The Things That Make Me Give In (28 page)

‘What big eyes you have,’ he says, and he sees her little pink tongue run along the rails of her teeth.

‘Let’s find out what big things you’ve got, chief,’ she says, and, even though there’s this fog of something threatening hanging over him, excitement kicks in his belly.

She’s barely wearing anything. No shiny boots, no big coat. Instead there’s a thin and wispy scrap of material clinging to her delicate little breasts, and beneath the white he can see the promise of a deep red, where her nipples are. A similar gossamer fabric covers the V between her legs, but he can’t see any dark shadows there.

Bare, he thinks. A bare, hungry pussy.

‘Where’s my grandmother?’ he asks, but his mind is only playing the song:
bare hungry pussy
. The kick of excitement is
now working hard lower down, and somehow it seems to be making knots there, too.

She unravels herself from the bed, legs all short and long at the same time, prowling, and he backs away.

‘Where is she?’ he asks again, and this time she shrugs.

The shrug could well be sincere. After all, what would this girl have done with an old lady? Why would she have done something to her and then waited in her bed?

No, no, no, that’s far too odd. Much more likely that she just liked the look of him, and so lay in wait with thoughts of seducing him in her fevered, changeable mind. His grandmother is . . . far away, and on another planet.

Wendy is walking her fingers up his forearm.

‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,’ she sing-songs, and, although he thinks he can see just about everything already, he doesn’t hesitate.

His mind is now stuck on every scenario with a stranger that he’s ever considered. The urban legends about the two horny girls who go home with you and let you do anything to them. The girl on a train who gives you the ever-changing eye and then sinks to her knees before the monument of your cock.

And now this. The urban legend of the stranger met on the road to somewhere, who just can’t wait to eat you up.

Nothing like any of them has ever happened to him before. It makes him see his past in a new light of restrictions and resistance. He resisted Tawny Parker when she wanted to skinny-dip (and by skinny-dip he had known she meant: get arrested for fucking in the college’s swimming pool), and that time when the too-young friend of his sister flashed him as he left the bathroom, he resisted that, too.

He’s good at resistance. He once considered wearing one of those chastity rings. Life isn’t always about taking what you want, right when you want it. It’s about giving, too, though God knows he’s given a
lot
in his nicely neat lifetime.

Though it’s not like this isn’t about giving, too. There are
many things he can give here. When she coos, ‘Oh, yeah, get it out, stud,’ he obeys. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans in a frenzied rattle of metal on leather and, although it’s only to ease the pressure on his straining cock, it’s not as if he isn’t giving something to her, too.

He hopes she likes what he’s giving.

She seems to. She grins with all of her teeth and he suspects that’s a little dance she’s doing. Her barely there clothes come off as she’s doing it, too, and he doesn’t mind that at all. Sure enough, when those tiny panties slide down her thighs, her pussy is as hairless as her head is not.

It looks uncommonly like a mouth, to him. As she moves, the lips part and kiss back together again, glistening as though glossed. He imagines the taste of her, like those sticky apple sweets, but he’s denied for now.

She sticks a finger into her own slit first, and sucks the flavour from it.

‘Delicious,’ she declares, but not without an addendum just for him: ‘Now, let’s see what you taste like, chief.’

Of course he expects her to drop to her knees. His pants are around his ankles and his cock is sticking straight out and a little towards his belly – anything else would be incredibly awkward.

But she doesn’t seem to mind that.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘What are you waiting for? Lie down on the bed, chief. I don’t kneel for anyone, no, no, no, not this gal.’

He pauses, goes to shrug off his sweater and maybe get rid of the pants. He wonders whether she wants him to ask if that’s OK. Maybe she wants him to shuffle over to the bed partially clothed – and indeed when he starts to stumble over there she claps her hands together. Claps her hands together and giggles and then puts her foot against his ass and shoves.

Now he’s on his grandmother’s bed, whether he likes it or not. Before he can right himself, his face is full of hand-crafted blankets, legs tangled in his jeans, half in and half out of his
sweater. Thankfully, his cock doesn’t prang against the mattress but rubs roughly against soft sheets instead.

Already he’s making a mess. Things feel too full down there. Full and tight, and he’s leaking like a faulty tap. His hand skids over the slippery tip of his cock and he bites his lip. Arousal never usually comes that easily to him, but now it’s climbing skyward at an embarrassing rate.

‘Oooh, look,’ she says. ‘You’re all excited.’

And then she’s clambering on him like a little monkey, her bare pussy jolting him every time it makes contact with his skin.

‘So soft,’ he moans when he touches it, but she doesn’t slap his hand away as he expects. Instead she rubs that smooth flesh against his probing fingers, and briefly her lips spread for him and invite him in. She’s as juicy as a peach, and when he sinks a finger in to the knuckle she growls.

‘You have such nice long fingers, Toby,’ she says, as she squirms and encourages him to thrust.

He doesn’t tell her that he hates being called Toby. Mainly because, as his hand works between her thighs, her mouth swallows his cock from tip to root.

Her lips around him look as red as the roses outside, and he imagines the stain they’ll leave behind – though one that will only be visible in the light. He sees himself back at his apartment, peeling off his clothes to reveal the bedraggled mess he hadn’t realised he’d become.

He’s sure her fingertips are leaving grassy stripes down his smooth sides. Once she’s finished scraping her nails over his skin, he feels drawn on and scratched.

But his body doesn’t let his mind think about grass and redness and stains for long. Not when she seems to have no gag reflex or hinges in her jaw. She just opens up and swallows him all down, as hot on the inside as burning coals.

In fact, she’s hot everywhere. He can feel her pussy burning against his fingers, the heat spreading ever outwards to caress
his bare thighs. Her hands smooth fire over his stomach; her hair leaves trails of soot.

Though he suspects that it’s really him who’s producing all of this unbearable heat. His cock swells in the moist, sucking hollow of her mouth – it would jerk against the soft parts inside her if she gave it room.

But she doesn’t give him an inch and he’s sure that any moment she’s going to suck him inside out. The muscles in his thighs stutter; he can see his stomach muscles fluttering – because of this feeling like pain, only not. It isn’t pain when you’re rocking your hips up for more.

And he is.

God, it’s been so long. He can’t stop touching himself everywhere that she isn’t, just so that this feeling lasts and spreads and still exists when he’s back at home, doing nothing. Next week when he’s at home, doing nothing. Next year, even. Next year needs his hands to spread all over himself, urging on this rising pleasure.

He pinches his own nipples and shivers like a cowering dog, unable to help the moans that come out of him. It could be that she giggles again, around his shaft. It could be that she doesn’t. Either way vibrations judder through his stiff flesh and intensify the ache. The ache is everywhere. In his nipples, which demand a harder pinch. In his balls, which are now so full and tight that even the tug he gives them only hitches him higher.

He doesn’t want to go off so quickly, but she’s relentless. For every effort he makes at staving off orgasm, she makes a further one that pushes him closer. She rubs the base of his cock with her dainty hands. She swirls her tongue around and around and then sucks so that the alternating sensations shut down all of his control. If she would just stop and do one thing at a time, he could cope.

But this is too much.

She’s a showman, too. She opens her mouth and just pokes out her tongue, everything glistening in the dimness including
the head of his cock, and then she just flicks the slippery tip back and forth over that always sensitive underside.

And as though that wasn’t enough – watching her tongue rub back and forth – she kisses him. She kisses him not on his lips but as sweetly as though she had done.

It’s definitely the kiss that makes him come. It spills out of him before he can stop it, searing through so strongly and so abruptly that he barely has a chance to feel it. He watches the thick spurts cover her kissing lips, and that only prolongs the whole mess. His cock jerks in her hand and come marks her cheek, and then he can’t watch any more.

It’s too exciting to watch. And now she’s probably going to be mad, because he’s done it all over her face and in her mouth.

But she isn’t mad at all. Instead she says, ‘Let’s go again, chief, what do you say?’

Before he can raise his head she is clambering over him. He feels her wet pussy again and shivers, and then shivers even more when she presses her come-slippery face against his.

Of course he immediately tries to escape. He can smell himself and taste himself and this is a disgusting mess, really, but, instead of escaping, those shivers happen again. They happen especially when she whispers in his ear, ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, chief.’

He wishes she’d stop calling him chief. But the rest of what she’s said. The rest of it. Yeah. That’s fine.

When she kisses him open-mouthed and he tastes more of himself, he kisses back. Once he’s kissed back, it’s not a big step to more, further – he licks her cheek where he marked her, and it’s sweeter than candy.

‘You like how you taste?’ she says, giggling as she does.

And then she bites his upturned throat and bites his shoulder and bites his left bicep.

Again, he tries to escape. He tries to tell her not to, because there will be a mark. People will know. They’ll know he’s not quite as neat and tidy as they once thought.

But she stops him just in time.

‘Keep still or you’ll never be properly decorated,’ she says, just before she bites him so hard on the hand that he starts. His hips jerk; he tries to snatch it from her mouth.

But she holds on. She growls. Her little white teeth are clearly making a beautiful mark on the flesh of his palm.

When she finally lets go, a new heat sizzles through him. It’s like anger, he thinks, only not quite. It makes him want to tear his own skin off and start fresh, or at the very least run naked somewhere, as fast as he can go.

Run naked into the office, maybe.

‘What did you do that for?’ he demands.

‘Are you mad, Toby? Are you really, really angry with me?’

And then she snaps at him, teeth clacking together hungrily. His stomach rumbles.

‘You should probably chop me down to size,’ she says, and then from nowhere produces a little brightly coloured package. The kind that might have candy inside, but in this case doesn’t. ‘You’ll probably be needing this.’

As he puts on the condom he somehow couldn’t imagine her having – as though she comes from a long-ago world that has no idea about such things – she poses for him. She gets on all fours and spreads. She kneels up and arches her back so that her soft, slight tits jut and her bottom swells outward. She dances across the rug, pointing her toes and kicking her tiny legs.

If he didn’t want to fuck her so bad, he would have asked her to carry on for ever.

Instead she asks him how he wants her, with that coquette’s giggle and a faint growl still in the back of her throat, head cocked. Finger ever so slightly in her mouth.

He can’t remember the last time a girl let him decide. Francine just used to get on top and sprint. Marcie liked it on her back with something covering her mouth.

He wonders if Wendy has ever covered anything in her entire life. If she would even understand the concept. She grins with
all of her shiny teeth when he tells her to face the headboard, hands on the wall.

‘Are you sure, chief?’ she asks, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He nods vigorously, definitely, instead.

When he finally holds her barely there hips in his hands, it feels too good for words. He imagines his fingers leaving grassy stripes and swells with pleasure so intense it hardly leaves room for him to do what he’s aching to. He searches out her wet hole with fumbling fingers, startled anew by how smooth she is, how juicy.

She’s so eager that she puts her own hand back to tug his cock to her gaping slit, but his words snap out of him before he knows he wants them to.

‘Hands on the wall,’ he tells her, and this time when she growls he growls back.

He pulls at her hips. His prick slides in, smooth and easy. It’s all just so easy – to fuck her, to forget his grandmother, to forget what sort of person he previously thought he was. He imagines his grandmother coming up the stairs and catching them, and the thought makes him buck against her so that she gasps and groans for him filthily. Her pussy feels as hungry and hot as a beast’s maw, clasping and sucking at his cock until he’s sure he’s about to burst with the pressure.

It’s almost enough to make him want to get away from her – an avalanche of sensation that fills him to some giddy brim – but not quite. Instead he grips her hips and tries a little tug, soaring into amazement when she clasps him tighter. Wriggles against him more desperately. The tingles racing around his lower belly burn hotter, and fizz together as though some unnameable friction is making them combust.

It makes him afraid to try the tugging again.

Or at least it does until she looks over her shoulder at him, eyes too dark to read. Mouth like a gash. Then murmurs just as darkly, just as deadly, ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, Tobias.’