Another night.
Another guy.
Another meaningless fuck that got me off and left with a fleeting kiss on my mouth and a drained cock hanging limply between his legs.
So I looked at my neighbor and I came for him instead.
I looked right into his eyes as I let my body convulse with another dick in my pussy, fucking his cum inside me like his life depended on it. He was still rough, but it was painfully obvious he was using me to get off. He didn’t give a shit whether I came or not. He just wanted my cunt to milk his cock dry.
And it did.
He lifted my leg when he was close, grabbed it from behind and forced my thigh up, giving my neighbor a better view of my stretched pussy. I felt him coming, his hot jizz running inside me, draining him and filling me up instead.
The whole time, my eyes were on the mystery man across the street. And I didn’t move away from the window, even when the guy kissed my cheek, slapped my ass and left my apartment. Instead, I braced my palms against the glass and kept looking, kept staring at the stranger who now had his fingers covered in the hot sticky cum I’d made him spill.
I let him see everything. My shaky legs, the guy’s release oozing out of my pussy and dripping slowly to the floor. My hair sticking to my forehead, my sweaty body that I hated so much, my face messy with running makeup. I let him see it all, and I let myself come apart for him.
I let myself cry for Posy, for the girl I used to be, for the girl I was. I let the tears flow freely, my body convulsing in silent shivers as the tears ran down my face. I let it happen for as long as it needed to, and by the time I was done, I was too scared to look back up, absolutely certain Mr. Neighbor had gotten sick of me and turned his back on my pathetic figure a long time ago.
But when my eyes wandered up, he was still there, his gaze firmly fixed on me.
And he was holding something up to the window.
A piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it in big, chunky numbers.
I looked at him and saw something in his eyes that scared me.
Desperation.
The same ugly, bad, broken desperation that looked back at me every time I passed a mirror.
With shaky fingers, I took my phone from my purse lying on the floor and sent him a message.
Dare you to call me.
Broken, adjective
Having been fractured or damaged, no longer in one piece or working order.
I stared at her message blinking at me from my phone and wondered whether I should do it.
There was no question that I wanted to. I wanted to know what her voice sounded like and whether it matched the idea I had of it in my head. But it also meant making this way more real than it really was.
Because as of now, she was just a silhouette in the window across the street. And if I called her, I’d know so much more. Did I want that? Was I even ready for that?
And more importantly, was she ready for my kind of fucked up?
My phone pinged with another message and I looked down to find a photo waiting for me. My fingers shook as I opened the message and her face stared back at me from the screen.
I hadn’t been able to see her properly from the other side of the street, but now my mystery girl was looking right into my eyes in all her glory. And she was fucking glorious.
Dark hair, falling in rich ebony waves down her shoulders and over her tits, her lips painted Barbie pink and smeared from what that prick had done to her. Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes, were open wide and needy, staring up at me, her mascara smeared, and her look was one of desperation that sent blood rushing to my dick.
She was naked, her hair the only thing covering her tits, with a hint of a rosy pink nipple between the dark strands.
My dick went hard fucking instantly, standing to attention at the sight of her, desperate to bury itself in her, desperate to fuck the enchanting space between her tits where my dick would fit so perfectly.
Even though she was right across the street, she’d never felt farther away.
I called her number.
She picked up after the second ring, letting me know she’d been holding her phone.
“He-Hello?” she stuttered, and my cock swelled so painfully I groaned.
She let out the sweetest little moan at the sound of it, and it made me want her so much I clenched my fist around my throbbing cock.
“Your name,” I growled into the phone. “Tell me your name.”
“Bebe,” she whispered. “My name is Bebe Hall. What’s yours?”
“Miles,” I said roughly, the letters forming her sweet name dancing before my eyes.
I didn’t give her my last name deliberately, quickly changing the topic before she could figure out the game I was playing.
“Bebe, you’re going to touch yourself for me now,” I told her, and she let out a panicked little breath that made me chuckle. “Why are you acting shy, sugar? We both know you’re fingering that tight little cunt at the sound of my voice.”
She caught her breath and I fucking heard it. Heard her pull her fingers out of that cunt with a delicious squelch.
“I’m not,” she protested.
“Okay, you’re not,” I groaned. “Now stop fucking lying and taste your fingers for me, sweetie. I want to know what my cunt tastes like.”
I could practically feel her shaking.
“Don’t act fucking coy,” I reprimanded her. “Fingers. In. Your. Fucking. Mouth. NOW.”
I heard her sucking, and my balls tingled for her. Jesus fucking Christ, she was getting me off like a pro. I could only imagine what that pussy would feel like stretched around my dick. For now, my imagination would have to do, but sooner or later, I was going to have her bent every which way around my cock.
“Tell me,” I said, and she whimpered at the sound of my voice. “Tell me what I’m going to be tasting once you’re ripe for my tongue.”
“I… I can taste his cum,” she whispered, and it all came back to me.
The guy fucking her brains out. The little trickle of cum from her legs to the floor. Fuck, I’d forgotten all about that. It made me fucking angry.
“Eat him out of your pussy,” I demanded. “I don’t want someone else’s cum in my toy tonight.”
“How?” she asked, her voice breathless.
She’d liked that I called her my toy. I smirked at the thought.
“How?” I repeated. “By fucking that pussy until every last trace of him is on your fingers and down your throat. And only then will I let you come.”
“You think you get to decide that?” she asked, sounding offended.
“If you want to keep talking,” I said easily. “Come on, sugar. Clean up for me.”
I listened to the enchanting sounds of her cleaning that cunt and palmed my dick while she did it. Her voice wasn’t like I’d imagined it would be. I thought it would be husky, needy, the voice of a seductress.
But instead, it was sweet and innocent, a sharp contrast to the image in my head of her getting used like a fuck-doll.
“Tell me once you’re done, sweetheart,” I said roughly, my cock growing harder and harder as I stroked it. “Tell me when my pussy’s empty.”
“Now,” she whispered, the wet sound of her smacking her lips together making me ready to blow. “All gone now… Miles.”
I fucking loved hearing my name on her lips. It was hot as sin, and I was ready to make her into my next subject when she did something I wasn’t expecting.
“I don’t want to come,” she said simply. “I want to make you blow.”
“Why?” I asked distractedly.
“I just do.” Her voice was harsh but desperate. “Let me make you. You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be a very, very good girl for you.”
I considered it for a second and finally smiled to myself before walking into my living room and opening the blinds.
She was on her bed, turned away from the window. I could see a hint of her round, tight li
ttle ass and her hair falling down her back. I sat in front of my window and watched her as my thumb slid over the tip of my dick.
“Okay, sugar,” I said. “Let’s see what you got. Let’s see if you can make me come with your words.”
Her voice changed in a second. From poor little horny girl to a seductive vixen that had me jerking in seconds.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered. “I want to know what you feel like in my pussy. I want you to pin me down, listen to me begging for you to use a condom, and tell me you don’t give a shit… Then plunge your fat cock inside me.”
“Raw?” I asked.
“Raw,” she repeated huskily. “With nothing between us. Stretch me out. Make me yours. Make me whisper in your ear that I always want you to fuck me raw. Always, always, always.”
I groaned and fisted my cock.
“Let me have something inside,” she begged. “Please, I need to… You pick the hole, I’ll pick the finger.”
“Ass,” I said right away. “In your fucking asshole, sugar.”
It was a test. I wanted to see how well she responded to orders, and she shocked me by letting out a little whimper and then a long moan of satisfaction as a finger found its way into her ass. I could see her from where I was sitting, see her reach behind and push a finger into that tight little hole.
“Fuck it,” I ordered. “Fuck that asshole until you fucking weep, sugar.”
“Okay,” she whispered and my cock swelled for her.
She whined for me with her mouth closed, trying to hold back, and I nearly lost it.
“Open that fucking mouth,” I ordered her. “Moan for me, finger that sweet little hole and moan yourself into an orgasm for me.”
She moaned. God, how she fucking moaned.
My fingers worked my dick faster. I was desperate for her to be making those noises with me inside her instead of her own fingers, fucking, ravaging, taking, groping. I wanted her on my dick. I wanted her helpless. I wanted her coming fucking hard.
“Come with me,” I told her breathlessly. “Count down from ten and fucking come with me.”
“T-ten,” she whimpered. “Oh God… nine…”
I watched her fucking that ass as she counted, getting harder until it was impossible not to come. And I only spoke again once she’d reached three.
“Three,” she whispered helplessly.
“Turn towards the window,” I ordered.
“Two,” she whined, turning towards me.
Her tits, her stomach, her hair, her fucking face. So damn perfect, so addicting after just a few stolen glimpses, one naughty call. Bebe, my Bebe, fucking mine. My girl, my cunt, my ass, my mouth. I wanted her so badly.
“One,” she breathed.
“Take your finger out and come,” I told her, and she cried as she took it out.
My cock burst all over my fingers and I watched her body convulse in desperate little shakes as it brought itself to orgasm, twisting, trembling as she gave in and fucking came apart for me.
I palmed my dick full of sticky cum and stared at her as she got off the bed and walked to the window on shaky legs. She turned her back to me, bent down, and pushed her finger inside her asshole, holding her phone in her other hand so I could hear.
I thought I’d come again at the sound, at the sight of her.
Her phone came back up and she fucked her ass for me.
“One more time,” she begged. “Let me come just one more time, just one more I promise…”
“Fucking do it,” I ordered in a growl, and I listened to her do it, cry out, fall to her knees and press her face against the window, staring at me as she came down from it. “Good little girl. Sweet little girl. My favorite girl.”
“Did I do good?” she asked softly.
“So good, little sugar,” I told her, letting go of my still-throbbing cock. “Wish you could come over and lick this mess off me.”
“Let me,” she begged eagerly. “Let me do it. Please, Miles.”
I thought about it, her hot little mouth on me, her sexy body inches away from me. I looked into her eyes in the window and saw the desperation in them.
Then I thought about my reality.
Bleaching my inked skin.
Scrubbing myself raw.
Doctor appointments.
Therapists.
Being my regular, fucked-up self. The side of me no one gets to see. None of the girls I fucked knew about it, and I’d done my fucking best to keep it that way.
I didn’t do friends.
I didn’t do relationships.
“Not tonight, sugar,” I told her roughly and cut the call.
I watched her get up and angrily shut her curtains, enveloping her little world in darkness. It fucking hurt, even though it shouldn’t have.
I wanted her.
On her knees, sucking me off, being a good little slut for me.
But I couldn’t, not now, not ever.
Drapetomania, noun
An overwhelming urge to run away.
I decided I was going to hate him.
I didn’t deal well with guys who didn’t want me, and I hated the way he’d treated me the previous night. I spent hours and hours tossing and turning in my bed, unable to catch a wink of sleep.
Once I finally got out of bed, I kept my curtains firmly closed. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me ever again.
A look at my phone told me I had no messages, and that upset me even more. I wanted him to apologize, to find an excuse for not wanting to see me in person. God, I wanted him to find a fucking reason to speak to me. But he didn’t, and that made me want him even more.
I got up and took a hot shower to get my mind out of the gutter. By the time I came out, Arden was sitting at the bar in my kitchen, groceries laid out all over the counter.
“You could have told me you were coming over,” I said as I towel-dried my hair.
I walked to the window, and on an impulse, pulled the curtains open.
I didn’t pause to see if he was looking.
“You never lock your door,” she shrugged. “And I wanted to talk to you.”
I wrapped my hair in a turban and leaned down to give her a fleeting kiss on the cheek. She smiled.
“What did you bring?” I asked.
“Donuts,” she said, and I squealed with excitement.
This used to be our thing. Mine, Posy’s, and Arden’s. We’d all meet up at my apartment after a wild night out, and Posy and I would binge on the donuts Arden brought from our favorite bakery down town.
Arden never ate.
Or if she did, she threw it all up when she got back home.
She was starting to get better when we lost Posy, but now she was right back to her old ways. I never said anything about it, and neither did she. It was too painful to talk about, and I had no right to scold her when I was doing shitty things as well.
“How did last night go?” Arden asked me, and I shrugged.
I didn’t want to tell her yet. A part of me wanted to keep my stranger to myself. I got possessive quite often, but not like this, with an intensity that made me zip my mouth shut and pretend nothing happened.
“I fucked that club guy,” I said carelessly.
“Anders?” she asked, and I gave her a blank stare. “His name was Anders, Bebe. I thought you would remember.”
The old me would have been embarrassed. The new me just grinned at her and took a bite of the salted caramel donut that had made my fingers all sticky and sugary.
“How was he?” Arden raised an eyebrow at me.
“Good,” I replied, keeping it vague on purpose. “Did you fuck Nick?”
She looked down at her perfectly manicured fingernails and I gasped.
“You did, didn’t you?” I squealed. “You freaking fucked him! Oh my God, you’re finally not a virgin anymore!”
“Shut up!” She was blushing fiercely. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t that good, anyway.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” I rolled my eyes, grabbing another donut. “The first time never is. Anyway, how come you did it? I thought you guys were just friends?”
“He came over to watch a movie,” she said. “And we just… I don’t know, it just happened. And I guess he was sweet. And nice. He made me drink a smoothie.”
I gave her a long look and she returned my gaze, which was a good sign. It meant she didn’t spend the whole night bent over the toilet, throwing up the food her new boy-toy had made her eat.
“I can’t believe you’ve joined the slut club,” I grinned at her.
It was what Posy and I used to call ourselves. The slut club, and Arden, the innocent one, was forever our wing woman. But not anymore.
It hurt to think of what Posy would have to say about this, so I just shut the thoughts out, packed them up in a tight little box in a dark corner of my mind.
“So now you can finally fuck someone else,” I said. “He was your practice cock. Now you can have another one!”
“I…” She was blushing. “I don’t really want to.”
“What?” I gave her an incredulous look. “Oh god-fucking-damnit, don’t tell me you have feelings for Nick. For real?”
“I might,” she said defensively. “You know, he’s a nice guy. A great guy. The kind you take home to meet your parents.”
“Yeah, exactly,” I rolled my eyes. “God, Arden, when did you become so traditional?”
She sulked quietly and I picked up my phone that had just pinged with a message.
“What is it?” Arden asked me as I read it. “You’ve gone pale. Is everything okay?”
No, everything was not okay.
I glanced towards the window and squinted against the sunlight, seeing a figure against the window across the street.
Dare you to drop your clothes in front of your friend, the text read.
“As if,” I muttered to myself, just when another message arrived on my phone.
A picture.
His fucking cock, his tattooed knuckles holding it up for me, a vein throbbing on his shaft and enticing me. It was covered in cum.
I walked to the window and shook my hair out, dropping the towel holding my hair up to the floor. Arden was chatting to me from behind, but I could barely hear her. My attention was on the phantom figure across the street.
Peep Show Page 3
