Page 18 of Don't Run
A hand settles on my lower back, deepening my arch while he pounds into me.
I do what he wants, following his commands—even the silent ones.
Oh, God.
I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger.
I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger whose face I’ve never seen.
I’m getting fucked in a graveyard by a stranger whose name I don’t know.
And it feels like bliss.
I don’t care about anything but coming for him. His heavy dick hurts so good, I’m already on the edge. And when his palm lands on my ass in a resounding slap, that’s exactly what I do.
“Four,” I manage past my shuddered breaths. The dark night swallows my cries while amplifying his guttural groans.
“Your pussy is so fucking good.”Thrust. “Feel like I need this shit.”Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.Each one harder than the last. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
Words don’t form after that and we don’t need them. He fucks me, deep and hard in this graveyard, and mentally, I thank him for every second of it.
Each brutal thrust brings me back to my sanity.
Each slap against my skin makes me feel alive again.
And every time he slows to stop himself from coming too soon, a rush of adrenaline surges through me.
That must be why my sixth orgasm is the hardest. Right after the man behind me comes on my ass before pushing back in, my brain rewires itself without my permission.
What kind of stamina? His cum is warm against my skin but he’s not going soft. In fact, he’s fucking me harder than before. Deeper than before.
I cry out, choking on the wordsixas black edges out my vision. My fifth orgasm was subtle. A quiet but shaking release that I took in stride while he kept fucking me. But this…this feels different and my breaths start chasing each other.
I can’t hold myself up anymore, collapsing on the ground the same time, “Yellow!” rushes past my lips in a slur.
AFTERCARE AND GOODBYES
Six.
Apparently that’s my limit on how many times I can come back to back.
Groggily, I ease my eyes open and wince even though the room is dark, a four-arm brass candelabra on the nightstand the only source of light in the room.
“Welcome back, Ms. Shaw.” A tall, brown skinned man with long, raven hair stares at me expectantly.
“Who are you?” I croak, shifting on the firm bed.
“I’m Dr. Alonzo, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up right now?”
“Three,” I answer, my eyes darting around for the familiar pumpkin head. My chest deflates when I come up empty, shifting my focus from the door back to the man at my side.
Had I made it up? Was it an hallucination?
A vivid wet dream?
“What happened?” I ask, voice scratchy.
The doctor in front of me holds up a paper cup of water and waits for me to take it. I’ve already forgotten his name but accept it with a grateful nod, downing it in one swallow.
