Mr Garcia

I smile against the mattress. I thought I’d lost him there for a moment.

He gets up, and I frown. What’s he doing now? I hear something tear, and I glance over my shoulder to see him rolling a condom on.

What the hell? He’s really into his role play.

Horror dawns.

Maybe a little too much.

Is this how he fucks his whores? Is this what he does to them?

He slaps me hard again, and I wince in pain. What’s with the slapping?

I’m not sure I like this.

The bed dips and he kneels behind me. He glides his tip over my back entrance and through the lips of my sex.

“Do you know how hot you look from this angle?” He rubs his fingers over my behind. He’s still desperate to have me there.

With one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor, he slowly pushes himself into me, and lets out a deep, guttural moan.

My heart constricts.

He isn’t having sex with me now. In his mind, he’s fucking a stranger.

He’s with a prostitute.

I scrunch my eyes shut. Be careful what you wish for, April.

“Good girl,” he whispers and kisses my back. “Just like that.” He leans over and begins to ride me, his hips working in short, thick pumps. “You love my cock, don’t you, my little dirty girl?”

I close my eyes. Hell, sometimes I wish I didn’t.

He moans.

“Your cunt feels so hot and creamy,” he whispers darkly. “Clench for me, baby. Break it.”

My body releases a deep shudder. I’m going to come again to the sound of his dirty talking.

I’m as fucked up as he is. I’m loving this shit.

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back as he slams into me.

I cry out, the air knocked from my lungs.

Then, he’s riding me hard.

The bed is hitting the wall, and the sound of our skin slapping together is echoing around the room.

Ouch. I close my eyes to try and deal with him.

My body begins to burn. His moans are loud and, God, this is full on.

I’ve never been fucked like this before.

Rough… so rough.

He’s a lot of man to take.

I whimper, and he grabs the back of my head and pushes my face into the mattress. With both hands, he maneuvers my spine so that my shoulders are down on the bed, handcuffed and completely at his mercy.

He brings his feet to either side of my body and squats over me. His cock is so deep inside, and his hands are pushing my back down with his deep, fast, punishing pumps. My eyes roll back in my head.

Thump, thump, thump goes the bed on the wall.

Oh no, I’m going to come.

He begins to moan, deep and guttural, and I smile into the mattress.

Here he goes. I can feel it building.

He hisses loud and holds himself deep, and then he cries out as he jerks hard.

In the final showdown, he pumps me so hard that I might just break.

I cry out as the last of my resilience is stolen from me.

I slump onto the bed, my eyes filled with tears.

He drops his head to my back, as if collecting himself, and then he reaches up and releases the handcuffs.

Without a word, he gets up and walks into the bathroom.

I pant to myself.

I sit up and put my head into my hands.

What was that?

I get up and walk into the bathroom to see him with both hands leaning on the bathroom vanity. He’s staring at his reflection in the mirror, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

He’s wet with perspiration, his hair and eyes wild.

He looks up, and his cold eyes meet mine. He tears off the condom and throws it in the waste bin, as if disgusted.

What?

I don’t know what’s going on here but this is fucked up.

I turn to walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. I hear him marching out after me.

“Don’t you leave me!” he cries.

I turn to face him.

He’s panting with crazy fear in his eyes.

“I’m working on it.” He shakes his head. “I’m… I’m working on it.” He stammers. “Don’t leave me. Please." He begs, “I swear, I’ll change.”

My face falls.

And I thought my demons were bad.

I go to take him in my arms. “It’s okay, baby,” I whisper. He drops his head to my shoulder, and I hold him.

He’s distraught. Close to tears.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.

He holds me so tightly, and he seems distraught over it.

“It’s okay,” I whisper against his hair. “It’s okay.”

We stand like this in the hallway for a long time—his head in my neck, and my arms protectively around his shoulders—until we have to move. “Come on, let’s have a shower and wash this oil off,” I whisper up at him.

His haunted eyes hold mine. I lean up and kiss him softly. He screws up his face against mine.