look ghastly beneath the silver light of the moon as I tease them along Barron's length, loving the heavy, desperate sound of his breathing.

  He takes my wrist between his fingers and then leans forward, pushing me back into the floor and pinning my wrist above my head. Our mouths eat at each other hungrily as my right palm slides over the tip of Barron's cock, using the slick moisture as lube. He thrusts against my hand, his dick slipping and sliding in my grip as his moans fall against the sensitive skin of my throat.

  He's a bit bigger than Raz or Calix, I think, trying not to squirm as Barron sucks on my neck, leaving hickeys that I don't have to worry about or figure out how to explain. Tomorrow, my red and black hair will be purple again, my skin will be blemish free, and my heart will very likely chip at the edge, leaving a sharp, ragged scar to tear up my insides.

  I move my hand between my legs as Barron thrusts into it, the tip of his cock teasing me with the slightest hint of penetration. He shudders above me, moonlight falling across his slicked back hair, his tattooed chest, and that fabulous white coat.

  When I release my grip and move my hand, his next thrust fills me up, his shaft slipping into my wet folds with little resistance; I'm more than ready for him. Sounds of pleasure fall from our lips, mingling together in the silence of the chapel.

  “Fuck, you're tight,” Barron murmurs, closing his eyes briefly as he settles in between my legs. He's fully sheathed inside of me, my body stretching just a bit to accommodate his length and girth. There's no pain though, just a delicious feeling of fullness. Barron very carefully takes my other wrist and pins it beneath his right hand, holding both my arms captive with one of his own.

  He looks down at me before he starts to move, making sure our gazes are locked, that I'm looking at him as the clapping sound of his hips thrusting into mine echoes around the quiet space. My face lifts up, my tongue running along my lower lip as Barron uses his other hand to slide down between my breasts and over my belly, almost like he's worshiping me.

  “I can't believe you pepper sprayed me tonight,” he says, and then he thrusts deep, hitting the end of me, almost like he's proving a point. “You know who the real devils are, don't you, Karma?”

  “Are you talking about yourself?” I whisper between thrusts, my thighs quivering as I trap Barron between them. Now that he's here above me, I want to hold him there forever, keep him to myself. I want to see the pictures he draws of me when I'm not looking; I want to know all the deep, dark thoughts inside his head.

  He used to be an alcoholic, I think, wondering what that must've been like, for a teenager to suffer with something that's normally reserved for adults.

  “Don't think,” Barron commands, grabbing my chin with his hand. “Don't disappear into those wild thoughts of yours.”

  He releases my wrists, so I can wrap my arms around his neck, bringing our mouths together for a long, sensual kiss, an exchange of tongues and saliva that borders on the obscene. Why shouldn't it though? I hate to admit how much I like this lascivious little rendezvous, but … I'm wondering now how I'm supposed to walk away from today. It'll be like losing Raz and Calix all over again.

  Barron's tall, much taller than me, so to kiss me, he has to make a serious effort. Once our hips are grinding and thrusting in unison, he braces himself with his elbows, his chest at eye level with me. I decide to take advantage of that, sucking on his nipples and making him groan, even as I get some of that dark glitter on my tongue.

  He begins to thrust harder, deeper, and I find it suddenly hard to breathe, like his body has taken up every inch of extra space that I had inside of me. There's no room for oxygen or doubts or fears. Instead, I drag my nails down his back, lifting my pelvis to meet his.

  Barron's big, muscular body shudders, and he slams his hips harder and harder into mine, climaxing with his cock buried balls-deep inside of me. We're both panting as he rolls off to lay beside me, my body quivering as I turn and put my head on his chest, closing my eyes and listening to the rapid-fire thundering of his heartbeat.

  Lying naked on the floor of Thorncrown Chapel, my much smaller body pressed up against Barron's big one, I feel a sense of impossibility. It shouldn't be so easy to break my bullies down into lovers, and yet … it is.

  The question now is if I could manage all three of the boys in one go.

  Unlikely.

  Very, very unlikely.

  “What's going to happen tomorrow?” I ask, because even though I'm pretty fucking sure tomorrow is never coming, I have to at least voice the question.

  “Meaning what?” Barron asks, sitting u
p and sliding his fingers through his hair. His Mohawk is slicked back, but not so full of product that he can't get it to stick up a bit while messing with it. “You mean, as far as you and me go?”

  “What will the rest of the Knight Crew think?” I sit up, too, shivering slightly at the feeling of my ass on the cold stone floor. Barron pulls me into his lap, even as I struggle to squirm away. “You're going to ruin what's left of your leather pants,” I murmur, but he just chuckles in my ear, sucking my lobe between his teeth and making my core heat up yet again.

  “I don't care. I like knowing my cum is dripping out of you. I like knowing that you'll have to wait to clean up. That part of me will be inside of you for some time.”

  “You're a pervert behind all of that candy eating, and sketching, and quiet brooding asshole-ness,” I murmur, closing my eyes as Barron strokes his fingers up my belly and cups my breast, playing with it as he kisses his way down my neck and shoulder. “Now answer the question.”

  “Well, we have a whole weekend to play with,” Barron suggests, making my chest feel tight. I wish, I think, suddenly desperate to see what he'd do with me for a whole weekend. “There's a party at Erina's parents' lake house tomorrow. I suppose, if you let me, I'll take you there and show you off. You know, barring this whole time loop situation.”

  I frown, but the expression doesn't last long as I capture my lower lip between my teeth, fighting back another moan as Barron plays with my breasts, using both hands now to tease me.

  “Barring this time loop,” I manage to choke out, knowing that he's humoring me but not caring. The sensations his hands are working up are just too much. “What would you tell Calix and Raz?”

  Barron pauses for a moment, resting his hands on the curve of my waist instead, his breath stirring my hair.

  “I suppose I'd tell them that you were mine,” he muses, sounded slightly surprised himself. He reaches up to finger the butterfly necklace, still hanging from my kiss-bruised throat. “I wasn't sure about you, you know. Obsessed, perhaps, but unsure. I couldn't stop drawing you, but I also couldn't understand why you'd sleep with Calix, after everything. Now that you're here with me, I wonder if the situation wasn't something similar.”

  “Well, you could tell me now that you don't like me, that this was all a Devils' Day trick. Then maybe you'd understand what happened with Calix.” I try not to get mad, but Raz and Sonja's words about Barron's impossible standards are ringing in my head. “You don't get to judge me, Barron Farrar, not after the things you've done.”

  “Fair point,” he says, but almost like that's never occurred to him before. “I haven't exactly been a knight in shining armor.”

  I turn in his lap, so I can look at his face, marveling at the beauty of his eyes. Heterochromia is rare, occurring in less than one percent of the population. Barron is truly one of a kind.

  “What color is your natural hair?” I ask as he studies me, observing the lines of my face in a way only an artist could.

  “I'm a brunette underneath all of this,” he says, cocking his head to one side and then playing with a strand of freshly dyed red hair. “And you?”

  “As black as …” I almost say as black as Calix's, but I don't want Barron to think I'm obsessing over his friend. In all reality, in this moment, I'd choose Barron over Calix any day. “A raven's feathers,” I say instead, and Barron chuckles.

  “Poetic.”

  We sit there for a while longer, my eyes studying the trees just beyond the glass walls of the chapel, their shadows long in the moonlight.

  Barron cups my chin again and kisses me, igniting that fire in my belly. He knows what he's doing, reaching a hand between my thighs and playing with the swollen nub of my clit. I wiggle on his lap, turning to straddle him and feeling him thicken and lengthen beneath me in anticipation of round two.

  “Tomorrow, I'll tell Raz and Calix that they fucked up,” Barron says with an evil smile. “That they missed their chance.”

  “Missed their chance?” I whisper back, our mouths so close together that I'm not entirely sure if we're talking or making out.

  “To make you theirs,” he says, hands tightening possessively on my hips. “You've stumbled into my lair on Devils' Day, Karma. You're mine now.” He stands up suddenly, taking me with him, and a small sound of surprise escapes my lips.

  Barron carries me down the length of one of the pews and sets me at the end, my bare ass against one of the cushions. I'm making a mess, but there's nothing much to be done about it. Cleanup won't be a problem because there won't be a tomorrow, as much as the thought brings sharp tears to my eyes.

  “I'll be right back,” Barron tells me, moving over to my abandoned boots. As soon as his back is turned, I swipe the wetness from my eyes and force my mind away from tomorrow. I'm here now, and that's what's important. “Put these on.” He hands my boots back and waits, his dick tucked back in his pants, arms crossed over his chest. The coattails of his faerie prince jacket float just above the floor, like the folded wings of a butterfly.

  “My boots?” I ask, flushing as I cross one arm over my breasts, my other hand holding the shoes. “Why?”

  Barron's full mouth quirks to the side in a sensual smirk.

  “You're going to need the height,” he says, leaning his ass back against the pew behind him, his expression as self-satisfied as any I've ever seen. He could certainly give Raz and Calix a run for their money. “When I fuck you from behind against the glass. Now hurry up.”

  I give Barron a look and then release my breasts, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as he watches me slip into the boots. I feel ridiculous, naked and wearing nothing but heeled boots, but then I see the way that Barron's looking at me.

  It's quite clear in his gaze that he's into me.

  Mine, he said. So Barron is interested in not just fucking, but dating?

  “Okay,” I say, standing up in front of him, several inches taller than before. “Do your worst.”

  With a wicked smile, Barron grabs me by the hips and backs me up until my ass is pressed against the glass.

  “Thank you for defiling this sacred space with me,” he murmurs, kissing me so deeply that I forget what it's like to breathe. Barron then pulls back and turns me around, pushing me over so that my palms press against the glass, the trees trailing up the hillside in front of us. There's nobody out there, but there could be. My heart beats rapidly as Barron finds my opening, already primed, wet, and ready for him.

  He sweeps some red and black hair over my shoulder, leaning down to kiss my upper back.

  “You smell too good tonight,” he murmurs against my skin, tasting me with his tongue. “Like sweat and desire, like some sort of sweet, wicked perfume.”

  He presses the tip of his cock inside of me, and I gasp, my head falling forward so that my hair hangs down around the sides of my face. His hands grasp my hips, giving him good purchase as he begins to move, slamming his pelvis into my ass. The sound echoes around the wooden rafters as I lift my head back up, staring into my own gray eyes as my body rocks back and forth with each thrust. My breasts sway as I watch my own reflection, my pupils swollen with desire, just two black voids in a pale face. My lips have never looked so red, my cheeks so flushed.

  Lifting my gaze up, I can see his reflection, one brown eye and one blue studying me in the glass. Sweat drips over his pecs, making the butterfly tattoo on his chest shiny in the moonlight.

  We stare at each other through our reflections as Barron buries his cock deep inside of me, making my toes curl inside my shoes. I end up dropping one hand between my legs to rub at my aching clit, and my body clamps down around him, milking his body of its own accord. Biting my lower lip, I struggle to control my panting breath, leaving little clouds of fogged-up glass in my wake.

  My knees begin to buckle from the rush of pleasure, but Barron doesn't let up. He fucks me harder and faster, grabbing hold of my hair and pulling my head back so he can keep looking at my reflection. The way his eyes roll up to
the ceiling when he comes nearly undoes me, watching him shudder and pump into me, spilling every last drop of seed he has.

  He lets us both fall to the floor then, covering me with his body and kissing his way back to my clit. Barron uses his mouth to bring me to another orgasm, his hands keeping my pelvis from bucking too wildly against his face.

  Even after I come, Barron continues his assault of lips and tongue and teeth, until I'm shaking, my eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs, stretching his body out alongside mine. “You taste too damn good.”

  He runs a finger down my sweaty forehead as I bat his hand away, my body worn-out, but not entirely sure that I'm ready to call it quits. “I'll take it slower next time.”

  Next time.

  “If there is a next time, you won't know it,” I say with a sad smile. “Once I fall asleep, everything resets. I'll see you at the gas station, holding a bag of snacks and hating me, your sketchbook tucked under your arm.”

  Barron chuckles, the sound warm and deep and low.

  “Hate you? I never hated you. Perhaps, I judged you too harshly sometimes, but hate was never the name of the game. Karma, stop giving a fuck about the Knight Crew. That's all I ever wanted.”

  I say nothing. He really is a bit too judgy, but then, nobody's perfect. Most definitely not me.

  Barron's phone starts to vibrate, still lying on a pew near the front of the room. He ignores it, stroking that single finger down my forehead and nose as I stare up at him, marveling at the beauty of our locale, and the way my tired body feels sated and well-taken care of. When the phone vibrates for the third time, he curses and moves to stand up.