Page 44 of My Girl
“Crave!” she screams.
“Admit that you love every way I take you. Whether it’s eating my ass. Fisting you. Fuck—” I laugh. “Even if I wanted you to fistme.You don’t care, as long as I use you.”
“Crave—”
“Tell me you want to lick my ass.”
“Crave, please?—”
“Tell me, or I’ll never touch your dirty little cunt again.”
“I do,” she cries. “I do. I swear I do?—”
I fall to my knees in front of her and slam her back to the ground. In a few quick movements, I rip off her clothes and shove two fingers inside of her. She shrieks in pleasure and pain—she may still be sore from the vampire-glove fisting—and her lips quiver again.
“I want to eat your ass,” she cries. “Let me eat your ass?—”
I slap her clit. She convulses. I curl my fingers toward, bringing the little girl closer to explosion.
“Say it, bitch,” I growl. “Admit you’d love eating my ass.”
“Please let me eat your ass!” she screams. “Use me. My body is yours. I want to eat your ass?—”
I rub her clit furiously with my gloved fingertips, her pussy clutching my other hand as I curl into that spot. I curl and rub and stab into her until her body tenses, a sudden wave of power rippling through her. Her body constricts around my fingers, and that fluid gushes out, drenching the leather. My cock twitches against my leg, and I keep fucking her cunt with my hands.
“Stop,” she cries. “No. I can’t?—”
She scrambles away from me. I hold her down, forcing her to take my pleasure and pain. She comes again and again, the uncontrollable cum leaking out of her body, gushing out like a fountain, her own acrid ammonia ripe in the air around us.
Once I’m satisfied that she’s empty, I pull out my fingers. Her eyes search lazily, too cum-drunk to know what to do with herself.
Even after all of these years of being desperate for a thrill, she’s never been fucked like this.
“Let me—” she starts to say.
I shush her. I brush the hair out of her eyes. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” I ask.
“What?”
“To know that I’m in control. No matter what you do. No matter who you pretend to be. No matter what you tell yourself, I could doanythingto you, even kill you, and you’d like it because I’m the only one who understands who you truly are.”
Her lips press shut, studying me, and it’s like stealing a pacifier from a baby.
A vibration rumbles. She finds her purse. My eyes catch on the button-sized camera lens.
Her purse was recording her getting pissed on and begging to eat my ass. I love it.
She turns off the alarm, then glances at the stairs. The soft morning light comes down the steps, inching toward daybreak. She still has to shower before work.
“Go,” I say.
“Why?” she asks. “I could stay.”
The subtext of her words:Tell me to stay with you.
“You need a shower,” I say. “You smell like a bathroom.”
“You’re such a?—”
