My stomach sinks just considering what I’m about to do, but he’s still above me, so sure and so strong, and I want to disappear for a moment. Following some instinct I don’t quite understand, I tentatively wrap my arms around him, burrow my face into the crook of his neck, and take shelter somewhere I’m not even sure I’m welcome.
He’s strong and hard, but his skin is so warm, so smooth beneath my lips as I absently press them against the curve of his shoulder. There’s nowhere else to seek comfort. He’s my aggressor, but also the only available sanctuary.
The low grumble of his voice soothes my frayed nerves. “What are you feeling?”
“Confused,” I answer honestly. “Afraid.”
“Afraid of me?”
I nod into his neck.
“Of what I’ll do to you?”
My heart thuds in my chest and I nod again.
“Which one scares you more?”
I frown. “What do you mean? Both. They’re basically the same thing.”
“They’re not. Are you most afraid of me, or what I might do to you?” When I don’t immediately answer his confusing question, he adds, “I might suggest that since you’re currently clinging to me for safety, you aren’t as afraid of me as what I’ll do to you.”
I guess that makes sense. Something inside whispers that I should be embarrassed to be clinging to him for safety, but the strong sense that he welcomes it makes me not so embarrassed. He likes it, and if I can give him something he likes that isn’t sex, that seems like the way to go.
Since my thighs are spread with his knees planted on the bed between them, he has excellent access. He lets me continue to hide in the crook of his neck with my arms wrapped around his body, but he reaches between my legs again and runs his finger over my entrance. I don’t want it to, but it feels nice. He does it again and again and again, until finally, he uses his fingers to gently spread my pussy. He doesn’t push a finger into me immediately, just holds me open and vulnerable. I feel the cool air on parts of my pussy cool air doesn’t typically touch and that lets me know just how open I am.
“I want to taste this,” he murmurs, but makes no move to enact that desire, so I don’t panic. “I want to put handcuffs on you so your hands are forced over your head and I want to climb between your legs. I want you squirming and reluctant so I can grip these pretty thighs so tightly, you’ll have bruise marks from my fingers the next day. I want to touch you and lick you and fucking devour this pussy. I want you coming so many times your voice gives out and between broken cries, you beg me to stop, even while some small part of you prays I’ll disregard the request and keep going.”
My mouth feels suddenly dry. I swallow, then lick my dry lips, but I stay hidden and don’t respond.
“Then, once I’ve made you come again, I want to shove my cock into this pretty, swollen pussy and abuse it some more. You’ll have come so many times, you won’t be able to handle the friction. Every thrust will be excruciating on your over stimulated nerves. You’ll beg me to stop, but I won’t. This pussy belongs to me now, and I’ll use it as much as I please. I’ll drive into your poor, abused little pussy until, impossibly, you feel the pleasure building again. It doesn’t feel like any pleasure you’ve ever known before, though. It isn’t even something you anticipate. It’s something you dread. It feels like a tsunami approaching the shore and you know there’s no chance you’ll survive it.”
I gasp as he slides a finger deep inside me, touching parts of me he has no right to.
“And make no mistake, Hallie, when you come that time, it will break you. You’ll be in pieces in the aftermath, your body more spent than you thought humanly possible. You’ll be drained and so exhausted you can’t move, but I’ll move you. I’ll pull you into my arms and let you settle in. You’ll feel safe there, even though I’m the one who broke you. You’ll trust me to put you back together, and I will. I’ll rebuild you and make you whole again, that way I can do it all over again some other night.”
My heart pounds in the wake of the picture he just painted for me. He toys with my pussy as he paints this picture of my decimation, and I’m afraid that means he plans to deliver on it tonight. I’m not sure I wanted the warning.
“Do you think you can handle that?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper honestly.
I can’t see him nod, but I can feel it. That’s the answer he expected. “No,” he says in agreement. “You’re not ready for that yet, are you?”