Page 2 of Dirty Tricks

The stance reminds me of my mother, scared of the man she married.

I can’t bear this tiny girl—five foot even, maybe five one if she thinks tall thoughts—being afraid ofme.

“Hey,” I say softly, raising my hands in greeting and surrender. I remain exactly where I am, so my six foot three frame doesn’t frighten her any further. My eyes dart down from her face for a split second, just long enough to see she’s wearing a long t-shirt that ends mid-thigh.

A shirt and nothing underneath. I can see the sculpted curves of her tits underneath the thin off-white fabric. Can see the dark apex at the top of her thighs.

“But they’re out of season,” she continues, tilting her head back, so the light is absorbed into her wide blue eyes, illuminating them into a sunrise.

For a second, I’m confused as hell. Then the blank stare and nonsensical language click.

She’s sleepwalking.

I take a step closer and wave my hands, but she doesn’t see, doesn’t react. Her arms hug her midriff before she retreats into the corner, her right shoulder pressing flat against the door I need to escape.

My jaw tightens with a jolt of recognition.

I saw her earlier today. She stood in the student housing office with an enormous man, an enormouslyloudman, while the poor clerk stationed there tried not to flinch at the foul language that flew from the fat fuck’s mouth.

Her father, I guess. There’d been a tiny grey rabbit of a woman sitting in the front seat of the car outside, features pinched as she stared fixedly ahead, waiting.

A once-pretty woman edging past her use-by date.

Nothing like this strange girl, a hair away from being plain, spared that indignity thanks to the intrigue of her wide-set eyes and obscenely wide mouth.

The wide mouth with the plump upper lip that she now licks, sending a bolt of desire ricocheting through my battered body.

I move closer, calculating I can probably lift her out of the way, no trouble. She can’t weigh more than ninety pounds. Since she didn’t wake when I clambered out from under the bed, there’s a good chance she won’t wake if I move her around the room like a chess piece.

One step forward and she whimpers, then drops to her knees. I move closer, concerned at the collapse, then stop when I’m half a foot away.

Her blank gaze stares through me, then drops level with my crotch. A rush of blood to my cock gives her a standing ovation, instantly, embarrassingly, hard.

I imagine what someone will think if she wakes and screams for help. They’ll arrive on the scene with her on the floor and me standing over her, a throbbing erection inches from her face.

But the thought does nothing to quell the surge of lust. I rub myself to relieve the worst of the discomfort, then jerk my fingers away when she reaches for me, dragging at the elastic gathering of my sweatpants, tugging them down so my rigid prick springs free, slapping against my abdomen.

With her left hand clinging to my waistband, her tiny right hand clamps around the base of my cock, fingertips not even halfway to touching. She pumps gently, then frowns, pulling away to spit in her palm, spreading the saliva over me before she sets to work again.

My balls tighten, my arsehole clenches. My head spins with dizziness, overcome by the sensation.

A rush of tingles spreads out from her touch. Nothing at all like when I perform the same activity alone. The hair on my head fizzes, my nipples harden to stone, just the brush against my soft tee enough to make them burn.

I’m a freak. No girl has ever touched me before.

They certainly haven’t wrapped their delicate fingers around mycock.

My head sags backwards, the vertebrae in my neck turning liquid until my mouth gapes at the ceiling. My lids narrow with pure joy, thanking the universe for this unexpected pleasure arriving out of the blue.

“It won’t fit,” she murmurs, her voice soft and small and comforting, an aural balm.

My hips jerk towards her, my palm going to the wall beside me for support as I loom above her kneeling form. My head switches direction, lolling forward on my boneless neck until I stare straight down at her. Almost as turned on by the vulnerability of her position as I am by the electrifying caress of skin against skin.

I inhale, breathing in the floral notes of her shampoo, an aroma of roses and feijoas and spring sunshine. My senses twist and turn, jostling for prominence.

Those wide eyes fasten on my chin, and I tuck it under, worried she’ll see my scars, though the bandanna is still in place.

With the lubrication, her hand continues to send bolts of pure joy catapulting through my body, making my muscles tense, my hips tipping even farther towards her, making it as easy as possible to keep pumping me.

---