I thrust my hands deep into her hair, fisting around its long strands and tugging until she moans. The sound triggers an answering call from the meat of my brain, and my cock strains, wanting something I promised it couldn’t have again, not after last time, not after the mess, the payoff, the stress, the shame.
But it wants it. Not justit,it wantsher.A girl I couldn’t have picked out of a line-up a month ago but who’s now tangled her threads so closely with mine that we’re forming the same tapestry, weaving together a tale that wouldn’t work with another player.
“You are a big boy,” she whispers and the tendrils of her voice creep inside my ear, winding through the canal like a sinuous temptation. “It’s no wonder it hurt, but it doesn’t have to.”
“It wasn’t that I hurt her accidentally,” I say on an indrawn sob, fighting an internal battle to the death between what I want to do and what my common sense tells me I can’t. “The problem is when I started, when I heard her whimpering, I kept going.”
Her opposite hand, now free of my ministrations, curves around the back of my neck, pressing and relaxing in opposition to the gentle pumps she gives my cock. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Not an age group known for their self-control.”
The lightness in her voice is as enticing as the touch of her hands. It hints of things being forgiven and black marks being washed clean. An indulgent fantasy that pulls me farther into its grip with each passing second.
But she doesn’t understand and if I don’t take the opportunity to explain it to her properly, I’ll end with another soured memory. A cracked black fungus releasing its spores until every adjacent branch is rotting from the inside out, destroying anything good until I won’t be able to think of her at all. Not without causing myself harm.
I shove at her, trying to push her away. Her touch lightens further but doesn’t disappear.
“Talk to me. Tell me what you need me to know.”
“You don’t understand.”
And her lips press right against my ear, the warm moisture of her breath a siren I don’t have the willpower to ignore. “Make me. Make me understand.”
I’m still holding her hair and now I use it to roll her on top of me, her weight pressing me farther into the couch, leaving her in control, so much safer than the other way around.
Except now it’s not just the touch of her hand around my cock but the press of her pussy against me. No matter that it’s buried under layers of clothing, I can still feel it. Feel its warm wet welcome in my brain. Feel it opening, eager to draw me inside.
“She was in pain, she asked me to stop and the more she asked, the more I liked her begging, the less I listened. I kept going, getting rougher so she’d cry out louder, and when I was getting close, I… I started choking her and I couldn’t stop.”
“You killed her?”
The calmness in her voice makes me half-hysterical. “No! But she… I couldn’t… She washurt.”
“And are you going to hurt me?”
The darkness is overwhelming. I want an interrogation light to shine across Rosa’s face to reveal what she’s thinking.
She didn’t want me here. Now I’m telling her the worst things about myself and she’s not stopping me, she’s not drawing away in horror.
If I presented this scenario to my father, I know what he’d say. She’s not just pumping my dick, she’s pumping me for information and the only reason a person would do that is to use it to hurt me later, to blackmail me later, to get me to do their bidding because the only other choice would disintegrate my name, my reputation.
My father’s reputation.
But I can’t stop. Or, if I can, I don’t want to.
“I want to say no.”
The pace of her hand changes, her grip altering so she no longer encircles me, instead pressing the heel of her palm against me, still moving up and down, the steady rhythm becoming irresistible.
I pull my right hand from her hair, detangling from the long strands, curling my knuckles to drag them across her cheek, drifting lower, spreading across her throat, encircling it with my fingers, pressing against her windpipe with my thumb.
I lick my lips, but it does nothing because my mouth has gone completely dry. I lift Rosa, turning again, but this time I place her on the couch, underneath me, pinning her with my weight, wishing there was light enough to see fear mounting in her eyes.
“Struggle,” I whisper to her and the hand on my cock moves faster, presses harder, changing grip again to reach to my base, tugging with a sensation so different from my hand that it makes my mind spin with dizziness. “Let me hear you,” I murmur directly into her ear as my thumb digs harder, and harder. “Let me hear you squeal.”
“Is this what you did with her?” she says, the words disjointed, breaking with the increasing force of my hand. “Is this how you hurt her?”
