Page 21 of Something So Strong

Checking the staff files to see if anyone else new has started. A girl. A Kendall type. Nice and innocent, away from mommy and daddy, and willing to be corrupted. Pliable. Easily manipulated. Every night I could have her waiting for me on hands and knees, mouth open, ready. I’d make her call me Daddy. Write my name on all her underwear. Make her come so hard she’ll worship me like a fucking God. And all before I get the chance to give a shit about who she is as a person.

Because that’s the key to all this.

If they mean nothing, it’s easy to leave.

For me. Not them.

It’s never about them.

It wouldn’t be hard either. Women are stupid. Especially the ones with daddy issues. If they didn’t have a man to say ‘I love you’ growing up, they’ll find one who’ll lie to them when they’re older. And I have no problems being that guy. It’s fun.

Except with Alma. But she was never like them to begin with.

She’s strong. Doesn’t need a man to be happy. But she fell for a cunt and I can’t hold it against her.

I’m a glutton for punishment. I always knew she’d be bad for me. I’d resisted her for a year before my relentlessly needy cock got his way, and now I’m wallowing in a quagmire of self-abhorrence instead of cornering Jesse to see if he can make my dick hard again.

To see if he gets turned on, too.

Fuck. I’d do it just to see his freckles up close.

I bet they’d look even sweeter coated in my cum. His face flushed. His mouth still open and panting from where I just pulled out of it.

I sigh, a warm rush of serenity washing over me like a hit of opium as my blood rushes south.

In a daze, my eyes slowly blink.

Rolling onto my stomach, an almost animalistic grunt has me tensing my jaw when my cock rubs against the mattress.

I’m so fucking hard it hurts.

I want Jesse beneath me. Begging me for… Anything.

To kiss him. Touch him. Be inside him. Fuck him harder.

The feeling of being alone and turned on is so unfamiliar that I don’t even realize I’m humping the sheets until my thoughts start to feel good.

“Jesse,” I pant, spinning onto my back and pushing down my underwear.

Gripping myself, I imagine him standing beside the bed. Staring. Watching as my hand slides up and down my shaft. Unable to move. His eyes full of hatred for me.

“You’re hard too, aren’t you?” I tease the void beside me, pumping harder as I picture his face turning red. “You wanna leave, but you can’t look away. You wanna touch yourself so bad because it isn’t fair that I have all the fun. But that would mean admitting something, wouldn’t it?”

God, the thought of making him mad is everything.

I want him to hate me. Loathe me with so much desire that he can’t help but push back.

I want him to break. Crumble. Be built back up wanting me more than air because that’s how he makes me feel. Like I’ve never known pure oxygen until I saw him because that’s just the way irony would come to bite my life in the ass.

It would be a man.

And, of course, I’d love it after all those years of vehement denial.

“Are you gonna keep standing there or are you ready to accept that you want this too?” I shut my eyes, continuing to talk to my empty room. “I bet you’re too much of a pussy to admit it. I bet you wanna hit me… Spit on me…”

My hips buck up at the idea of Jesse leering down at me.

My hand pumps faster.

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