Page 35 of My Girl
He adds a fourth finger. The spikes are smashing against my inner flesh. The sensation is full and sharp, the pressure splitting me at the seams. Liquid drips down my face, and I can’t tell if it’s tears or sweat. A bead of something streams down between my thighs, and I lift my head. Is it blood? Arousal? Sweat? I can’t see what it is. Crave’s four fingers, bundled together, are all I see.
He’s going to fist me with those gloves on, isn’t he?
“Get off of me.” I squirm, shoving my feet toward him, but my legs spread wider.
“This giant meat hole didn’t even have to warm up to take my four fingers. But we can’t have your pussy blood staining my custom gloves.” He salivates, then spits a glob into my wet, gaping hole. Tears blur my vision. He shushes me. “It’s okay, baby. You can make this all go away if you just admit who you really are.”
I close my eyes, willing this to disappear. To wake up with relief that this is just some fucked-up, wet dream.
But I like it.
“I bet this used-up pussy can take more,” he says. I open my eyes. Pleasure flames inside of me while pain radiates from my core to my head. My whole body quakes. He readies the final finger for insertion.
“You can’t fit that thing inside of me!” I scream.
“I can. And I will,” he says. “Relax, or this will hurt.”
He pulls his fingers back enough to add his thumb. I suck in a breath. I count in my head to distract myself from the pain. I quickly lose track.
I could tell him what he wants to hear. I can admit that I want to kill too. Words don’t mean anything. They’re just sounds. It doesn’t mean I will actually kill someone.
His knuckles push through, crowning over my pelvic bone, his wrist bruising my hard muscle. My brain expands, every drop of blood inside of me rushing to the surface of my skin. My vision goes white. A garbled noise, something like a grunt and a cry, bursts through me.
“Is it in?” I wail. “Oh god, please, let it be in?—”
“Look at how easy that was,” he laughs. “What a good little cunt, taking a fist like this. No wonder you’re so desperate for attention that you fuck any man who takes an interest in you. They probably can’t feel anything.”
That’snottrue. He knows it. Menlikefucking me.
Don’t they?
“I hate you,” I scream.
“They’ll never know you like I do,” Crave says. “They’ll never be able to take you like this. You need someone like me. A killer who doesn’t care about what you want. A maniac psychopath who will rip you apart and force you to endure every fucking second of it.”
He leans forward, his lips so close to mine, I can smell his scent. Burnt. Oil. Musk. The slightly sweet taste of his breath.
“You’re mine, Rae.” He moves his fist, his knuckles like insects eating me alive from the inside out, the sensation stunning me.
Is it pleasure? Pain?
“You’re not a person; you’re a possession. My fucking possession,” he says. “Nothing more than my flesh. My blood. An object to use however I want.”
The pleasure seeps through me, and I convulse. A contorting body, muscles spasming, squeezing around his gloved, spiky fist, my body pulsing with fire. He bellows, his howls like the cracks of a cannon. My mind can’t concentrate. I am pure sensation.
Eventually, the tension recedes.
Crave removes his fist slowly. As his knuckles caress the opening, I whimper, curling into myself. The spiked glovesshouldhurt, but I’m so over-sensitized that I don’t feel anything.
I turn to my side. I wasn’t supposed to like that.
He pulls my hips until I’m lying on my back again. Then he pulls out his dick and fucks my gaping hole. I can barely feel him.
“You’re so goddamn loose,” he says, still pounding into me. “A sloppy little cunt.”
His head throws back at those words, and his cock explodes inside of me. He switches hastily to his hands and knees and licks between my thighs, eating each drop of depravity that leaks out between us. My hips twitch forward. It feels good. Almost soothing.
When he lifts himself up, clear fluid and spots of red mark his lips. My cum, his cum, my blood, his saliva.
