Page 13 of Quiet Rage
All my anger does is make me squeeze him harder, but he seems to like that, sighing almost happily while my hand moves up and down in an awkward rhythm.
“It’s not a race,” he reminds me. What I wouldn’t give to snap this thing off right now. It is most definitely a race. I want this over with.
“Spit on it,” he grunts, placing a hand on either side of me, leaning against his palms with his eyes closed. The happy, almost peaceful expression he’s wearing makes me want to throw up. It might be the worst part of this, how much he’s enjoying it. And here I am, wishing I was dead, wanting nothing more than to put this behind me.
It’s hard to call up any spit in my mouth, but somehow I manage it, and I let it dribble out of my mouth onto his swollen, purple head. “Fuck, yeah,” he moans, and now he’s moving his hips, working himself in and out of my closed fist. My spit makes it easier, and I can tell he likes it when he starts grunting and panting.
“Faster,” he growls, and there is something so dark and almost animalistic in the sound. A shiver of fear runs through me before I pick up the pace, and soon something else helps with the friction. Something coming out of his dick and dribbling down his head, something warm and sticky.
Please, let this be over soon.
“You’re gonna make me come, Dragonfly,” he whispers.Please, please do.“You’re so good. I’ll have to recommend you to everybody I know.” My teeth sink into my lip so I can bite back a broken, helpless sob. Somehow, I know if I beg him not to, hewill. He probably doesn’t mean it now, but he will if I take him seriously.
It doesn't seem possible, but he’s getting bigger, swelling. His deep, throaty groans ring loud in my ears. “Here comes…” he whispers. “Get ready. I’m…I’m gonna…”
He doesn’t finish speaking before I’m shocked and grossed out by the cum shooting out, dripping down my fingers, some splashing on my shirt before another splash and another rush. I have to fight hard against the nausea making my stomach clench and my insides go hot like they do just before I puke. The only thing that stops me from spewing just to get a little payback is knowing he would make me pay for it somehow.
“Fuck, that was good. A little clumsy…” He has the nerve to laugh softly as he pulls back, withdrawing himself from my touch and tucking himself back into his shorts while I look down at my coated, sticky hand. I want to peel my skin off. I don’t know how many washings it will take to ever feel clean. Maybe it’s not possible.
My hand is shaking when I ask, “Can I go now?“ As much as I hate the sight of it, I keep staring downward, so I don’t have to look at him. I can’t. It might break me for good.
“We did have a bargain, didn’t we?”
Yes, he’s so generous. So proud of himself, when I steal a glimpse of his grin. The only thing getting me through is knowing it will be over soon, and it is, finally, when he backs away so I can bolt. Forget waiting for the elevator. Even though it’s probably sitting right where I left it, I take the stairs instead, feet flying, my breath coming in hitching gasps.
How am I supposed to live like this?
And how much longer will this last?
Chapter 7
Kellen
Her hand is so small.I already knew I was big, but compared to her? I am massive, a redwood, and she is so good at doing exactly what it takes to make me explode.
I’m tingling and twitching as I roll over in bed, reaching down to run a hand over the erection that’s starting to grow under my blanket. The lotion bottle on the nightstand has been getting a lot of use the past couple of days, since my favorite pastime is now going back over every second of our special one-on-one session in the library.
As usual, I smile to myself when the memories come flooding back like the flood of cum I unleashed when I finished. The horror in her eyes and her voice once she figured out what was happening. It was priceless. I wish I had thought to record the whole thing so I could see it again and again more clearly than I do in my memory.
But that’s clear enough, satisfying enough. A shiver of hunger runs through me and gets me rigid before I do what she did and throw back the blanket to take hold of myself after spurting a few pumps of lotion into my palm.
So small. Totally defenseless. I had her pinned, trapped. Those big, blue eyes were so full of fear. I was her god, in complete control of her destiny. I could’ve changed my mind, picked her up with one arm, thrown her over a table like I threatened. It would’ve taken nothing to shove myself in her tight, tiny little pussy and fuck her bloody.
When I close my eyes, I can see it. Her white, creamy ass bent over the edge of the table. Her hands clawing at the surface. I can hear her high-pitched whimpers, pain dancing with fear. I can even feel her fighting against me—or at least her best attempt at fighting, which I don’t think would be much of anything. Not against me.
So tight. She would be, too, as small and inexperienced as she is. Tightening my grip isn’t the same as the real thing. It can’t be.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt a little frustration while I was in the middle of jerking off, remembering what happened last week. Because it’s not the same. I can jerk off all day, every day, but it wouldn’t come close to the electricity of Tamson’s touch. She didn’t even know what she was doing—it was obvious, almost funny how she fumbled at first. That wasn’t nerves. It was inexperience.
And as good as her touch was, I know her pussy would be even better. I can’t help groaning when I imagine forcing my way into her. Maybe playing with her tiny clit beforehand, to get her good and wet. Not for her sake, but for mine. There’s nothing worse than a dry fuck.
But once she was wet and swollen and ready, I would part her lips and fill her up with every last inch of what I’m now working with my fist. It’s a blur, filling the room with squelching sounds that get louder the faster I go.
This isn’t going to be enough soon. I’m going to need more.
That’s the last thought that races through my brain before I empty my balls with a deep groan. How many times has it been since the library? Even if I kept count, I would’ve lost it by now. I can’t think straight anymore. I’m too busy wanting her.
Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m hooked. I am no better than one of the pathetic junkies who make their way back to The Archer’s Den time and time again. I’ve seen enough of them to know they walk in looking like they would rather be anywhere else. Like they hate themselves for their weakness. It doesn’t stop them, that hatred. Their need is much greater.
