His stern control tilts my vision, drugging me with the need to please him.
I don’t talk. My tongue is swollen, and my hands are hooking into his cotton waistband, my fingers sliding down his warm skin.
“That’s my good girl. Let’s see how far I’ll reach inside you.”
Reach inside me.
Dizzy, on the verge of spacing out from how fast I’m breathing, I tug his pants down and immediately break away from his face—looking at the thick length springing free above my pelvis.
I don’t mean to gasp. It escapes, the shock of what he’s been hiding in his pants widening my eyes.
“Scared?” he asks quietly, coasting his palms up my thighs, toward my hips.
Knowing where he’s going, I nod, rapidly blinking the burn from my dry eyes to take in the slight curve of his girth.
A tear drips free, feeling significantly less important than the glistening milk on his pink tip, or the way he’s languidly slipping my shorts down my legs.
Adrenaline and anxiety rattle me. They shake my body against my will. I tense up and awkwardly straighten my legs for him to pull my shorts all the way off, but now that I’m exceptionally quiet, I feel even more awkward.
“What if I don’t like it?” My voice trembles, flicking up to his warm eyes holding space for my actual emotions, not just the way we play to triumph trauma.
Setting my shorts down on the disheveled comforter, he holds my eye contact and runs a gentle hand up my stomach. “Is there a reason why you wouldn’t?”
I shrug tensely, mumbling, “I don’t know.”
“Hm….” He angles his head, tucking himself between my legs.
The weight of his dick sliding up my bare skin paralyzes me, but it also drips a disgusting need through my spine, like an epidural of ecstasy.
He rubs my leg, curving his other hand around my ribs, marveling at the way the tip of his dick stops right past the top of my navel. “You’re not a virgin, are you, little bunny?”
Loaded question. Don’t answer.
“Why would I know that, Razor? Areyoua virgin?”
His eyes narrow with an evil grin. “You know I’d kill him, right? Unless I already did.”
“What?”
“Huh?” He cocks his head the other way, creeping up my body, his hands growing possessive on my waist and thigh.
“Unless I already did.”
“He’s not a symptom. He’s an entire disease you’re foolishly catching.”
“Try and remember it for me… You did used to yell it.”
No. I’m paranoid. That-that’s not possible.
Choking down the humming vapor of unanswered questions, my heart does this weird thing where it feels like it expands, dispensing a burst of serotonin.
All because Razor, my humanized gas mask, is caressing along my body, situating himself in a sniper position and kissing down my inner thigh.
I acknowledge that he’s no longer covering me from the hole in the door. It starts to bother me, knowing that someone could walk by to go to the bathroom and see me fully spread open and naked.
But it’s for Razor. And that’s the point he’s making.
I’m disgusting for being okay with that.
