“You like my cock inside of you?”
“Yes!”
My hips buck uncontrollably as he stimulates me, until I can’t take it anymore. I lose myself, feeling my wetness gush over him. He removes his hand from between my legs and drives his cock all the way in. Filling me completely. I scream with pain when he digs in a little too deep and he quickly claps his hand over my mouth.
“You’re a woman now, Alex,” he growls into my ear as he moves inside me. “You must behave like a woman.” He moves so torturously slow, I want to bite his hand and scream again. “When you scream, you scream my name. Do you understand me?” I nod and he removes his hand from my mouth. Then he whispers against my lips, “When you come, you come for me. When you dream, you dream of me. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I’m going to fuck you.”
Wasn’t he just doing that? Before I can ask this question aloud, he answers it for me. He lifts both my legs and holds my ankles up on either side of his head. Then he pounds into me.
Our bodies slap against each other, wet and sweaty and primal. This is what men and women were made for. And now I’m a woman. I hope I get to do this often.
Suddenly, I begin to feel another orgasm coming from within me this time. More intense than the last one. So intense it frightens me.
“Daimon?”
He doesn’t respond, but I can hear his soft grunts. I wish I could see him.
“Daimon!” I scream just as my pussy tightens around his cock and my body is rocked with another orgasm.
He pierces me a few more times before he pulls out and I feel a slow warmth spurting onto my belly. He reaches between my legs and quickly finds my clit, unsatisfied with giving me two orgasms, he kneels between my legs and fondles me until I’m a writhing, sweaty mess. Then he finally lies next to me. I can feel movement, then he swipes something over my belly to wipe away his seed.
“You did good,” he commends me, his fingers trailing over my belly and finding my nipple. He pinches it and I suck in a sharp breath. “I want you to go back to the clinic and get on birth control, Alex. That way, I will be able to come inside of you. I want to fill your pussy with my come while you come all over my cock. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes… I think I could do that all night with you. Can we do that all night tonight?”
He chuckles. “No, ma chérie. You need your rest.”
His drags his fingers over my chest and neck and up to my lips. He traces the curves of my bottom lip and I begin to feel tired. Then he traces my top lip and he pauses for a moment with his finger poised on the bow. He runs his fingertip over my top lip again a few more times, as if he’s found something interesting.
“Your top lip is bigger than your bottom lip?” He asks the question in a strange tone of voice I’ve never heard him use. It sounds almost high-pitched as if he’s truly surprised or … frightened.
“Yes, why?”
He lets out a breath he must have been holding while waiting for my reply. “It’s beautiful.”
He holds my face as he leans over and kisses me hard. I try to focus on copying everything he does. I move my lips like him. I slide my tongue into his mouth when his tongue retreats. I think I’m doing a good job. I can feel his erection growing against my hip. Then he pulls away suddenly.
“I have to go.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be back?” I don’t bother trying to hide the desperation in my voice.
He plants a kiss on my forehead. “Yes.”
And, once again, he’s gone. But, somehow, I can’t help but feel as if it had something to do with the disproportion of my top lip to my bottom lip. Maybe I’m not as beautiful as he imagined.
Chapter Eight
Aasif is scratching his beard as he enters the tiny snack shack. He always does that when he’s uncomfortable. Body language is one of our worst enemies. It reveals our inner truth when we believe we are being discreet. It’s like a two-faced friend handcuffed to your wrist, shouting your secrets to anyone who’ll listen.
He doesn’t look at me as he removes his blue windbreaker and tucks it into one of the cubbies under the snack shack counter. Aasif calls the store building the snack shack because the space is only about ten feet wide by fifteen feet long, and a large portion of the space is occupied by the clerk’s counter. The entrance door to the snack shack is always locked at nine p.m.; two hours before my shift begins. After that, all transactions are made through the slot in the bullet proof glass storefront windows.
I never have to deal with customers coming into the floor area. There’s always a couple of inches of glass separating us, which makes this the perfect job for me. I can sit here reading a book by the light that shines through the window from the pump bays. Most customers pay at the pump with their credit cards, so I only see a couple dozen customers per shift. There’s the occasional complaint about a card reader or a pump not working. But, on the plus side, the panhandlers don’t come around here at night. So, for the most part, this is a quiet job, which I’ve come to love.
Aasif looks up at me with that bored exasperation I’m starting to get really sick of. He’s ticked off that he couldn’t fire me when he wanted to and even more ticked off that I still haven’t bothered asking if he was threatened. I’m not stupid. If I question why Aasif didn’t fire me for calling in sick two weeks in a row, that will just open up the possibility of him telling me who threatened him. And I don’t want to know. As soon as I know, that makes me an accomplice to blackmail.
Aasif opens his mouth to speak and he’s interrupted by a knock on the glass. I spin around on the stool behind the counter and my heart nearly stops. A man in a black hoodie slips a fifty-dollar bill into the curved slot. I reach for the money and accidentally graze his cold fingers. I snatch my hand back, still unable to tear my gaze away from the shadowy blackness where his face should be.
He reaches up and pushes the hood back. “Thirty on number two.”
I sigh with relief at the sight of a young hispanic guy with a spiderweb tattoo on his neck. But then I remember something that stops me cold.
It must have been about two months ago. A man in a dark hoodie came to the window to pay cash. What kind of car was he driving? I try to recall all the images surrounding the mystery man in my mind and I’m sick to my stomach when the image materializes. The vehicle behind the guy in the dark hood. A gold Mercedes.
“Are you gonna give me my change, or what?”
The harsh voice snaps me out of this horrifying memory. I hastily slide a twenty-dollar bill back at him through the slot, then I turn to Aasif. His eyes are narrowed and one of his thick eyebrows is cocked suspiciously. He knows something’s going on with me and I’m not being forthcoming with him. I have to find out what made him change his mind.
“Aasif, why didn’t you fire me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because you do a good job scaring off the criminals in that costume.”
“Now is not the time to fuck with me, Aasif. Tell me! Why did you change your mind?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy for pretending not to know. Then his features soften and his round dark eyes widen with surprise.
“You really don’t know?”
I glare at him, a silent reminder that I’m not in the mood to be fucked with.
He shrugs. “I got an envelope in the mail. When I opened it up, it was a picture of my mom and sister with the top of the picture cut off at their necks. The note on the back said that I’d regret the decision if I fired you.”
I cover my mouth in horror. “Oh, my God. That’s disgusting. Who would do something like that?”
He looks like he’s not sure if he believes that I had nothing to do with it. “Look, you can leave now. I’ve got it covered.”
I want to insist he tells the police, but I have no idea who sent him that letter. And I have no way of knowing if contacting the authorities will cause this person to retaliate against Aasif and his family.