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Somebody trusted this psychopath with a dog? “That’s a great story. Now really, I have to ask you to leave. Or…”
I would swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. He arches an eyebrow, and that tiny gesture is worth a thousand words. The disdain and hatred in his eyes turns to something else. Something that makes my skin crawl.
“You know, little bird, there is nothing I would like better than to get out of here and pretend I never saw this sad place.” He waves a hand, scoffing, making me cringe a little. “Just one problem.”
“What problem?”
“I need payment. I mean, I went out of my way to drive you home. I had to look at this shithole and breathe the air. Do you realize how bad it smells in here?” he adds with something like genuine curiosity.
“Did you stop to think it’s because you’re in here?” I retort. His eyes narrow and now I’ve done it. I had to go and open my mouth. He deserves it—he deserves so much worse—but I can’t mouth off like that. Not when we’re here, alone.
“I already wanted payment, but now I’m going to need a little extra as interest for that smartass remark.” Slowly, he stands, unfolding his body until he towers over me. Everything in me tells me to run, but there’s nowhere to go. I couldn’t run fast enough or far enough to outrun him.
“What do you want? You have to know I don’t have a lot of money, but I can?—”
“Who said anything about money?” he asks with a soft laugh.
“So what do you want?” I ask, shaking inside, fighting to hide it.
He pretends to think about it. “All things considered, I’m owed at least a hand job.”
Here’s the thing about me. Sometimes, when I’m shocked—the way his sudden announcement shocks me—my immediate reaction is to laugh. Not that anything is funny. More like my brain doesn’t know how to process the surprise. So my confusion comes out as a laugh.
And of course, he takes it the wrong way. I barely have time to gasp when he takes a hold of my arms and throws me onto the bed hard enough that I almost bounce back onto the floor. I’m still trying to catch my breath when he looms over me, bending at the waist to pin me in place with a hand on either side of my head. “You think this is a joke? You don’t know better than that by now? I guess being a stupid slut runs in your family.”
His breathing gets faster when he leans closer. There’s nowhere for me to go, no way to avoid the hot breath fanning across my face. “Here’s how this is going to work, little bird. Either you’re going to jerk me off, or I’m going to fuck you. But either way, before I leave this apartment, my cum will be on your skin. It’s up to you how it gets there.”
His eyes flash dangerously before his hands start to move. He takes one of my ankles and pulls off my sneaker. He’s serious. He really means this. Panic flares to life in my gut, boiling hot, filling me with a rush of strength that makes me kick out instinctively. I hit him with my foot, but he doesn’t seem to notice, stripping off my other shoe before he reaches for my waist.
“Stop! What the hell is wrong with you? Please, don’t!” I’m talking to myself. It’s as useless as kicking and slapping. It makes no difference. By the time I’m sweating and breathless,he’s pulled my jeans down around my ankles and is tossing them aside. There’s something wild in his eyes, brutal, chilling.
“What’s it going to be?” He runs a hand over his crotch, and my stomach drops when I see how it bulges. “We can do this the easy way, or I can fuck you. The choice is yours.”
As if there’s any choice. As if I’ve ever had a choice. “Fine,” I blurt out, hating myself but knowing there’s no other option. “I’ll give you a hand job.”
“See? That wasn’t so difficult.”
I wish he wouldn’t stare at me the way he does while sitting next to me on the bed. I don’t want him to look at me at all. My throat is so tight, and my chest hurts from the way my heart pounds, but it’s the skin-crawling disgust that’s worst of all. Disgust with him, with myself for knowing I can’t avoid this. I wish I was stronger, but wishing never got me anywhere.
I can barely breathe in the last seconds before he unzips his fly. “Take it out,” he grunts, and even though I’ve never done anything like this before and sure as hell wouldn’t ever choose him as a partner, I close my eyes and grit my teeth before sliding a hand into his open fly, feeling my way around until I can dip inside his shorts. My fingers close around something hard and soft at the same time, like silk over steel.
“Take it out,” he grunts again, leaning back until he’s on his elbows, watching me as I carefully take his dick out. I feel so clumsy, but it’s the embarrassment that’s worse. Not having the first clue, wanting to cry while my stomach churns.
It’s big. That’s the first thought that goes through my head. Big, thick, and veiny. Once he’s out in the open, swaying a little, I don’t know what to do. When I look at him, his half-closed eyes tell me how much he’s liking this. I can’t imagine why. I’m not really doing anything.
“Well?” he asks, taking my hand and moving it up and down. “I swear, you’re fucking useless.” I have to bite my tongue tokeep my thoughts inside, rubbing him up and down the way he wants.
Still, he grunts like he’s dissatisfied. “Don’t you have any lotion or something?” He finds a small tube on the table next to the bed and squirts some on my palm. Now it’s easier, now he seems to like it more. Instead of looking at his face, I stare at his dick, almost hypnotized, as my hand moves up and down, up and down. The quicker I get this over with, the better. The less I think about it, the easier it will be to look at myself in the mirror later. I just have to get through it. It will be over soon… Right?
“I finally found something you’re good for,” he whispers, and now he’s breathing faster. “There you go… Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Humiliated tears fill my eyes, but I won’t stop. Not because he said so. Because I need this to be over before I start screaming. He’s breathing harder, faster, moving his hips a little. “That’s right. Keep going. So close…”
Then, all of a sudden, he shoves my hand away. I don’t know what to think as he fights his way to his knees and pushes me back until I’m lying flat. He takes himself in his hand, his teeth gritted, his face going red before he grunts loudly.
And then he comes, and something warm hits the inside of my thigh. He gets more of it on my other thigh, grunting, groaning, painting my panties next. By the time he’s finished, I’m covered in sticky wetness, and he’s smiling like he just achieved something important.
“See?” he asks with a satisfied grin. “I told you you would end up wearing my cum either way. Wouldn’t it have been easier to give me what I wanted right away instead of trying to fight?”
