"She's gone," he said simply. That, along with the husky catch in his voice should have warned me. It didn't. "I can always tell her when she gets back," I said, then, swinging my hips saucily as I turned and walked to the closet, I added, "What are you thinking — that you might as well do it twice? That they can only hang you once? Please don't. You weren't very good at all. I get lots better..."
That did it. As he came toward me, I realized that he had been holding himself back. And that he was through going it. He hooked his fingers in the top of my bra. His face was a deep red.
"All right, damn you, take them all off!" He jerked powerfully at my bra. I felt a biting pain as the straps dug into my back. My tits sprang free.
I had been jerked forward against him by the tug that broke my bra strap, and as he pulled at the bra until it fell away completely, I saw that his eyes were like those of a wild man. His fingers bit into my shoulder, hurting me. With his other hand he tore at my panties. I tried to break free.
"Take every Goddam stitch off!" he shouted. I heard and felt my panties being ripped, ripped again. His fingers touched the furry mound above my cunt. I was naked against him.
"I swear to God. I'll tell," I said, feeling almost triumphant, knowing that would stop him. It infuriated him instead.
"Tell and be damned," he said; then, even before I fully realized what those words meant, he slapped me. Hard. My head snapped backward. He slapped me again, then flung me backward onto the bed. "I'll give you something to tell about." He began to undress.
"You're not drunk. You don't have an excuse this time," I said, searching for a way to stop him as I huddled naked on the bed. I was crying. Not from fear but from something closer to anger. He finished undressing without a word or a look in my direction, then said, "Who needs an excuse to fuck? You ask your boyfriends for an excuse? What's your excuse?" And then he came after me.
I resisted as his strong hands grabbed my lower legs and began prying my legs apart, then I gave up. He was just too strong. The tip of his hard cock brushed my inner thigh as he moved between my legs. I closed my eyes. His hand settled over my cunt. He rubbed it. His other hand opened and closed over one of my tits. He was breathing loudly, almost panting. I could feel his ribs against one of my thighs, his cock against my other leg, down lower.
I felt my nipples being hardened by the contact of our naked bodies, the touch of his hands. My pussy began to dampen. I hated myself for reacting. He rolled between my legs, both hands going to my tits, his hard belly pressing down on the mound of my cunt. I kept my eyes closed and my lips pressed together as he kissed me on the mouth. His hands massaged my breasts.
"Open your eyes," he said finally. "Open your eyes and look at me. Don't try to act like you don't like it. You know you do. You liked it that first time I fucked you. Tell me you like it."
I looked up into his face. It looked weak and pleading. I suddenly realized how I could hurt him. I couldn't stop him from raping me, I knew, but I could destroy his pride. I could show my contempt.
"I like it," I said. His eyes brightened. He kissed me. I felt his prick shift closer to my pussy. His lips moved wetly over my ears, my throat, down to my right tit. "I knew you did," he mumbled, then drew my nipple between his lips. I put my hand beneath my breast, cupping it for him.
"Does my little baby need some tit before he's able to fuck?" I asked, but he didn't seem to hear. His mouth moved from nipple to nipple, mumbling, "Beautiful tits, you've got beautiful knockers."
I raised my cunt against him. "And good pussy, or so I'm told." I stroked the back of his head. "Aren't you glad I'm a good fuck? I owe it all to you, you know."
I raised my legs high and wrapped them around his naked body.
"Is this the way you like it?" I asked. Any moment now, I knew, he would become aware of the contempt in my voice. I was wrong. He was too hot.
"Oh, sweet Jesus... yes!" he groaned suddenly, lifting his head from my tit and parting the rubbery lips of my cunt with the first inches of his meat. It slipped in easily with my legs raised the way they were, and I sucked in a deep breath as I realized that his entry had caused a tremendously exquisite sensation inside my cunt. I had forgotten how big he was. I struggled to put the contempt back in my voice. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have it dog fashion?" I asked, trying to ignore the feel of the cock that slipped back and forth in the soft flesh of my cunt. I reached up and put one hand on each side of his face. "Or maybe you'd like me to go down on you? Suck you off? Lots of boys like that. Or would you like to eat a little of my pussy? Ronnie Gower always does. Makes me hot. He says it makes me fuck better, too."
"Don't talk like that," he said suddenly, throwing himself down heavily atop me. My tits were flattened beneath his chest, his lips were close to my ear. He breathed warm against my throat. His hips churned faster, his prick moving... moving... moving! I fought to keep my mind off that.
"Why not? If you're going to come to me for your pussy, I might as well know how you like it. Don't you think so?" And I once again began to rattle about the most obscene things I could think of, most of them things I'd only heard about, things I hoped would shame him so bad he'd regret this night for as long as he lived. He put his hand over my mouth. "Quit talking like a Goddamned whore, quit it."
Pulling his hand away, I French-kissed him. "But I am a whore."
And then, just like a whore, I began to wiggle beneath him. My fingertips fluttered down across his back. My hands found the hard cheeks of his ass, spreading them and using the grip on them as leverage with which to draw his cock deeper inside me. I bent one leg around his back. My back arched itself like a bow. My pelvis swung upward sliding my pussy fully into his hardened cock, fell away, swung upward again. See when a good whore you've made of me? I whispered.
I say, then, that I had hurt him. A sort of crazy expression passed over his face. I think he wanted to pull away. But my arms were around his body. So were my legs. And he was inside me.
"Do you like it like this?" I lifted my cunt until my groin was pressed against his, held it there, then began a slow retreat down the length of his cock. I repeated the action. "Or is it better when I move it in little circles... like this? How does Mom do it? Is her pussy as good as mine?"
Then, suddenly, he pressed his face down into the hollow of my neck. The tears against my throat told me I had won, had shamed him; but I knew at the same time that I'd lost. He was almost motionless. Inside me... and it was I who was doing the fucking.
My hips continued to move in the rolling motions I'd used as I derided him. Every fiber of my being was suddenly alive and sharing in the exquisite torture my cunt was undergoing. My clitoris throbbed. I felt that I could see it being drawn across the flesh of his peter. My tits ached with pleasure. My skin was teased by the hair of his body. My fingers clawed at the cheeks of his ass. My teeth bit hard into my lower hp. I was only dimly aware that he was once more pumping his hips.
And only briefly did it flash through my mind that I was no longer being raped — I was now being fucked!
Closing out every thought of right or wrong, thinking only of the new and wonderfully pleasing feeling that was growing, growing, growing in the deep places of my cunt, I twisted my head and let my lips find his. Our tongues touched. We thrashed together. Our groins were locked together, straining.