“I don’t know, Luna. I really thought you were going to pick fist. I mean, Jesus, I’d hate torapeyou like you accused me of before. I’m not like that.”
Pressing her forehead into the bench, she cries at the pressure in her pussy. “I know,” she says through a sob. “I know you’re not like that. I just said that to hurt you, but I…” Another sob. “Iwantyou. Please, Sawyer, I want youso bad.”
“Are you sure, baby?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m so sure. I’m so, so sure. Please.”
My bottom lip draws into my mouth, my tongue sliding across it.
I am not delusional.
Iknowthis is fake.
Of course, it’s fake.
But still…
So much desire floods my balls that I find my hips thrusting. Lightly. Wantingly. I swallow and prepare myself to speak so my words don’t slur with a bad case of lust-drunk.
“Okay. We’ll do it your way then… But please listen to me carefully, sweet girl.” I let my lungs expand and fill my voice with contempt—as real as it is intentional. “If you ever call me a rapist again, this will be the last time you have the privilege of getting fucked by my cock. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yes,” she rasps, her shoulders trembling. “I’m sorry… I’ll never say it again.”
“Good.” I pat her ass while pulling my hand from her pussy. Her breaths pick up, not quite into a sob but close. I can feel her body relax beneath my touch, and it unwinds my shoulders as much as it does hers.
I don’t prefer this way of doing things. Ilikegentle. Ilikemutuality.
But comfort leads to complacency, never adaptation. It’s hard to argue the effectiveness of a bit ofpressure.
Maybe she’ll thank me one day.
My body curves over hers to undo the strap hugging her shoulders, her spine arching beneath the weight of my torso and the forceful grind of my hips. She extends her legs to lay flat while I move down the line freeing her from the other three. Every inch of her chilled skin vibrates with endless shudders. But she doesn’t cry.
Not even as I lay myself on top of her and kiss the rounded notch at the base of her neck—then lower, lips following the slope of her spine, tongue pausing to explore the valleys between bone.
“Breathe,” I whisper when I notice her shallow inhales. “Just breathe. You’re fine.”
I trail all the way to her ass before sinking my hands into her hips. Then lift.
She scoots her knees forward when I prompt and stays still, fight muted for the moment. Maybe even for a few days while the fear is fresh.
Once that fear fades… The wildcat will return, vicious as ever. Until the next round of pain. Then the next. And the next. Until resistance becomes exhausting and acceptance feels like mercy.
You can’t sell fantasy to a pessimist.
But you can sell relief.
Palms splaying over Luna’s ass, I crook both thumbs in the deep crease; spread her open; dip my head.
Her pussy gleams, wet and ready even before my tongue glides through the center of her folds. Scent dizzying. Tasteraw—lavender oil from the bath hardly masking her arousal. Arousal that’s fresh, not only leftover from our earlier playtime.
Jesus Christ, my cock is hard.
I pop the button on my shorts while sucking a lip into my mouth. Luna’s hips buck with her gasp. Then go utterly still.
Obedience?
Probably not.
