I snort. “You’ve never cleaned this place in your life, have you?”
She blushes again, her fingers fussing with the hem of the old, oversized shirt she’s using as her nightgown.
“Who’s shirt is that?” I growl.
“My… my dad’s,” she stammers.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me for being jealous of her dad right now. But awkwardness soon takes the place of possessive anger.
Now that I’m here, I have no clue what to do.
And clearly, she doesn’t either, balancing from one foot to the other as she eyes me nervously, chewing on her lower lip.
I want to be the one chewing on that lower lip. But somehow, I can’t seem to break the barrier between us.
I wish she was asleep. It would be so much easier if she was asleep.
“What do you want?” she asks at last, in a little squeak of a voice.
“To punish you.”
The words are out before I’ve had time to think them, and she blushes a third time.
Her blushes aren’t like other girls’. They’re not cute blushes that are limited to her cheeks. Instead, her white skin grows splotchy. Her nose turns bright red, and there are random spots all around her face, her ears, her neck. It’s the same as when she was crying, the other day. Everything about her is weird. I can’t understand why I’m so drawn to her. Not just drawn, obsessed.
Maybe the words I’d once imagined Mom saying if she was alive are true.You only want to kill her because you have a crush on her.
Only I don’t have a crush. It’s far more intense than that.
I want to possess every single part of her, from the crazy hair, the round glasses, the splotchy nose and freckles, all the way down to the toes that are currently digging nervously into her carpet. The blood coursing through her veins, the heart beating in her chest, the oxygen that fills her lungs.
She’s the first one to breach the space between us. She takes a step forward and touches my hand timidly, and I jerk it back like I’ve just gotten shocked.
The splotchy redness on her face seems to have grown permanent. But she doesn’t back away. “How are you going to punish me?” she whispers.
The light touch is enough to reignite everything that’s been oppressing me since we kissed on Friday. Suddenly seizing her waist, I pull her to her bed, and push her, face down, onto her mattress. She doesn’t even have time to say a word before I’ve ripped the ugly shirt off he and pulled down the ugly underwear that has no business covering any part of her weird, perfect skin. Then I drink in the body I’ve only ever seen in my dreams.
Tiny breasts crushed against the mattress, a slim waist and flat stomach, an ass that has more fat to it than I’d have expected, but is still small and pert enough that in this position, her stomach flush against the mattress, I can see her pussy.
It’s wet.
I bring my hand down on her ass, gently at first, just to feel the creamy skin. It’s white, even whiter than her face, and sprinkled with the lightest freckles, so light that I can barely see them. I caress one cheek, from her lower back over to her upper thigh, then I do the same to the other cheek. But when a moan escapes her parted lips, I whip my hand away, then let it fall, hard, against the swell of her ass.
“Quill!” she squeaks out, and that only makes me harder.
I give her the same treatment on the other side, watching as the pale skin on her ass turns the same splotchy red as her face. It’s intoxicating, and soon I’m barreling my hand down on her until she starts squirming in pain.
I straddle her thighs, pin her wrists down over her back, and keep going, spanking her hard, and the more she wriggles, the harder I hit. I can’t help it, it’s addictive to watch her try to arch away from me like the cutest little worm in existence, chirping out cries that sound exactly like the crickets’ outside. Every one of her movements shows me a lot more than she probablyrealizes. Her pussy, covered in a downy layer of auburn hair, so soaked I’m tempted to stop spanking her so I can lick it, the little ring of muscle buried in the cleft between her cheeks that makes my cock ache. All of it mine.
But right now, the need to own all of her is overtaken by the need to punish her. To turn her cheeks crimson, to make sure she can’t sit again for a week. To hear her little chirps of pain, each one making the old, monstrous urge ebb until by the time I’ve finished, it’s gone for good.
I will never want to kill her again.
I guess in spite of the new form of obsession that had taken hold of me, I hadn’t entirely gotten rid of my old murderous inclination. It still lived in the deep recesses of my mind, but now, as all the frustration that’s accumulated in me since fifth grade courses out of my hand and onto her ass, I feel the darkness in me fade.
My chest feels lighter than it has in a long time as I stop at last and admire her mottled red backside.
Her heavy breathing is a mirror of mine, and the silent tears running down her cheeks are making my cock strain against my boxers. She stopped trying to resist a while ago, and is now sobbing quietly into a pillow. I whip her around and lick her face clean hungrily, even the snot running from her nose. It doesn’t gross me out. Nothing grosses me out about her, because she’s a part of me. The most important part of me.
