For long seconds all I feel is the surge of blood, the increasingdensenessof my cock, the pulse that makes me strong, invincible until I’m grinding against her, wanting those fingers to do more than their tentative explorations.
I’m greedy for more, and when I open my eyes, when I thrust the barrel in and out of her delectable mouth, electric tingles ripple across the muscles of my back, my glutes, my thighs, driving against her until her fingers stop moving, trappedbetween my rock hard cock and the sweet press of her abdomen, the soft warmth of her calling to me until I’m deaf to any other song.
“Wider,” I demand, rubbing and thrusting and shoving my dick against her, head spinning at the touch. “Open your mouth wider.”
I barely recognise my voice, a gruff croak demanding she listen, demanding she obey… and she does. Those wide eyes fix on mine. A deer caught in headlights.
A fragile creature thrust against the dirty wall by a monster.
And I don’t care what I am in this scenario, just so long as there’s friction on the outside and that raging pulse on the inside as I shove against her again and again, my cock against her hip, my gun in her mouth.
“Take another inch for me, darling,” I whisper, eyes narrowing as she tries to shove the barrel from her mouth with her tongue. “Don’t you fucking dare. You take it all or I’m shoving this straight into your cunt.”
Her lips tremble, the stubborn strength sending a fresh jolt of excitement roaring through me. She could be crying, but there’s nothing more than a sheen in her eye.
In the glow of the outside lamp, enhanced by the silvery flood of moonlight, it could equally be the shine of lust as of fear… and that suits me better. That sends another glut of blood to engorge me as I pump my hips forward, her hand gone now, my efforts digging into her centre and there’s just those few pieces of fabric and I couldburymyself in her, like I bury the barrel into her mouth, thrusting in time with my cock.
A gasp escapes her mouth with the next push and pull of the barrel. It twists something vital on the inside of my head, shutting half my brain off like the flick of a switch, leaving behind just the animal, growling low in my throat.
“Your skirt,” I pant, then groan as she twists like she wants to get away from me. A tear trails down her cheek, picking out pieces of the dim light and turning it into a string of gleaming gemstones adorning her face. “Lift your skirt.”
She bucks against me, trying to force me off, but all I feel is the increased pressure, the solid thrust of her hips.
The tip of the gun slips out, but I apply just enough pressure to slide it inside again. There’s an ease to it now and I’m not imagining the way her head moves away from the wall, chasing the sensation.
Her tongue curls around the barrel like she’s giving the fucking thing head and my arse clenches, driving my cock harder against her, making her repeat that gasp—half whimper—that needles deep into my frontal lobe, that turns me inside out, that drives me fucking insane.
The gun is now buried in her mouth until her lips are slobbery against my knuckles. At some point, I’ve twisted so my arm cradles her skull, protecting her from the cracked concrete wall, controlling her so there’s no possibility of escape, not for her, not until I say we’re done.
I glance down and her fingers have tugged up her hem, obeying my instruction like the good fucking girl she is.
There’s a flash of her panties, a darker colour than her dress, and I press my forehead against the crown of her head, her rich curls obscuring my sight, absorbing the increasing volume of my panting breath, soft, smelling like strawberries and the chemical tang of hairspray.
My arm tightens, dragging up her head until I can stare into her eyes, wide, shiny, and confused. It tips me over the edge as I get lost in them, barely watching the saliva slippery barrel in my periphery as I pump it, a force gathering in the base of my spine, drawing my balls into a clench of tension and muscle, propelling a burst of cum into my briefs, staining my jeans as an orgasmrocks through me, shuddering, juddering bursts of complete incoherent pleasure.
I gasp for air, knees briefly buckling as every muscle sags at the release, my eyes closed to shut out everything except the foreign sensation. This thing I’ve never understood and never felt and never thought I would feel.
A second later, the exhilaration flickers into disgust.
Fluid clings to my softening cock. The dampness seeps into the fabric until it turns my stomach.
I open my eyes, pleasure resurging as I slip the filthy tip of the barrel into her succulent mouth one last time before withdrawing and tucking it away. Its proxy at an end.
Her spit coats my knuckles and I wipe them on the front of her dress, wishing I could wipe more of myself clean against her, leave her with the lingering residue of shame that adheres more firmly with each passing second.
Then a glut of guilt overtakes the crawl of self-disgust.
The first time I’ve ever come while near another human being and I’m wiping spit on her like she’s a tissue. Erasing her humanity in some feeble attempt to reclaim mine.
An apology trembles on my lips, then I step back, and she immediately lurches away, stumbling, wearing only one shoe.
I scan the floor for its matching partner but can’t see a thing. Mostly because of the dim lighting, partly because of the increasingly thick smoke.
My brain slots all the right plugs back into all the right places and a distress signal blares. The fire has clearly found a source of sustenance. Even through the scarf, my mouth tastes of smoke.
The girl wipes her face, then keeps her arm raised, using the sleeve as a filter.
We need to get out of here.
