“I want you to lick me,” I say, and open my legs. The words came from my mouth unplanned, but I need her. I need to feel her. And release what has built up in me.
She laughs derogatorily.
“I mean it,” I say.
“Lick me.”
“Fuck me.”
Her head twitches slightly.
“Take me.”
She draws back her shoulders. It’s working.
One more?—
“Destroy me,” I say.
It was the one more thing needed.
She walks over to me, kneels on the bed with one leg between mine. Her hand snaps forcefully around my throat, and she pushes me back into the sheets with her weight.
“I hope you will hate me after this,” she says, and lets go of me. “Don’t you dare fucking move.”
I hope you will hate me after this.
Her words resound in my mind.
She is trying to drive me away.
All of this.
It is an act.
An act to make me hate her, so I leave her alone. She wants to be the villain in my story, so that she doesn’t have to feel bad for driving me away.
But I won’t let her.
I lay still as she slides her hand down between my legs.
She chuckles darkly.
“Are you enjoying this?” she asks.
I don’t answer. Because part of me does. And I am scared of that part.
I know that my clit is swollen, and I am wet.
She slides two fingers into me. I gasp. Three fingers. I gasp again. Four.
It gets uncomfortable, and I move away.
“I said don’t move,” she says dangerously. “I am going to fist you, you will not move away, you won’t make a sound. You will lie still, and don’t complain.”
She positions herself, and her hand pushes against my entrance. She pushes against it, again and again. Until—pain.
I want to scream. But I can’t. I am not allowed to.