Updated: Mar 15, 2022
She doesn't remember me. I thought to myself. It took a great deal of courage on my part to even approach her whilst she had lunch with her co-workers. The first few days I made sure to keep my distance in case she may recognize me. Remember me as the awkward boy who, despite being the heir to my father's wealthy throne, couldn't catch a woman's attention if it could save my life. Or even worse, I feared she'd remember me as the scrawny boy who couldn't throw a fist if my life depended on it. Though the thought did excite me, admittedly. I had hoped that maybe our reunion would be one of those moments I read about in my favorite comic books as a young lad. How the physically challenged protagonist undergone some great transformation and the leading lady would swoon in awe and offer herself without question. Fear seized my heart when I first laid eyes on her. What if she remembers? Will she scoff? Will she see pass my transformation and only see me as that scrawny pretty boy? All these fears buzzed inside my mind for the better part of the construction until I found some courage and finally stepped into my yard and approached them. Holding my breath until she finally looked up and muttered.
"And so the Prince decides to grace us with his presence." She doesn't recognize me at all. And why should she? Years of my reinventing myself coupled with the very brief moment in our lives where we knew one another was enough to make me forgettable. Of course, you're forgettable, fool, you're only as good as your given name. I shake the nasty thoughts from mind even though they held a certain weight of truth to them. No one sticks around long enough to remember me as anything more than just my father's wretched son. But I remembered her instantly. At first first I played it off as if we were strangers, pretending I didn't know her name. Even flirting a bit though this didn't elicit the reaction I had hope. Yet, I could tell there was a twinge of attraction from the way she'd squirm under my gaze. This thrilled me.
She too had undergone her own changes, however. She seemed more jaded and more withdrawn from last I met her. Sarcasm, though I remember being a fluent language of hers, seemed sharper and colder. Less playful more resentful. Years of what I can only tell was harsh conditions and strenuous labor only added to the resentment I knew was already evident nearly a decade ago. Ten years, and she still looks amazing even in dirty coveralls and wild frizzle coils. In fact, it somehow added to her charm. A rugged sort of beauty, if you will. I watched her from my balcony with curious eyes the first few days. Seeing her work and grind just as hard as the rest of them. If not more so. Every so often, however, when she thought no one was looking a pained grimace would smear across her face. Her hands would squeeze at the small of her back and she'd roll her shoulders to ease whatever ache assaulted her body. Poor little thing, no one that pretty should be so stressed. Everyday she'd show up thirty minutes earlier than her co-workers, clothed in beige coveralls that were two sizes too big. I suppose that was her feeble attempt at hiding her curves, which she failed miserably at doing. Despite the icy wit and cold disposition, she seemed warm towards her blue-collar brethren. From afar I'd see her make what I could tell was a snide remark that left some of the men writhing and falling over in laughter. I want to know the joke, too.
Desiree Jones, years ago when we were both in our early twenties worked as a waitress at an old mom and pop shop that once went by the name of Ricky's. In those years, I was a rail thin kid with even longer unkept hair, but a can-do attitude that I swore I had inherited from my own father. However, between the divorce and his newly obtained wealth, my father had changed into someone I did not recognize. Something I wasn't sure I liked. The 'pull yourself up by your boot straps' loving husband and father turned into overtly narcissistic sleaze with all the delusions of grandeur that came with the image. Two months into my new job and my father had called me into his office for one of the few occasions he would actually talk to me. Taking a gander at my loose-fitting dress shirt, slacks and vest he scoffed and bellowed in a mocking tone,
"What is this, boy?"
"What's what?" I replied. As if unsure of what to do with his hands he just gestures at me as if the answer were obvious.
"The get up. You slumming it at Ricky's I hear."
"It's just a part time job. Something to-"
"Waste your damn time and make me look bad. What's this job? What are you doing?"
"Bar tending." I droned. He repeats what I said in a condescending manner that angers me beyond measure. He had that same look on his face whenever I attempted to do, well, anything. A look that is somehow more off putting than how a person looks at a small dying bug. My fists clench.
"Is this something of a hobby? Why do you feel the need to wallow with these people knowing I give you everything? Do you not have enough, boy?"
"I just want to learn to make it on my own is all. Like you did when you met mom-"
"So, this is about a girl?"
"Why didn't you say so! Listen, girls are easy. Is it Mr. Pellucci's daughter the one that works at his restaurant? If you have a thing for her I can arrange something. He's been trying to link up with me for quite some time now." He says with a wink. Admittedly I did have a thing for Mr. Pellucci's daughter. I had been admiring her from afar ever since I saw her at a frat party I crashed. Now that I look back on it, I can't recall anything on her part that truly stuck out. Apart from perky tits and a perky attitude. My young mind back then wasn't too interested in substance or depth though I did enjoy those things when present. I had hoped to, in a sense, live out the love story I grew up hearing before my parents split. How they met at the start of their journey to the top. How my father also admired my mother from afar until he built himself up enough to ask her out. For whatever foolish reason I had this same dream and it involved Mr. Pellucci's daughter. Looking back on it now, I'm certain I was thinking with the smaller head on that one. "I really don't want to do things that way..." He cuts me off and goes on a speech about how my efforts and intentions are for nothing. Mere musings of an idiotic boy as he put it. That I need not waste my time on what he called 'frivolous ambitions'. That his good name alone is all I need and some other things that left me feeling foolish and small in that moment.
"You're not like me, boy. You're soft. I'm just trying to set you on the right path is all." He rasped as he leaned back in his leather chair.
"I think I might surprise you, dad." I had hoped my voice came off stronger and more confident but it clearly didn't when the sound of his laughter made a mockery of my statement. I think I hate my own father.
"Trust me, I know you better than you know yourself. You take on after your mother, unfortunately. Head in the clouds and shit. Don't waste your ti-"
"I'll see you after work." I made an abrupt exit as to avoid sticking around long enough for him to see my emotions. Something I failed, quite miserably really, at hiding in those days. Ignoring him calling me back to his study, I see myself through the front door and through our lavish front lawn. There one of our chauffeurs' yells to my back,
"Little Flynn do you need a ride?"
I simply blow him off with a wave of my hand and make my way to the bus stop. He always does this! I hear my inner thoughts rage. He can never just give me a chance to prove I'm worth a damn! I think to myself, among other more angry self-deprecating thoughts. I angrily shove my headphones in my ears and turn the volume up. Screeching vocals and aggressive guitar solos fill my head and ease my anxiety. The commute to my job didn't take long and I got there twenty minutes early. Through the back entrance is where I liked to enter in order to avoid exactly what happened the moment I stepped through the back door.
"Connor!" Mr. Pellucci beamed. Fuck.
"Hello Mr. Pellucci." I greet with a half-hearted smile. He's learned my anti-social routine. Mr. Pellucci conveniently happened to linger in the kitchen area just minutes before my shift. In all my time working here he hardly shows up to manage his own establishment. The few times he is here, he never leaves his office. Until he learned my little secret routine to avoid human interaction. The olive skin man with his beefy build rests a heavy meaty hand on my shoulder.
"Jesus kid, look at yuh! All skin and bones. As rich as your pop is you'd think you get some grown man weight by now!" He bellows. I too give a convincing laugh whilst thinking to myself, Fuck you, you inflated meatball.
"Listen, kid, do you think you can have a chat with you daddy about having a business chat with me? I know he specialize in property rentals and I've been looking to expand. If you could do this for me, I promise to take good care of you around here." I squirm under his clear lack of respect for personal space. I can smell the whiskey on his breath and I nearly gag. When I got this job, I had hoped to just sharpen my skills as an adult. Everything else had been so easy for me and my mother had always taught me character means more than anything. She told me that if I believed that then success will follow. Yet here I stood amongst men who lacked character and seemed to have it all. Was my father right all along? I took a step to the side to subtly remove myself from the weight of his heavy meaty hand and sighed.
"I'll see what I can do, boss."
Mr. Pellucci didn't seem very happy with this answer but he wouldn't let it show. Best not to anger the son of his possible meal ticket. I felt my anger build again. He nodded and patted me on the back, leaving me to prepare for my shift.
"Hey Connor, don't worry about working too hard tonight. In fact, you can leave an hour early if you like. And let your old man know I took care of yuh, okay?"
"Sure." I say with a forced smile. That's when she stepped in. I knew he had hired a new girl but I was rather shocked by the new addition to our team. She wasn't at all like the other women he had employed. Our shifts hadn't crossed until now and I found myself a bit intrigued by the short yet curvaceous thing that walked through the back door. Guess she wants to avoid people just like I do. I thought. Headphones also blasting loud and angry metal songs I knew all too well. Upward reaching coils pinned into a mohawk sort of style, left her face in full view. And what cute little face did she have. Big doe eyes adorned with long lashes. A round nose that dotted her face with pouty lips that were full and lush. Her skin even, smooth and glowing with a deep sensual mahogany color. A cute beauty mark decorated the corner of her left eye. She certainly wasn't from around here. I could tell just from the way she carried herself. While others seemed more preoccupied with keeping up with the Joneses, she appeared aloof and unbothered by anything outside of what held her attention within her own thoughts.
"Uhg, this fucking girl..." Mr. Pelluci muttered. "Ms. Jones, didn't I talk to you about this!?" He scolded her. She pulled her headphones from her head.
"What? I didn't catch that." She said with raised brows.
"How you're dressed!" This started a brief back and forth between them that ended in Desiree making it clear why Mr. Pellucci really didn't approve of her attire which was well within the code.
"Listen if you want more titties popping around here then maybe you should show off those goddamn moobs of yours!" For the first time in I don't know how long, I actually cackled. So hard in fact my face turned red and my side began to hurt. "Ah, see this guy gets it." She grinned. Mr. Pellucci stomped off cursing and muttering about how she's lucky he respects veterans, leaving us in peace. Finally. Her eyes leer over to me. "You new?" I shake my head, no.
"Been here a couple months so far. You?"
"I started last week. I'm Desiree. But my friends call me D.J." She stepped over to shake my hand and oddly enough I felt no anxiety in her presence. Pretty girls in those times always filled me with dread and fear but this one, I felt something else. Like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer day. I gave her a firm handshake and a toothy smiled spread across that face with its flawless russet skin. Something sweet and warm radiated from her and I found myself smirking to myself. She's really cute. I thought. Which shocked me because she was the polar opposite of my infatuation, Michelle. Yet I found myself instantly smitten. She bit her bottom lip and all I could think was how badly I wanted to experience what it was like to kiss those lips. Both of them.
"I'm Connor. What time do you start your shift?"
"I got about ten minutes. You?" I tell her the same and she takes a peek at the work schedule.
"Aw fuck me, Michelle's working tonight? Welp there goes my chance of having an easy work load. She does abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Not that she has to being daddy's princess and all. God-fucking-damn it." She seemed really creative with the word 'fuck' and this made me grin like a stupid school boy.
"If you like I could try and get Mr. Pellucci to let you assist me at the bar. I honestly could use the extra help." I really wanted to have her within my vicinity so I could watch the sway of those fanned out hips. Or watch those full breasts fight desperately to be freed from the oversized blouse she tried to hide them under. Or just admire the hourglass figure perfectly packed into such a short frame. Then there's that bountiful ass. Not that I thought I had a shot with her, I just, at the very least, wanted to enjoy the view. But beneath that I also knew that if Michelle would be the only other waitress on foot, Desiree would definitely be left picking up the slack. Sure, I had my little obsession with her, but it was no secret that Michelle had no interest in actually pulling her weight. She had been working there on and off under the guise of her father extending some form of discipline. Every month she seemed to anger or embarrass him in some shape or form. And every month he'd send her there as a punishment. Only issue was, the rest of the staff were truly the ones being punished cleaning up after her, as she wasn't use to the job. Or any form a labor honestly. Desiree's brows furrowed as she pondered on my offer. Despite my offering her the favor she seemed apprehensive about accepting. Which caused me great confusion because I couldn't recall anyone resisting any olive branch extended by the son of Isaac Flynn.
"I also get off an hour early so if you're helping me, maybe he'll let you off early too?" I added. Please say yes.
"I don't want to burden you though..."
"You won't." I sounded way too eager but this went over her head. I began to question if this woman could tell when a man likes her.
"I do have a paper to write so getting off early would be great..." After what felt like ages she agrees and I go about buttering up Mr. Pellucci with talk of my father and putting in a good word before asking he have Desiree help me behind the bar. He easily complied which was expected. People rarely ever tell me 'no' in hopes to get in my father's good favor. I hate it but if it helps someone else as well as aid me in admiring a woman I was certain I'd never get to touch, then it was a win-win for me. The first hour goes well enough with Desiree at my side helping out. It was a slow night luckily and we spent most of our time talking and cracking jokes. In that time, I learned she was a veteran having served six years and was putting herself through school. Impressed, I said,
"Wow, well thank you for your service. I can't imagine doing any of that."
"Why not? If my chubby ass could, you can too. Be all you can be, pretty boy." She winked. The way she called me pretty boy didn't come off malicious but more like her weird way of giving me a compliment. Does she like me, too?
"You're not chubby. And I doubt I'm uh... you know, strong enough for that." I instantly regretted saying that. My father always told me to never show a woman your weakness and here I was doing exactly that within an hour of knowing this woman. Expecting her to be turned off by my statement, I found myself surprised when she said,
"You'd be surprised the person you're forced to become when survival is all you got. You end up doing shit and becoming something, you never thought you'd do or be. The real mind fuck is, it's not a matter of whether you're strong enough to endure, but are you strong enough to live with the monster you grow into... Or that everyone sees you as." A glint of sadness filtered through and I felt an eagerness to know what it was rooted in. The words she spoke touched something in me I didn't quite understand then. All I knew was that beneath the careless swagger and the hard work ethic was something vulnerable. As if that monster she spoke of, the one she might have been forced to become, was a tiring role for her. Yet here I was in need to be exactly that to feel free. But there was always something, or better yet, someone, getting in my way. The moment was cut short when a few frat boys sat at the bar already drunk and rowdy. This will not end well. I thought. Trailing behind them was Michelle who also had a few to drink.
"Hey, D.J. Hey Connor." She slurred.
"And so the fuckery begins." Desiree mumbled. "Didn't your shift start over an hour ago, Michelle?"
"I had things to do. I told daddy I'd be late." Michelle answered Desiree before sashaying away to clock in, leaving her fraternity friends to order drinks. I forgot exactly how things went south but it started with one of Michelle's friends asking me was I really Isaac Flynn's son. I simply nodded and kept working.
"You sure? You look nothing like him, dude."
"He looks more like a she." Another sneered.
They all laughed. That all too familiar rage mixed with humiliation build up and my jaw flex under the skin. Michelle returned to the bar completely ignoring whatever table she was supposed to wait on. She didn't hide her amusement as her friends made more snide remarks at my expense.
"If you're Isaac's son, why are you working here? Aren't you rich?" I left the questions unanswered and attempted to ignore them as best I could. I hadn't been in a confrontation before and the few times I attempted to stand up for myself, either my father's security would intervene or my father would kill it dead by waving around money and reminding people whose last name I had. They continued their beratement and I caught the brief glimpse of Desiree glaring at them with hateful eyes. I froze. I never seen a woman look at anyone like that. As if the sight of the bullying I had grown accustom to from the moment I hit adolescence burned her alive. Her fist clenched and teeth grinding until she snapped,
"Yo, broke back Brandon, why don't you shut the fuck up and leave him alone?! He has the human decency to serve your sloppy sorry ass with a coke and a smile. So, it will behoove you to make friends with silence!" Color me shocked. This has never happened before and the whole establishment goes quiet. All three frat brothers' jaws drop and Desiree showed no signs of backing down.
"Why don't you mind your business you ugly black bit-"
With a loud and sudden crack, she head butted the kid and he fumbled backwards off the bar stool. The rickety floor boards shook under the weight of him as he held his bleeding nose.
"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to you fucking shitbag! I will end your ass!!" Thinking quick I grabbed hold of her as she was ready to climb her vertically challenged self over the bar table and lunge her body after men nearly twice her size. No fear. No thought for her own safety. Just a hurricane of rage. I dragged her from sight, her little legs and arms flailing. Jesus she's strong. What do they feed people in the Army? Mr. Pellucci came bursting in demanding someone explain why a patron was left bleeding from his face on his floor. I pointed at them, but everyone pointed at Desiree.
"It was her daddy she went crazy!"
"No your friends-"
"Don't worry about it Connor, her ass is fired!" Mr. Pellucci talked over me. Again.
"Wait, no! Listen!" Unheeded, as usual, the altercation ended up with Desiree wiggling from my grasp and leaving a hole in the drywall with her small but strong fist. I trailed behind her pleading that she come back and we straighten this out. She stops half way down the street and I think I hear her laugh between sniffles.
"Eh, don't worry about it pretty boy." She faces me. "People like that always win."
"That's not, true. Let's go back I can get Mr. Pelllucci to reconsider."
She dismisses my offer with a wave of her hand and says,
"I don't need your fucking charity. Enjoy the hand that's been dealt for you. You're lucky." And that was the last I saw her until ten years later. Funny how one small interaction can stick with a man. A day or two after that night my father invited the Pelluccis' over for dinner. He claimed it was solely for business purposes. Yet that turned out to be a lie when I found Michelle in my bedroom, perky tits out, legs spread and rubbing herself. After the incident at her father's restaurant my attraction had waned. I ruminated over it for a long time and felt tremendous guilt. I felt bad for the little Veteran and often wonder where she was and how she was doing. Was she okay? Did she finish school or found another job? Did she reenlist? As she seemed better suited for war than trying to integrate back in the civilian world. I hated myself for not having a stronger voice and wanted to change that about myself. However, being young and dumb, seeing Michelle in my bedroom with her legs spread clouded my mind for a moment and my instincts didn't play out the way I had hope. Instead, I only passively asked what she was doing and that's when my father stepped in from my private restroom.
"Dad what the fu-"
He shushed me and swaggered over and gave me a fatherly pat on the head as if I were still a child.
"Money talks son. She's all yours." He smiled. "Oh and Mr. Pellucci said you don't have to come into work tomorrow." With that he left me alone with her to do what I pleased. I guess people like us always win.
As the years went on, I learned my father's teachings weren't entirely devoid of honesty. The mere mention of my status under my father's good name awarded me with everything I could want and more. Everything accept what I had longed for from the start; Some kind of dignity or purpose. Whenever someone folded as soon as I flashed my money, I died a bit inside. I had become jaded and resentful. I'd push boundaries hoping someone would finally stand up to me and prove that the world wasn't so weak. That I wasn't weak. I'd spend years in various martial arts courses learning every bone crushing move and maneuver. I spent even more years reinventing myself so I didn't see that mousy boy whose voice went unheeded and dismissed. Yet, no amount of change on my part could spark any real excitement. I had no great feat nor a moment where I could rise to the occasion. Nothing mattered and the boredom as well as the maddening reality of it nearly killed me. So, I isolated myself in the woods. As I felt the world I had been born into was nowhere near reality, but a simulation made up to keep me coddled and docile no matter what I did to move passed it. Opportunities fell in my lap without my so much as proving I was worthy of them. Women came and went with ease. I knew none of them truly liked me or wanted to get to know me. Nor were they interested in me getting to know them. Even with my good looks and money. It got me next to nowhere. I recalled a time I asked a woman to simply give me her name. Anything that set her apart as an individual and gave me the inkling that I was engaging a flesh and blood person.
"Whatever you want it to be." Was her answer. I hate this. I am alone and I hate this. At the end of my rope I got a nice surprise. I reunited with a familiar face and I felt alive again.
I've always been fairly intuitive even when I was a clueless young man. With age, that skill sharpened and as I conversed with a more grown-up Desiree Jones, I had sensed something peculiar about the little Veteran. Something in the eyes spoke of something gentle and I wanted that vulnerable something for myself. It was like a hidden treasure only I could see. And I wanted nothing more than to take it and hoard it for myself. I had to be the one to take it. When she denied my offer, I felt invigorated by this. I had hoped she'd give me something to make me feel again. She certainly did not disappoint. After taking her body and claiming it for both our pleasure, I carried her back to my home and drew her a hot bath. Still in deep slumber I managed to clean the grim from her perfect dark brown skin and lie her in my bed without a peep from her. Having dated my fair share of beautiful black women I even put satin pillow cases on my pillows for natural coils. I lied next to her and she, in her deep sleep, unknowingly rolled into my arms and curled herself into a ball. Twiddling my hair in her fingers and humming softly as she slumbered. A growl escaped me and I found it difficult to sleep through the whole night with her naked body against mine. I needed to rest however; She was not easy to take down at all. Seriously, what do they feed them in the Army? All the strikes she landed did a bit of damaged and cumming in that tight cunt of hers drained what bit of energy I had left. I am only human after all.
I awoke to the buzzing of my phone and read that some sort of pandemic was happening. The whole world had literally shut down leaving us isolated, together. A cruel grin smeared across my face. I didn't even bother reading about this breaking story as all I could think about was how she's stuck here with me, totally cut off from the outside world. The sun had barely rose before I started to crawl between her legs. Desiree began to stir as she woke up, seemingly confused by her surroundings.
"So apparently there's a pandemic. Looks like you're going to be stuck with me longer than expected..." I say as I kiss her plush tummy. My words sink in and she bolts upright.
"The fuck are you talkin- fuh... uhng!" Her words fail her as my wet tongue takes one slow long lick at her slit. Her expression makes me wonder if any man has ever tasted her because her pretty brown eyes widen and her entire body tremors. Her eyes flutter and a gasp becomes lodged somewhere in her throat. Then a little whimper follows and I nearly mount her again. But I show restraint. I want nothing more than for her to understand even the smallest of touch from me will make her squirm. I roll my tongue against her clit, swiveling it from the widest point to the pointed tip. Body seemingly warring between fighting me off and succumbing to pleasure, she shakily lies back into my bed. She doesn't want to make any sounds, I can tell. She doesn't want me to know how good I make her feel. That's no matter, once I wrap my lips around her smooth pearl, moving my tongue against it like a slow-moving serpent I hear those cute little sounds again and know I have her right where I want her. It doesn't take much honestly. Within minutes her hips are thrusting against my mouth and my neck gets in rhythm with her. She tastes so fucking good. The way she moves those child birthing hips tells me she'd be quite talented at riding my dick later. All it takes to push my shiny new toy over the edge is two fingers gently curling inside her and a strangled cry erupts from her. She thrashes and bucks but I hold her firm, restricting her movements. She's not going anywhere because I'm not fucking done with my meal just yet. Losing interest in using any skill at this point, I began lapping at her cunt hungrily. I've been left starving long enough. Warm juices now running down my chin and dripping onto my sheets, I groan throatily into her sopping mound. Attempting to squirm and crawl away I hear her cry something along the lines of "Don't!" and "Please!" This only triggers something bestial in me and I pin her down by her waist. I position myself so that I'm able to not only eat until satisfied, but to also slide my fingers just deep enough until...
She's a juicy one. I chuckle to myself as a gush of nectar sprays from between her legs with surprising force. I straighten my posture and watch her crawl away in amusement. Still trembling and groaning, she looks up at me as if I'm some horrid creature and that's when my mind goes blank. I flip her over onto her stomach and lie flat against her back. Adrenaline taking over, Desiree manages to squirm and buck against my crushing weight but it proves pointless. Tough she is, but she's not stronger than me, not this time. What a difference from when we first met. How I struggled to nearly hold her back from waging war. This time holding her firm was more than easy. It also becomes evident I'm quite bigger than her as well. My whole body nearly envelopes her. I pinned her legs between my knees and nuzzle my painfully hard shaft against her pussy. She freezes for a moment before attempting to crawl away again.
"Fuck... Off!" She growls. My lips brush against her ear and I shush her whilst I slide balls deep inside her hot wet hole. This fucking woman will be my undoing. She grips me and the heat of her decadent cunt forces a tremor up my spine. I stay there, savoring this. Savoring how she struggles between hating me and wailing in ecstasy. Savoring how firm her pussy grips me and how the lewd feeling of her tender wet flesh makes me forget how to be civilized. She's oblivious to the fact I too struggle between hating me and indulging myself. I don't want to be like this but she brings out something in me I was told I didn't have the balls to have. Rolling my hips against those large pillowy mounds my hands run down her body to the curved dip of her lower back. The sight of her ass bouncing back against my assaulting hips is enough to drive any red-blooded man mad. The contrast of dark skin against my paler flesh consumes me. Desiree buries her face into the pillows and sheets to muffle her cries and I angrily snatched them from under her. I lean in close, hand snaking her neck, and hiss against her ear,
"Scream if you need to. It's just you and me, now, sweetheart." A guttural groan ruptures from her core forcing a growl from mine. She starts wiggling away again. Out of frustration I get out of rhythm to punish her fucking cunt with a single hard thrust. Another cute yip escapes her and I grin wickedly from ear to ear. "Don't. Run." I rasp then continue on, with long hard strokes. I want to get in good and deep. To overwhelm her body and make her lose control. I have to be the one to do this. To turn her world into a lascivious wasteland. To break through that obvious hardened shell and somehow, free her? Is that what this is? I get exactly what I want when I feel her throw her hips upward against my pelvis. Her eyes began to glaze over and her mouth hangs ajar.
"Oh god... God help me... F-Fuck!" She whines between shaky breaths. But there is no God to save her from this. From me. I pull her back a bit by her neck and rest my forehead against hers. I need those pretty eyes to look into mine. There's nothing more real, more pure, than what I see in a woman's eyes when they come undone. Especially a woman like her. It's like looking behind the veil or more so behind the armor she built for herself. I do this. My shadow self growls. I do this to her.
"Look at me." I whisper. She complies and the sight alone sets my fucking soul ablaze. A sleepy haze as if she's in a state of sedation is shown to me. Sharp breaths seeps between her clenched teeth and I can feel her flesh constricted and pulse around my girthy staff. With a throaty grunt her whole-body trembles beneath me as she shakes her head in what seems to be a combination of utter disbelief and loss of control of her own self. Yes. A hand somehow finds my free hand and her fingers curl around mine as a sob falls from her parted lips. I surprise myself with the like sounds I make. I lose all the coherent thoughts of a refined man and take on a less than human behavior. Slamming my hips angrily between the large mounds of her perfect ass then stopping balls deep to fill her womb yet again. I go light headed as my vision narrows and it looks like I'm looking at the world through the eye of a needle.
We both fall flat against my bedding, quaking under the sheer power of this moment. I never experienced anything quite like that. Somehow some way the second time, though short lived, was leaps and bounds better than the first. Will it always be like this? We clearly forget about this pandemic I spoke of and she ends up passing out on my bed. Legs and arms sprawled like a properly used doll. I dismount my new toy and roll over onto my back ready to conk out myself. I don't even bother thinking whether I should tell her we crossed paths before. I don't even think about the million other things that poisons my mind. She's somehow silenced all that. How peculiar. I just wait for her to fall deep into a much needed and deserved sleep before I roll her over closer to me. So that her diligent fingers can twiddle my hair unknowingly as she rests. I'm wearing that boyish smirk now and say to myself,
"My little trooper."