Chapter Seven
Sissy
This is what I get, I think to myself as I storm past Lydia to get to my room so I can dress myself before Mark gets any kind of lust-driven ideas in that handsome yet stupid brain of his.
“Oh grow up,” floats up as I enter my bedroom and I slam the door behind me.
I am grown up. I’m an adult, dammit!
I lean my forehead against the door and battle the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes as I listen to Mark make snide and raunchy comments to Lydia. They cause me to become nervous and excited at the same time. It’s a concoction of emotions that I’m used to feeling when I’m trying to step a foot into the world because I fear I’m missing so much—but, I’ve never experienced the tightening in my lower stomach, the way my cunt pulses and squeezes when a man does it.
When Mark does it.
He talks to me through my door once or twice a week to ensure I’m okay and still alive, and to check to see if I need anything fixed by him. It’s almost like clockwork the way his deep, slow drawl permeates my Ft Knox style door. His voice makes it through the thick wood as if the melodious tone makes love to the grains of wood and they form a megaphone that speaks directly to my pussy. His innocent sentences laced with dirty innuendos screams dangerous predator to my mind, but to my body—to my body it screams fuck me hard and put me away dripping wet. Something I’m sure he’d be willing to do since he’s offered it a hundred times already.
Everything grows quiet before I hear a smack and a grunt. My pelvis grinds the door with a thud as my nails scrape down the wood. All I can think of is Mark’s cock hanging out of his pants. The way Lydia gargled around it in her mouth and how that was such a waste when it could’ve been pounding into my ass.
“No,” I whimper, thinking back to a time when I didn’t want to be touched that way.
I clench my thighs together tightly and push off the door, my towel dropping to the floor with a dramatic effect like it does in the movies, but there’s no one there to appreciate it—unless you count my lust and the way it trails sweet juice down my thigh from my honey pot.
Reaching down, I swipe a finger up my leg and collect it on the tip. My thumb rubs against the silky liquid and my legs twitch. I slide my hand down my stomach and dip a finger between slick folds. A moan involuntarily slips from lips as my finger slides over the hood of my wet clit.
It’s been too long. I can’t control myself. I won’t be able to stop, and Mark will hear me on the other side of this door as I touch myself and bring myself to erupting. All while thinking about him.
I always see him. Ever since that day. It’s always him I fantasize about, standing in the shadows jerking on his giant hunk of man-meat. It should disgust me. I try to make myself be disgusted by it all, but the truth of the matter is, I’m not.
I want his big fucking cock shoved so deep inside of me that when he cums I want to choke on that shit in my throat.
Wish I could say that’s all there is to my fantasy, but it’s not.
The whirring of the vibrator erases all thoughts except those of Mark. I act out my fantasy right there in the room, the real Mark standing on the other side of the door—as he has so many times—forgetting he was even there.
“Well, well, well.”
That soft drawl echoed through my mind as I abused my lonely cunt with the vibrator. It tightens around the silicone replica that is nowhere close to the size of Mark’s.
“Tell me,” he says, his voice damn near a whisper trailing off.
I fight hard to bring the image of him in my kitchen to life as he fucks me hard on my kitchen table.
“Who are you thinking about?”
“You!” I scream out as I do every single time; my back arching and my legs lifting myself off the old hardwoods below me.
The door to my room rattles as I catch my breath.
“I know what you’ve done,” Mark croons through the door.
I smile for a moment and bite down on my lip as I rub my sensitive clit. Then I remember he’s not talking about me getting off to him in my fantasy. I honestly think me smacking him upside the head with a wrench got him excited.
“Get your ass out here right now. I think you owe me an …apology.”
My head jerks toward the door, his shadow prominent on the floor beneath it as he waits for my response. I crawl toward it on hands and knees and try to remain as quiet as possible. Mark’s shadow disappears and I hold my breath, leaning down on my forearms and laying my cheek against the floor to peek through the large crack.
Lydia slouches in a chair at my kitchen table. She grabs the sugar dish and tilts it as she raises it to eye level. Her nostrils flare as she rolls her eyes to the back of her head and just dumps the remainder in her cup. As she stirs, she glances up toward my door and her eyes drop to the crack locking with mine. She smiles wickedly and crosses her legs showing me her now naked snatch.
Mark’s deviant face suddenly replaces Lydia’s whispering eye. I startle with a slight shout before I slap my hand over my mouth. Half his face is visible along the crack of the door as he smirks and his eye narrows in on me.
