She crosses her arms over her chest.
I slice the sides of the panties. She shoves her hands down to cover her pussy as I pull the fabric away. I cut the straps of her bra. Her fingers come close to the blade, but I’m fast enough. I toss the knife, and it lands near the wall.
“What are you doing?” she demands, backing up until her back’s against the wall.
I don’t answer. This isn’t a situation that calls for conversation. Instead, I get the pump bottle of lube I brought. She stares at me, unmoving. Does she even understand what it’s for? I unzip my jeans and take out my cock.
“Oh, my God,” she says on an exhale.
My cock matches the rest of me.
“They weren’t lying,” she whispers.
I pause. “Who?”
The bright pink splotches on her cheeks tell me she’s scared and maybe something else.
“The neighborhood girls. They call it the battering ram,” she says, sitting straighter and tucking her legs to the side. Her arms cover her chest as her hands tug at the collar around her neck.
I stroke myself, wetting my dick with lube until it’s slick and shiny.
She looks up at me, her light brown eyes clear and sparkling like damn jewels. I clench my jaw. I’m so hard I do feel like I’ve got a battering ram between my legs.
“Lie back and spread your legs.”
She doesn’t move.
“This is happening. If you’re smart, you won’t fight.”
She doesn’t move at first. We just stare at each other. Then I drop down onto the mattress and move closer, inch by inch. The only sound in the room is my harsh breathing and hers.
When I’m less than a foot from her, I pause. Will she fight? Will I let her?
My heart thuds in my chest, and it’s like she knows shit about me that I don’t even know myself. She leans forward, resting her small hands on my chest.
“You don’t have to do this.”
It’s dangerous to let her talk. I grab her upper arms and shove her back. She falls onto the mattress, and I don’t hesitate because I know any hesitation is going to cost me.
I force her thighs open and put the thick head of my cock at her entrance. My knuckles graze her opening and moisture coats them. I groan, shaking my head. I want this. I’ve waited for this. My balls are fucking aching for this. But I don’t move. Not my fist. Not my hips. Nothing.
She stares up at me, her eyes so round and innocent.
My breathing’s ragged. I want this more than my next breath, but my body’s rigid and still. I should cover her mouth and shut my eyes. My muscles strain, joints popping.
“All right,” she whispers. “Go ahead.”
My breathing’s harsh, and my thoughts are a car crash in my head, all screeching tires and crumpling metal. I shut my eyes and hear her voice. I don’t know if it’s now or three years ago.
Cool fingers grip my arm. My body reacts the way it’s hardwired to. I drive forward. She screams and arches, trying to move away from me. I grab her hips and pin her to the bed.
I pant, the urge to thrust so strong it roars in my head and I have to fight against it.
I open my eyes. There are tears welled up in hers, and she’s digging her fingernails into my forearms as her creamy little tits shake.
I clench my jaw, trying like hell to control myself.
“It hurts,” she rasps.
