by Nikki Chase
Before she can protest, I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head to the side, exposing her long neck to my hungry mouth. My free hand travels south to unbutton her jeans and pull them down her thighs, along with her cotton panties.
“Take them off,” I say as my fingers explore her soaked folds and find her clit.
She gasps, her eyes glazing over. Her body is so damn sensitive, too. My cock pulses in my jeans and I press it against her bare thigh, showing her my impatience.
“I said… Take. Your. Jeans. Off.” I press her clit with every word I say, making her shudder deliciously against my chest. I let my thumb rest on her clit without moving. I can see this is driving her crazy by the way she lifts her hips up to gain more contact. I pin her down with my weight. “Be a good girl and take off your jeans. Your panties too. And then I’ll continue.”
She wiggles her legs to get out of her jeans and panties, her eyebrows taut with concentration. Every time it looks too easy for her to complete the task, I press lightly on her clit and make her gasp.
“Good girl,” I say when she’s finally done. None of the other men at the club gets to see this, or touch her at all. Yet her she is, practically offering herself on a silver platter just for me.
I lazily rub her clit with my fingers, while my other hand unbuttons and unzips my own jeans. I kick them off as I rub more insistently on her clit.
She starts to tremble and shake. I bite down on her throat, triggering a violent orgasm within her. She throws her head back and arches her back off the bed, her eyes squeezed shut. She moans and grabs onto my arms like her life depended on it.
Keeping my finger on her clit to extend her climax, I line up the head of my cock and push inside her.
Her eyes snap open. She looks right into my eyes as her muscles grab onto my cock. She looks so hot when she’s coming. It feels tight and wet inside her. She bathes my shaft with her juices, allowing me to slide in smoothly.
Fuck. I wanted to stretch this out as long as possible, but I’m not going to last long like this. Her pussy is milking me for all I’m worth.
I try to maintain a slow, steady pace as I slide in and out of her, but she wouldn’t have it. Her fingernails drag down my back and dig into my flesh as she desperately pulls me closer. She rocks her hips off the bed, pumping up to meet my thrusts, urging me on.
I could pin her down and do it slow, but I don’t want that either. Ah, fuck it.
I get up onto my knees and pull her up. With her dainty feet on my shoulders and my hands on her tiny waist, I plunge into her with everything I’ve got. Harder. Deeper. Faster.
She explodes beneath me as I slam into her again and again. My balls feel heavy when they slap against her, like they’re about to boil over. She shudders and quivers, her muscles massaging my cock. I unleash and fuck her with reckless abandon, until I finally come deep inside her.
I collapse onto her, both of us still wearing our shirts, now soaked with sweat. We lay there for a minute or two, catching our breaths as we gently come down from the high.
“I know you said you’ve never done that before,” I whisper into her ear. “But how about we do it again soon, before I ship out?”
“Yeah. I’d like that,” she says.
A smile spreads across my face, blissfully unaware that she’s lying to me, even while my cock remains buried inside her.
Jessica
Three Years Later
The drive to Ashbourne High School is short. I probably spent more time waiting for the engine to warm up than I did on the road.
I could've walked from home—I actually do that sometimes—but I have a bunch of stuff to bring with me this morning. With my bag on my shoulder and a thick stack of paper on both my hands, I struggle out of my old beat-up Toyota and step into the school hallway, passing the rows of red lockers.
“Morning, Miss Lake,” a student says as she walks past.
“Morning.” I nod and smile back at her.
I read somewhere that smiling even if you don’t feel like it can make you feel better, and I find that to be true this morning. By the time I reach my classroom, my anxiety has simmered down a little.
I drop the stack of papers onto my big wooden desk with a loud thump and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s pretty heavy and my arms were getting tired.
I take a seat and cast a quick glance around the classroom.
On my first day here, I came to work and saw a dreary, uninspiring space. Grey linoleum floor, yellowish cinderblock walls, and off-white drop ceiling tiles. It looked depressing, which wasn’t too different from the way I was feeling then.
It was funny. Not in a ha-ha way, but in an ironic way. I’d always wanted to be a teacher. Every night when I was taking my clothes off on stage, I’d dreamed about having my own class of young minds to inspire.
Then on the first day my dream came true, I was at the lowest point of my life—which is saying a lot, considering all the the messed up things I’ve gone through in my twenty-five years of existence.
It was pretty underwhelming. So my life-long dream of being a teacher came true… Yay, I guess?
I had to put up some colorful boards and posters to make the classroom look more lively. It looks a lot better now, which makes me feel better in the mornings. But then, I also feel a lot better these days, in general. I don’t constantly look over my shoulder to check if anybody’s following me, for starters.
Ever since I moved to Ashbourne, I never talk much about me. My big mouth has gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past, and I’m here to start anew.
It’s probably stupid or downright suicidal of me to choose Ashbourne as the the place to build a new life for myself, but it wasn’t even a choice. The decision was made for me that night I walked into the dressing room and saw Stan’s hands wrapped around Nancy’s neck.
“Hey! What are you doing?” I screamed.
Sure, Stan was my boss and I could’ve lost my job. But I couldn’t watch a friend being strangled without saying anything, just because I’d lose a shitty stripping job. There were a bunch of other strip joints in town, and stripping was supposed to be a temporary job in the first place.
Stan snapped his head around to see me. Anger flared in his eyes. He let go of Nancy and she crumpled onto the floor like a piece of paper trash. Turning his attention to me, Stan marched toward the door, where I stood with one hand on the doorknob.
“Bitch.” Stan grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the wall.
The impact hit my back, hard. I winced from the pain. Despite my initial display of bravery, I was shaking. Stan was so much bigger and stronger than I was, and nobody could hear anything that happened here, not when the loud music was drowning every other sound.
“Mind your own fucking business,” he barked, his spit landing on my face. He snarled as he watched the fear in my eyes. Satisfied, he took his hands off me. He opened the door to leave, but not before giving me one final warning. “If you say one word to anybody, you’re going to be in a world of pain.”
The door slammed and I jumped from the noise. I breathed a sigh of relief from having narrowly escaped Stan’s wrath. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing shallow and irregular.
Nancy was still sitting on the floor with a dazed look on her face. I rushed to her side. I felt so bad for Nance. This was a one-off terrifying occurrence for me, but she probably lived with this fear every day.
“Are you okay?” This wasn’t the first time I asked her this question, having walked into their arguments too many times before. But this was by far the worst one I’d seen.
Nancy nodded weakly, her head still lowered with her gaze stuck on the floor.
“Are you sure? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you want to go see a doctor?”
She quickly turned her head toward me. Our eyes met. “No. No doctor. I’m fine. Please. No doctor,” she pleaded.
My chest tightened. I could see she needed help, but what could I do? I had a host of problem
s myself.
I loved Nancy, but I knew there was nothing I could do if she didn’t want my help. I could tell the authorities about what he was doing to her, but if she were to deny my story then it would be my safety on the line.
“Okay, Nance,” I said in a soft voice. I pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back.
“No doctor, Scarlett. I’m fine.” Her voice was shaking.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I promise you. No doctor.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“I know.” I paused while I thought of a good way to say what was on my mind. I say, “If you’re ever not fine, you can call me any time, okay? Day or night.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah. You’re fine now. I know. But just in case something ever happens, something bad, and you’re not fine, I’m here.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I have a nice little apartment. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s all mine. It’s close to the bus stops and train stations. I can go anywhere I want, it’s so convenient. There’s a sofa bed in the living room. My mom used to lie down there and watch the TV. It’s a nice big-screen TV and nobody ever watches it anymore. It’s all sad and lonely now, that poor TV,” I said, making a lame joke.
It was stupid, but I felt like I had to fill the silence or else terror was going to expand and fill the room, permeate every corner and seep into us both. So I just said whatever came first to my mind.
“My mom,” Nancy said after a long pause. She never mentioned any of her family members before, and I never asked. It was an unspoken rule in the club. No personal questions asked.
“What’s with your mom?” I speak in a soft, soothing voice.
“Stan knows where she lives.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Has Stan ever said anything about your mom, Nance?”
She stayed silent, like she regretted opening her mouth.
“I’m not going to tell anyone. You can talk to me,” I said.
“I know, but…” Her voice trailed off, the incomplete sentence hanging in the air, preventing me from going on about something stupid like my high-definition TV.
“Hey, you can’t start saying something and not finish it. You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“He’s going to hurt you if he knows that you know,” she said.
“Don’t worry about me.” I hugged Nancy tighter and stroked her hair. I couldn’t believe she was concerned about me when she was in way more danger than I was. “I’m not scared of Stan,” I lied. “I’m already planning to quit anyway. I’m going to leave and be a teacher. I don’t need him.”
“He said… He said if I left, he was going to go after my mom.”
Damn it. I’d guessed right. I put my hands on Nancy’s shoulders and pulled away just far enough to look straight into her eyes. “Nance, you need to stop worrying about other people and start looking after yourself.” I took a deep breath. “Look. If you ever decide to leave, I’ll help you make sure your mom is safe. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nodded.
I had no idea what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do at all. But even without ever talking to Nancy’s mom, I knew she’d want Nancy to be safe and happy, above all else. And that was all that mattered in that moment: making Nancy feel safe enough to do what she had to do.
Only I had no idea what it was going to cost for Nancy to leave her abuser.
The school bell rings, dragging me back to the present. As freshmen start to file into the classroom and take their seats, I force myself to forget about the past and put on my teaching hat.
The circumstances are less than ideal, but I’m going to appreciate the hell out of my dream job. After all, I don’t know when it will be snatched away from me.
Jacob
“Excuse me, Sir. Is there a problem here?” I pasted a smile on my face while my eyes shot daggers at the diner whose hand is still resting on Claire’s behind.
“I don’t remember calling you over, waiter,” he said, spitting out the last word like an insult he obviously meant it to be. He squeezed Claire’s ass while he was staring me down.
Fuck this guy.
That’s what I wanted to say. Fuck off, asshole. But it was my workplace and I had to stay professional. Which apparently meant just grinning and bearing it, no matter what kind of shit customers threw at you.
Claire stepped away from the table. She stood behind me and whispered, “It’s okay, Jacob. I’m fine. Let it go.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises, Sir. Claire here has repeatedly asked you to stop touching her and you obviously haven’t been listening.” I balled my fists and dropped them on the table to show him I meant business.
“What are you talking about? You don’t have a problem with me, do you, sweetheart?” He raised his eyebrows at Claire, who was still standing behind me, using me as some sort of a human shield.
“She’s too polite to say it, but we want you to leave, please,” I repeated. I leaned closer and looked straight into his beady eyes, making it clear that there was going to be trouble if he didn’t comply.
He drew back, fear overtaking his features for a few seconds before his face grew red with anger—and perhaps embarrassment, as other diners were starting to cast curious glances toward us.
He knew better than to pick a fight with me. Most people do. I’m bigger and meaner than most people.
He grabbed his coat and gathered his belongings. “Your manager is going to hear about this,” he said in a low voice to avoid attracting even more attention.
I often saw him come in with his family, so it was incredibly stupid of him to try to pull something like this here, if he didn’t want his wife to find out about his wandering hands. There were hundreds of other restaurants in town.
As he made his way toward the door, he looked back over his shoulder and shot me an impotent glare. The door slammed loudly when he left. He didn’t pay, of course. Cheap, dirty fucking bastard.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Claire said as she stacked the plates of half-eaten food on the table. “Now you’re in trouble.”
“He was asking for it,” I said, shrugging.
“I’m used to it, Jacob,” she said. “Dealing with difficult customers is just part of the job.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“Well, like it or not, it is. And now you’ve just made things worse. Malcolm isn’t going to be happy to hear from the guy. And you know what kind of a manager he is. He’ll fire you.”
Claire was right, of course.
The very next day, Malcolm, the manager of the diner, approached me with a sour face. Standing behind a tall counter to keep a safe distance between us, he told me to collect my stuff and leave. “The customer is always right,” he said with finality when I tried to explain why I had to do what I did.
Well, good riddance. There’s nothing I hate more than dealing with entitled people who think they can make me do whatever they want, like I’m a fucking puppet on strings.
With that kind of attitude, I don’t know why I ever thought it was a good idea for me to join the Navy. Live and learn, I guess.
To be fair, I don’t regret it. I’m glad I served as a Petty Officer in the Navy SEAL, but I’m also glad that I got out. It’s just that finding my place in civilian society isn’t easy.
At first, I tried working in a garage because I’m pretty good with my hands. The owner told me to stop coming to work because I’d told a particularly entitled customer to leave when he’d started screaming at one of the young part-timers.
After that, there was the hardware store. I got fired for pretty much the same reason.
I thought working in a less testosterone-charged place, like a diner, would mean fewer infuriating incidents, but nope.
No matter where I worked, there were always assholes who’d come in and think they were royalty and I was just some peasant they could kick arou
nd.
Not that I ever fit in very well in the Navy either. I got along great with the guys I served with—they were practically my brothers—but my superiors were arrogant, self-righteous dicks.
It was just a matter of time until they kicked me out, so I did a pre-emptive strike and quit as soon as I could. Honorable discharge, they call it.
After my string of failures at shitty, minimum-wage jobs, I met another ex-Navy SEAL guy for a beer. After hearing my story, he taught me some skills I could use to work on my own.
I’m lucky my parents had insisted on me finishing college before enlisting. I’m also pretty comfortable with risks, having spent a few years in the Navy SEAL. Both college and the Navy make me good at what I do now, so I have no regrets.
I quickly realized I could work from anywhere as long as I had a computer and Internet connection. The first thing I did, as soon as I could afford it, was to buy a Harley Davidson Fat Boy to ride across the country, make my childhood dream come true.
Now, with a lot of things, often the reality doesn’t even compare to the dream. But owning this bike totally kicks ass. I love the promising vibrations when it’s at rest, the roar of the powerful engine between my legs when I take it to the road, the wind hitting my skin through my jeans, the utter freedom of being able to go anywhere I want.
I even love it when something goes wrong with the bike and I have to get down and dirty to fix it. It gives me great satisfaction to bring it back to life every single time it breaks down.
I don’t remember every little town I’ve visited, and I have no idea where I’m going either. I’m looking for something, I suppose. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll know it when I find it.
I don’t have much company, which is both the best and the worst part of this lifestyle. I like having the freedom to do whatever I want whenever I feel like it, but it can get lonely on the road.
Every once in a while, a woman takes a liking to me and we spend a passionate, orgasmic night together. Sometimes, I see her for more than one night, but the itch to move on never goes away.
