The Things That Make Me Give In

by Charlotte Stein

  Before I’ve even finished with this first orgasm, I start coaxing another from my still stiff bud. It isn’t difficult. Just the feel of him thrusting uncaring into my mouth, rough and as if he wants to finish quickly, makes me cream.

  I give him rough back, sucking until my cheeks hollow and he seems to swell in my mouth. He groans and grunts beneath this pressure I’m doling out, only the barest hint of shame licking at the backs of the sounds he’s making.

  And though I suppose it shouldn’t be, it’s still exciting when he gasps that he can’t help himself, that he doesn’t know what’s come over him, that I shouldn’t have made him do this. It isn’t what Wade would have said at all, but it’s still somehow good.

  I’ve corrupted him. Real easily, too. I thought I’d at least have had to flash my tits and get arrested a couple of times, but it seems not. He’s already coming in my mouth, copiously and with much guttural groaning, as I follow him all over my hand.

  And so it goes. Slut corrupts public servant. News at eleven. Slut persuades him to comply with her fantasies, while she closes her eyes and thinks of tougher, broader, better Sheriff Wade.

  Slut doesn’t seem to mind that things aren’t quite the way she had imagined.

  And I don’t. I just keep right on pushing him and he keeps right on being weak and what I want all at the same time – forcing me down to my knees, making me bend over the hood of his car. Most stuff I don’t even have to provoke him into doing. Once I’ve gotten him to a certain point, he just does it.

  The point of no return, I suppose it is. He hasn’t got enough gas to go back, once I’ve pinched my nipples in front of him, and rubbed my pussy through my clothes, and said things to him such as: ‘Don’t you want to feel what this feels like?’

  ‘Yes,’ he always gasps. ‘Yes.’

  He’s a drowning man stumbling on to dry land. He’s trying out a whole different way of living, and liking it. I don’t blame him.

  I like it too.

  I don’t even smoke a little pot, now, before he gets to the bus shelter. I just stand there with the smoking gun in my hand, waiting for him to pull up and yell at me. He yells, and then I ask him what he’d like me to do so that I can stay out of jail.

  It’s nearly always sucking his cock. And I guess that’s fine. But soon it doesn’t make me ache in quite the same way and I need something more, so I ask him if maybe he’d like to try out my pussy. I keep doing the same bad thing and I’m certainly not learning my lesson, so I need a little more. Right?

  Right, he says. Before he pushes me down on to the back seat and pulls my panties down.

  He already has his cock out, but I don’t mind. I never mind how quick and probably inconsiderate he is, because it isn’t really him that gets me off, after all. It’s usually my fingers, my hand, my thoughts. The mirrored sunglasses and the handcuffs. I haven’t been able to persuade Brook to cuff me, but it doesn’t matter all that much when he’s already thrusting into my wet and willing cunt, tugging my legs wide and making his car rock.

  He’s as urgent as ever, hair falling in his eyes and sweat gleaming all over his handsome face. Terrible thoughts probably racing through his mind, like what if someone catches us? What if I can’t stop wanting to fuck this slut?

  Because he can’t, of course. Not at all. I can see it all over his flushed face and in his jerking, thrusting hips. His fat cock plunging in and out, too quick for me to catch my pleasure.

  He grunts when I put my own fingers to my clit, to chase it.

  ‘Ohhh,’ he moans, as ever. ‘You’re so wet. So good.’

  But I think he means bad. He definitely means bad. I’m a bad girl, and I need to be punished. Right?

  He just tells me, ‘That’s it, that’s it,’ before he pulls out and spurts all over my busy fingers.

  God, how boring he is. Doesn’t he know I’m now going to have to push him into even worse things, to take away the taste of all his good talk?

  How irritating. But, luckily for him, I manage it real easy. No problems at all. The next time I smoke a little pot, I just drag my buddy Shona along for the ride.

  And I don’t tell her anything. Not one little bit. Let’s see how he likes that, Sheriff goodie-two-shoes sissy boy.

  He doesn’t like that at all. Even through the dark glass of his windshield, I can see him looking at the other girl with trepidation. And she looks right back at him in just the same way, too. ‘Oh, no,’ she whines, as though getting caught smoking a bit of pot is the end of the world.

  I tell her, ‘Be cool. I’ll get us out of this, no problems.’ And I suppose technically I could. I could get us both out of this immediately, just fly right out of it with a threat in my gaze about all of the things Sheriff Brook has done to me.

  That I’ve done things to him – in fact, that I did everything to him – doesn’t change the fact that it’s him who’d lose his job, him who’s been fucking a girl in exchange for keeping her out of handcuffs. He doesn’t have to know that I like being in handcuffs.

  He doesn’t know anything about anything.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he asks, but his eyes do the real talking. They shift over to me, greedy and confused at the same time.

  I try to look as desperate and contrite as possible.

  ‘We’re really sorry, Sheriff,’ I say. Shona nods her agreement. Brook narrows that one eye at me. ‘We won’t ever do it again.’

  His eye narrows further, but I don’t think he knows to what extent I’ve planned this. He just understands that I’m not really sorry at all, and that I will do it ever again. I’ll do it ever again all the time until he’s exactly as I want him to be and the correct version of me is clear to his gaze.

  I am bad. See how bad I am?

  ‘Please don’t arrest us. We’ll do anything!’

  I’m sure he’s thinking of our first encounter. I’m pretty certain I offered to do anything then, too. Or, at the very least, anything was in my mind.

  ‘Yeah,’ Shona echoes. ‘Anything.’

  She isn’t exactly like me, I don’t think. Not Shona. But perhaps she’s closer than I had anticipated. The way she looks at him – I don’t think she minds him at all. And for a minute I see him through her eyes: tall and solid and sweet-faced, that little hint of uncertainty always hanging around his soft bow of a mouth.

  I know he’s a handsome man. But it seems it takes Shona’s hungry gaze to remind me of that fact.

  I wonder why on earth he’s let himself get mixed up with someone like me. God knows what he’s going to think of this. It’s probably going to push him over the edge, and then where will we be?

  I don’t know, because I’ve never gotten this far before.

  ‘Show him your tits, Shon,’ I say, and for a moment she just looks at me. She looks, but I don’t look back. I stare into Brook’s soft eyes, daring him to stop this.

  But of course he can’t. Shona asks him if that’s what he wants to let us off, and he doesn’t do a damned thing. He doesn’t say yes, or no, or maybe. He just stands there with his thumbs hooked into his belt, waiting for her to do one thing or another.

  He waits far too much. He doesn’t take or demand or even accept the things he might want.

  Though he seems to accept it a little more when she lifts her not-quite-slut-tight T-shirt and shows off her little round tits. No bra – mainly because she doesn’t need one. Her breasts are as firm as Wade’s hand on my wrist.

  She giggles a little.

  ‘You like them?’ she asks, while irritation flashes unaccountably through me. I guess I thought she would be more nervous. That she wouldn’t be like me, and push and push and push at him. But I suppose he’s just the sort of guy who makes you want to poke him. Force him. Flash your tits at him until he blushes.

  Though he doesn’t blush at all. He stares at me, furious, instead.

  I ignore the steaming, angry expression, so that I can giggle too.

  ‘She’s got nice ones, doesn’t she,’ I
say, capping it off with a squeeze of her perky left breast. I’m right – she does have nice ones. Her skin feels as smooth as his often does, beneath my touch, and she even squirms a little for me.

  ‘I bet she sucks cock real well,’ I say, as I keep on groping for his entertainment. Or maybe my entertainment. I can’t decide.

  ‘Dude – you want me to suck your cock?’ she asks, almost as though she can’t quite believe things might go that way, or she knows I’ve kind of planned this – maybe with his consent. She even adds, “Cause I am totally up for that. You are hot.’

  That little flash of irritation comes again, but this time I shrug it off. I step forward and put my hand over the obvious shape of something in his khakis.

  ‘Would you like that, Sheriff?’ I ask.

  Now his attention is back on me.

  ‘Show me your tits,’ he says, so I do. I slide out of my puffy jacket and stand there in the cold winter air, top lifted and breasts bared. It’s coming towards night so at first I think he won’t be able to see that much, but my skin is so pale that it glows. I look papery and am goose-pimpled all over, trembling even when I’m sure I don’t need to.

  It’s the cold. Shona is shivering, too.

  ‘So come on then,’ she says, from somewhere behind me. ‘Get it out.’

  She means his cock, I think. She’s getting really bold. Now she’s next to me with her hand over his groin, rubbing and twisting her little thin fingers against the bulge there. When he sighs and leans back against the car, she takes it exactly as I would have taken it. Now she’s allowed to unzip him and unbutton him, and put her hand inside.

  Through the nothing light, she grins at me. She grins even wider when he tells her to go on and get down to her knees.

  For a long time I just watch, from somewhere outside myself. The top of her head isn’t so different from mine – the same reddish-brown hair, the same skinny shoulders in a too-thin T-shirt. But she’s thinner than me and not as good at taking all of him into her mouth – she really needs some instruction. Her technique is sloppy and though it’s arousing to watch – that little mouth stuffed full of cock, too much spit everywhere making everything shiny – he should really tell her. He should guide her.

  But he doesn’t, so I do. I put my hand on the top of her head, into the hair that looks like mine. I push her forward just a little bit, and then back again, jumping a little when she groans. I think about how much I like it, to have someone’s hand in my hair while I suck their cock.

  It’s not so hard to do.

  ‘You like that?’ I ask him, but his eyes are closed and his head is back. He’s jerking his hips forward and so I force her to work her mouth in the same rhythm. I tell her to suck harder when he does not, and to use her tongue when he keeps quiet.

  It’s easy, being in charge. But I still wait for him to order me, before I get to my knees. He orders me to kiss her, and I obey that, too. We kiss around the straining stem of his prick, moaning like proper little porn stars, giggling when he calls us good girls.

  Or at least Shona giggles. I just keep on sucking and licking, exploring everything I can find with my tongue – and that includes her perky tits. They just look good enough to eat and I have to, though it pays off when he grunts at me to continue. ‘Yeah,’ he tells me. ‘Suck her nipples.’

  While she squeals and gasps.

  He takes himself in his hand as we get busy ignoring him – soon she’s fondling my breasts and we’re kissing for real – but he doesn’t jerk off for long. He’s got better things in mind, it seems, than what I’m imagining – his come striping us as we kneel before him, kissing and groping each other. Instead he orders us both to get up and bend over.

  The idea of a spanking simmers through me, but I guess my guy is all grown up because again he thinks totally for himself. He lifts our skirts when we’re happily settled in position and tugs Shona’s panties down as she tells him just how horny she is.

  Strangely, though, I don’t feel as hot. I don’t think I do. I want him inside me again, but the thing is – I think I’m going to have to wait for it. He’s definitely going to fuck squirming, squealing Shona first.

  But he surprises me. He’s just full of them, today. He yanks down my panties and pushes into me quickly, though through the curtain of my hair I see him fondling her at the same time. He has his fingers in her pussy – something she isn’t complaining about. She just keeps babbling that this is so hot, this is so hot, as he holds me one-handed by my hip and fucks me hard.

  ‘Kiss her,’ he orders me roughly, and, though his thrusts are making me stumble and I’m hobbled by my panties, I grab her by the back of her neck. I thrust my tongue into her slack mouth.

  She’s practically mindless by now, fucking back on his fingers like he’ll disappear if she doesn’t hurry. I know how she feels. Sometimes I think he’ll one day just melt away, made too mad by all this fucking weirdness and my total badness and everything else. He should probably know by now that I’ll never screw him over.

  If I did, everyone would know just how bad I am. That, and he’d be gone. He’d be the real kind of mad, that there’s no comeback from.

  ‘Oh, yeah, honey, I’m gonna come,’ he says.

  Shona whines that he hasn’t fucked her, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just bucks against me really hard, filling me up and setting me off.

  I think of the word honey as I shake and shudder, wishing that Shona’s mouth was his.

  We don’t see each other for a while after that. I’m not surprised. I’m not surprised that I don’t see much of Shona, either, though I find out pretty quick that she keeps making plays for him. Real plays, away from me and silly bribing games. Though I don’t know how silly they were – I can’t think of them without flashing hot. Without kneeling on the floor in my house, and picturing him over me.

  Though I don’t tell him that when I see him next. He picks me up as I’m walking home from the Gas and Guzzle. He tells me that I should really be wearing something more on my legs, when it’s so cold out.

  It feels odd to be sitting in the front of the car.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ I say, though I don’t know if I’m saying it in response to his suggestion. My legs do feel pretty cold, after all. I should probably wear jeans more often, even if it is cool having his eyes on my bare skin.

  ‘Yeah, I figured you thought that,’ he replies. Stupid stupid Sheriff Brook.

  ‘So maybe you should do something about it. Maybe you shouldn’t be such a fucking goodie-two-shoes know-it-all.’

  ‘You think I’m a know-it-all?’

  He chuffs. Shakes his head. Yeah, I think he’s a goddamned know-it-all.

  ‘I think you’re a pathetic walkover.’

  I can see him clenching the muscles in his jaw. He slaps the wheel, hard.

  ‘Is that right? And I guess I shouldn’t be, huh? I guess you know exactly how I should be – maybe you’re the know-it-all, what do you say to that?’

  He isn’t looking at me, but I look at him. I spit words at him. ‘You should be more like Wade was. That’s how you should be.’

  I’m practically snarling, as he pulls up in front of his house. Not my house – his. He turns the engine off and suddenly I don’t want to look at him any more. Now he’s looking at me, and I’m staring straight ahead into the darkness.

  ‘You want me to be like Sheriff Wade? That’s what you want?’

  I don’t say anything, though. So he just keeps on staring at me, way angrier than he has ever been. He seems like a different person suddenly, so different that I want to reach over and put some mirrored sunglasses on him.

  ‘OK then, Starla. I’ll be Sheriff Wade. I’ll be a real fucking tough guy with you, and tell you what to do. How about that?’

  I close my eyes. Finally. Finally. I close my eyes and sit very still, so that I can hear every little piece of what he’s going to say.

  ‘Go in the house. Go in the house and sit at the table. Got that? Go
in there and sit at the table and, when I come in, you’re going to eat the dinner I make you. And if you don’t . . . if you don’t, Starla, I think I might have to get real angry.’

  ‘How angry?’ I ask, but the words are faint, very faint.

  ‘So angry that I don’t know what I might do. I might have to tie you to the bed, and gag your dirty mouth, and leave you there until you’re about ready to die from wanting it so bad. Because that’s what you are, right? A horny slut who wants it so bad.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘I guess so what?’

  ‘I guess so, sir.’

  ‘Now go on in there.’

  I don’t want to. I don’t want to be inside his nice house with all his furniture that probably smells good and polished and clean. Like him. Likely he’s going to make me a really wholesome dinner, because that’s how he is. Wholesome. He’s so wholesome that he makes me sick.

  But I guess this is only fair, after all. I’ve made him do bad things. Now he’s going to make me do good. It’s a fair trade-off. Maybe after dinner we can swap again. Maybe one isn’t good and the other bad, because he seems to like both and he’s a real goodie-two-shoes. He’s a real pill, a pain in the ass, a buzz-kill.

  Why don’t I feel like my buzz has been killed? Instead, I get out of the car and walk into the house. And when I can’t force myself to sit at the table, he cracks his hand against my ass. And when I can’t eat his stupid dinner, he cracks his hand against my ass. And when I can’t fill out my college application forms – oh, Jesus, I get it then.

  I get it all the time.

  And when he’s bogged down with paperwork and doesn’t want to push for those reforms or that disciplinary, or maybe just because, I say to him, ‘If you let me off, I’ll do whatever you want, Sheriff. I can be and do anything, anything at all. Just say the word, and I’ll be real good to you, I promise. I’ll be good.’