by Loki Renard
I am lucky that he is taking his time with me. That he is even pretending to seduce me. I owe him so much, and I only have my pussy by which to pay. If he wanted to throw me down and slam himself inside me, he could.
His eyes are locked on mine, his other hand behind my neck, keeping my head up, making me look at him as he touches me between my thighs, makes me feel the consequences of all my actions. A series of light taps to my sex make me arch and gasp.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like?” He gives me an intense look, matched with that wicked grin which makes every part of me squirm, including my hips which are dancing beneath his palm as he eases me back and slaps between my legs with swifter, sharper slaps.
“You were a very bad girl,” he growls, lowering his dark head and finding the pink tips of my nipples with his teeth even as his fingers punish me intimately. “I told you to come with me last night, but instead you had to find out the hard way. It’s always the hard way with you, isn’t it, Candi. So I’m just going to start out hard…”
I cry out as he spanks the inside of my thighs, my juices making my sex and legs gleam with a shamefully intense arousal. How is it possible that a man like this, a man who is wrong in every moral and intellectual and legal sense, can make my body sing with pleasure even as he inflicts pain?
I am starting to ride the waves of sensation. I am beginning to overcome his discipline, my body transforming his punitive energy into something new, a kind of orgasmic peak I’ve never experienced before. He is over me, pushing me back against the couch, one of my legs off the side, the other over the back, the core of my body exposed to his rich, dark gaze.
I look down at myself and I see the mess he is making of me, how pink and swollen that part of me is. I don’t know what he is capable of, not really. I don’t know if pain is all he has in mind. What I do know, is that when he grazes his fingers gently back up over that same slit he just spanked, I feel ripples coursing through me, overwhelming me with that same pleasure which grows in waves and makes my breath come in short bursts.
Before I can come, he pulls his hand away and rises over me, his body powerful and overwhelming with proximity. Now it is not his hand which toys with me.
His powerful hips glide forward, the head of his cock rubbing between my lips, so swollen and so wet from his punishment. He thrusts, and my entire world is transformed with Dante’s flesh, spreading me open, a hot hard force inside me, going deeper and deeper until there is no room left inside my tender body. A sound emerges from part of me which has never been touched before. I thought it might hurt, that my tightness would make it impossible for him to get inside me, but my body does not resist him. It embraces him.
I didn’t know this was what sex was like. I didn’t know how connected it made you to the other person. Dante isn’t just inside me right now. He is me. Our flesh is joined. We are one thing and when he starts moving, sliding gently at first, moving his cock a few inches out and then pushing it back in all the way deep, I feel ripples of the most intense sensation coursing through me.
Soon I am making utterly incoherent sounds, my legs wrapped around his body, my ankles nearly crossing as I arch my crotch up toward him, wanting more. I am full, so I do not know how there can be more, but I need it. My inner muscles are clenching with wanton desperation as I start to buck and grind beneath him.
“Please,” I whimper. “Fuck me.”
And then he gives me more. He pulls all the way out, holds back for a moment, and then drives back in with a powerful rutting motion which uses every muscle in his massive body. I am a rag doll beneath him, a helpless, wailing, whimpering thing taking his cock as hard as he can give it and loving every moment. His body commands mine with his rough entrances and exits, my spanked outer lips stretching and gripping him with every stroke of his cock.
I do not know the language for this act, but I know that I feel him everywhere inside me. Every cell responds to his body, my limbs grasping for him, my lips crying his name as I orgasm so violently that every cell in my body screams out with me, blanking out the world beyond.
Dante
God, she’s tight. I knew she would be a good fuck. The way she rolls her hips when she walks told me everything I needed to know. But she’s better than good. She’s phenomenal. I’ve never been inside anyone who was so tight, so hot, who wrapped themselves around me so desperately. I’m fucking her, and she’s fucking me right back and the harder I give it to her, the more she loves it. She deserved to have her pussy spanked, but I don’t think I punished her when I did that. For Candi, that was nothing but foreplay. Now she’s screaming the house down and I don’t think she knows it. With me, she forgets how to act like a lady. There’s no girl on any corner in the city who could give a performance like this.
She wriggles and writhes on my dick, her hips grinding against mine, pushing her hot pink pussy down on me again and again, coming so hard she almost passes out. I see her go pink and then pale, her eyes rolling back for a second before she grabs for my arms and stares at me, all red and sweaty and flushed. I’ve fucked her senseless, taken her just like she deserved to be taken, and when I look down, I see that I took more than I knew I was going to.
She was a virgin.
There’s a smear of blood on my cock from that sweet hymen of hers. She’s mine. Her debt isn’t completely paid, but giving me her cherry is a good start.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” She’s still speaking in moans, as I glide my cock in and out of her, getting softer but still wanting to see my cream as it is pushed in and out of her sex. We should have been more careful, but fuck being careful.
“You’ve never been fucked before.”
“Would it have made a difference?” She looks up at me under her lashes.
“I would have been more careful.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell you. Because that was…” she smiles and her eyes widen, her lashes fluttering as she draws out the word to emphasize every part of it… “HOT!”
A laugh escapes me. She’s fucking adorable. I feel more than lust for her. She gets to me places other girls don’t. I don’t know how she does it. I know she doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s just who she is.
I look down at her as she lies on my couch all flushed and kittenish and somehow, more innocent than before. Usually women don’t stay at my place any longer than I need them to, but she’s already curling up on the couch, her eyes closing, and the flush of orgasm settling on her skin.
She’s beautiful. Before this, I didn’t think she was anything more than an undeserving privileged brat who gets to sail through life because she has pale skin, hair and eyes. Defiling her was like deflowering the American dream. I fucked the shit out of her, and she loved it. Even if I meant it to be punishing, I know I didn’t push it as far as I could, and she took everything I had, screaming for more.
She’s trouble.
And I mean real trouble. Not just the sexy kind. I’ve only known her a few days, but she has that brazen attitude you see in real criminals. She does what she wants, and she’s surprised when it doesn’t just work out for her. I’m the biggest shock she’s ever had, and not just because I’m a guy from the streets. Because I actually did something about her shit.
I’m going to do a whole lot more before we’re done. I’m going to teach her some real hard lessons. She’s going to hate me, but I don’t give a fuck about that. The way she just came on me, a girl doesn’t forget that. She’s going to want more, and she’s going to have to earn it. After today, she’ll do what I say, when I say, or she’s going to be one sorry little white girl.
Chapter 7
Candi
I wake up in a bed that isn’t mine, in a body that feels strangely unlike mine. There is an ache between my thighs which reminds me I am forever changed by what Dante did to me last night. He made me his. He turned me from an innocent virgin to a gangster’s…. I don’t know what w
ord completes that phrase, but I know it’s not one my parents would approve of. Nothing that has happened in recent memory is something they’d approve of.
Is this what a one night stand feels like? Maybe. I’ve never done one before. I thought better of myself. I didn’t let men who wanted me have sex with me just because. I was waiting for marriage. Or at least someone I could see myself marrying. Not Dante.
I lie there for a few minutes, just trying to work out how I feel. My body is relaxed, satisfied in a way I didn’t know it could be satisfied. It’s like I’ve eaten a nice big meal, except it’s a sexy one. That makes no sense, and yet, it also makes all the sense.
“You’re awake,” Dante says, strolling into the room. Holy fuck. Seen from a prone position, he looks like he towers all the way to the ceiling. There’s something about the way his muscles ripple and the way he’s put together. He’s pure power, without being bulky, and every part of his chest is covered with a testament to some part of his life journey.
“I wonder if I should get a tattoo?”
He smirks at me and shakes his head. “You try to change the subject when you’re nervous, even if there isn’t a subject to change.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I am serious about the tattoo. I always wanted one.”
“Then why didn’t you get one?”
“I never knew what to get, I guess. I didn’t want something generic that didn’t mean anything.”
He nods. This conversation feels far too normal. Far too equal. Far too casual.
“You hungry?”
“I usually skip breakfast,” I say. “I mean, I usually don’t get up in time to have any to get to class. I’m missing Greek Artifacts 101 right now.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that going to teach you about?”
“… Greek Artifacts. The clue is in the name.”
Okay, maybe not the best idea to get snippy with a man who treated my pussy like it owed him money mere hours ago, but I guess I can’t help it.
He raises a brow at me. “I mean, what use does that have?”
“I know the difference between an urn and a vase.”
“So you know which one you’ll end up in if you don’t stop pulling crazy shit,” he says, his eyes darkening, his expression intense, almost fierce. This man can be so many creatures in a single moment.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Naw,” he laughs. “I’m just telling you straight. You stay on the path you’re on, and it’s going to end badly. I can’t stop you.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
He lets out a laugh. “The only way to stop you would be tie you up and not let you go, and even then I’m not so sure. You’re a bad girl, baby.”
He says those last words with a low purr which makes me respond between my thighs. My whole body reacts to Dante. It’s not just a mental thing, it’s a complete physical experience just being in his presence.
“I’m not that bad, I just made one mistake which led to another.”
“You stole a car,” he says bluntly.
“What was I supposed to do? Just wait for the crazed man who kidnapped me to come back for me?”
He smirks at being called a crazed man. Truth is, there’s nothing crazy about Dante. He’s super self-controlled.
“Even if you’d taken the car, you didn’t have to take the cash and the gun. You didn’t have to trash the car in a lake and go get drunk and end up shooting a guy,” he says, folding those thick, muscly arms over his chest. “You chose to do those things, Candi. You’re a little gangster.”
I shouldn’t feel a rush of pride when he says that, but I do.
“Don’t smile,” he growls right away in a tone which wipes the smile right off my face. “It’s not cute, and you’re going to pay all that back with interest - including the legal fees.”
He knows I have no way of paying him back, except my body, and he already took my virginity.
“You know you can’t keep me here forever,” I reply. “My mother freaks out and sends half the police force if I don’t call her at least once a week.”
“You can call your moms and tell her you broke bad last week.”
“I really can’t.”
“Then you’re gonna have to earn that call.”
There’s something dark and dirty in his voice, a lewd suggestion which makes me tingle.
“What am I going to have to do?”
“You’re going to work, baby.”
Unfortunately, it turns out he means that literally. Instead of another searing sexual interlude, Dante makes me get dressed in the most casual clothing I have. Jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers. Nothing glamorous.
“You don’t need make up where you’re going, baby,” he says, interrupting me just as I’m putting a little lipstick on.
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to work. Real work you haven’t done before.”
“You assume a lot about me,” I frown at him in the mirror. He is back in his gangster attire, wearing a singlet and black jeans, exposing his muscular tattooed arms and huge frame. He’s a fucking animal.
“I don’t think so. Come on.”
I have to abandon the rest of my cosmetic routine when he wraps one of those huge hands around my arm and pulls me bodily from the room, down the stairs and into his car.
He’s driving. I’m in the passenger seat, wondering what possible use he could have for a classics major. I don’t say much, and he doesn’t say anything at all. I get the strong impression that I’m not going to enjoy what happens today, though I guess I should be grateful I’m not spending it in jail, being charged for assault with a firearm or whatever it is they charge you with when they decide you shouldn’t have shot someone.
“What happened to the guy who got shot?” I ask Dante. “Isn’t he the one who was going to press charges? Am I going to get arrested again?”
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Dante says curtly, in a tone that could mean so very many things.
“You mean he’s not going to press charges? Or he’s not going to, like, breathe?”
Dante doesn’t reply. He’s too busy pulling over into an industrial park. There are plenty of people around here, regular people. Construction workers, guys in hi-vis. There’s a sandwich truck and a coffee cart. It looks super pedestrian and almost safe. Neither of those things are qualities I associate with Dante, but I suppose he has to exist in the real world as well. He can’t spend his entire life looming out of the darkness, terrifying co-eds. He probably has to pay for parking sometimes, or wait in line at the post office.
“Get out,” he says as we pull up outside a warehouse marked. “FREEZRITE.”
“Another warehouse? Does this one have better stuff to tie me from?”
He shoots me a look dark enough to make me shut up.
“Come on.”
I get the impression he’s angry with me. Or maybe not angry. Maybe he’s just cold. He was anything but cold last night when we were together, so I don't know what I did between falling asleep and waking up. Maybe he just doesn’t like constant attitude. Or maybe he’s slipping into business mode.
I follow him to a single side door, and go in under his arm as he holds it open for me. The first warehouse was empty. This one is very, very full. There are rows of long tables, filled with workers who don’t even look up as we walk in. The place is too noisy and busy for our presence to have any effect. It reminds me a little of Santa’s Toy Shop, except instead of Christmas toys, people are packing drugs. Lots and lots a lots of very druggy looking drugs. There are powders, pills, buds, gummies, all manner of probably illicit treats.
Dante strides through it all, master of his domain. I can only imagine how much money is passing through hundreds of hands. This could almost be mistaken for any factory - except for the fact that the floor supervisors are not wearing lab coats or overalls or even suits. They’re in street wear. Sneaker or heavy boots. Distressed jeans or leather pants. Hoodies o
r singlets or leather jackets. They’re all armed. They stand with their backs against the walls, doing nothing but watching the workers like hawks. Making sure no product goes ‘missing’ I guess. Then there are others stalking up and down the aisles the tables make, supervising the workers.
This is a professional environment, there’s no doubt about it. I’ve been in white collar workplaces and even factories with less impressive work ethics. My father is a baker - which is to say, he owns a chain of bakeries. I’ve been in places like this before, and this is as impressive as any of his packing centers.
I still don’t see what I’m here for though. What can I do?
The answer comes about twenty seconds later, when Dante points to an empty place at one of the tables.
“Sit.”
“What? Why?”
“Sit,” he repeats with a growl.
I find myself sitting down. It doesn’t seem like a good idea not to. He’s holding himself differently around these people. I can tell they respect him. And I can tell it’s important for him to be respected too.
“Can I get some product over here?” Dante calls out.
It doesn’t take more than a minute for him to get what he asked for. He dumps a box of weed in front of me, along with a stack of plastic bags and some scales.
“Weigh it out an ounce every time, then close it up and vacuum seal it.”
I look from the weed and whatnot up to him. “You’re going to make me work? Like, actually work? And doing… this?”
“What else you good for?”
“Uhm. I don’t know. Basically anything?”
“See, this is your problem,” he says, putting one arm either side of me. “You think you’re too good. Too good for the law. Too good for me. Too good for consequences. You’re going to learn, baby. You’re going to do the dirty work until you learn you’re no different than any other person on this planet.”
I narrow my eyes. “So you’re teaching me moral lessons, Mr Gangster? And you’re doing it with a drug that ruins people’s lives? What are you, the worst after school special ever?”