"Stop talking," I growl. I can't hear her voice anymore. It's ruining it, and that just pisses me off more. I came in my fucking pants on the couch earlier, and now I have a fucking smoke show on her knees in the bathroom for me just minutes after meeting her, and I can't even come?
What the hell is wrong with me? What did Saige do to me?
She licks me from base to tip a few times while she catches her breath and then takes me into her throat again. I grab her hair tighter, fucking her mouth faster. She's gagging now—and that helps. She can't make those noises if she's gagging.
I picture Saige half-naked and crying on my bedroom floor the way she was that night, but instead of crawling on her knees toward Dax, she falls at my feet with her mouth open, and I'm fucking her face, tears running down her cheeks the way they are Charley's now.
I'm so close now. I'm going to explode.
She must taste it, too, because she gazes up at me with those fucking blue eyes I don't want to see, satisfaction on her face, and it slips away from me again.
"Fuck!"
I let her go, and she stumbles on her knees a little before righting herself. "What the hell? Elias, what's the problem?"
"Get out."
"What?"
"Just get the fuck out."
"Are you too drunk or something?"
It'd be nice to have that excuse, but… "Does that look like whiskey dick to you? You just aren't doing it for me. I don't like your face."
I know it's a shit thing to say, but I don't care. And then her face changes. Shame washes over her, and my dick twitches.
I just want her to get the fuck out of here.
"Fuck you. I've never had any complaints before."
"Well, that's surprising."
"Another big dick attached to a useless man. What a shocker." She rolls her eyes before unlocking the stall.
I think this is exactly what I wanted—a bad attitude, someone mouthy I can put back into her place. I almost pull her back into the stall to make her sorry, thinking I could come to this, but I don't. Even if I could bend her over my lap and beat her ass red, it wouldn't be the same. It still wouldn't be as good as if it were Saige.
I lock the stall behind her, and free of distractions, I can finally fantasize about my stepsister's watery amber eyes and come in peace, white ropes of cum erupting from the tip for what feels like minutes before it finally stops.
I don't even bother going back to my seat. I leave the venue, get in an Uber, and go back to our empty campus townhouse.
After stumbling inside, still drunk, I go straight to Saige's room, where I spend hours going through her things, trying to learn anything I can about her. I know she keeps a journal, but it isn't here now. She must have taken it with her.
I open the top drawer and start pulling out her undergarments. She's got a lot of really tiny, slutty pieces that can't be comfortable at all, and it pisses me off. Who did she buy them for? The skinny goth kids she used to fuck in high school?
I bet they couldn't even make her come.
I could, though. I'll make her scream, just like I told her I would that first night we met.
I pull out a black thong that's nothing more than a few strings and a tiny, mesh triangle and picture her ass devouring it.
The ass I beat red, her cheeks vibrating every time I smacked them. I lie back on Saige's bed, wrapping the thong around my dick, and use it to stroke myself. In my head, she tells me that she's sorry, and that she'll do anything to show me.
I let her go, and she stands, stripping down to nothing, and then climbs onto my lap, screaming when she impales herself on my dick. And even though she looks ashamed, she rides me so fucking hard, and her pussy is dripping all over me, so I know she wants it. Every fucking inch of it.
As I pump my cock, I realize there isn't anything—not porn, not any other woman—that will ever do this for me again. There's only this. Only her. And don't think that doesn't piss me off.
I come hard all over Saige's black thong and her comforter. When I finish, I wipe my hand on her pillow—the one she brought from home, which must be her favorite.
