by Reiss, CD
Her face exploded into messy, open-mouthed, saliva-string sobs. I took her hand. She could stop now. She could leave it for tomorrow. The next day. Never.
“I come,” she says around the sobs. “He makes me come. It happens so fast, and he calls me a… a slut.”
I’d told myself I was ready, but I wasn’t ready for shit.
I knew those orgasms.
I loved them.
I cherished every single one.
When she cried over the one he took, she was my wife again, and that orgasm was mine.
It was hers to give, but it was mine.
What was stolen from me had been ripped from her first.
I pulled her into my arms. My wife. She was vulnerable and weak. She was sensitive and broken. She had always been those things, but I hadn’t loved all of them. I hadn’t loved the vulnerability. I had only loved what was easy to love. Strength and tenacity. Bravery and power.
Now she was sobbing against my chest. Not a young girl. Not a separate person I wanted to banish, but an indispensable part of the woman I loved.
All of her.
I loved all of her.
I couldn’t do more than hold her. I couldn’t fix or change the past. All I could do was give her the one thing she needed, the only thing I had.
Me.
My time. My body. My love.
I didn’t know how long I silently stroked her hair while she cried. I didn’t look at the clock. Didn’t care about the outside world. She needed me, and I was fully present for her. All of her.
Eventually, she quieted. I didn’t move or ask her if she was all right. I didn’t call an end to my comfort so we could figure out our next move. I let her call the shots.
She nuzzled my neck, running her finger along the fold of my collar. “Caden?”
“Yes?”
She didn’t answer in words but in a caress down my chest and a kiss to my jaw. I twisted to face her. The tears had dried up, leaving puffy eyes and red cheeks.
I got a handkerchief from my pocket and held it to her nose. “Blow.”
She let me hold it as she cleared her nose. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. I’d like to find that guy and kill him.”
She looked away, pushing herself off me. Her nipples were bumps under her shirt. I brushed my thumb along her lower lip. It was swollen from crying, pillow soft, vulnerable and yielding. She opened her mouth and took it, sucking with big, brown eyes looking up at me.
“Respite…”
“Call me Greyson. That’s my name.”
“Are we at the end?”
“That was the last memory.”
Sliding down to the floor, she kneeled between my legs and kissed the erection under my pants. She wasn’t clumsy, but she was coy.
When she was at the end of her story, she was supposed to be done helping. She was supposed to be reabsorbed, and we’d find out if there was a new split or if Greyson would be whole again.
Neither was happening. This was more of the same with an added touch of sexual aggression.
I ran my fingers through her hair as she looked up at me. “Baby…”
“Let me. Then I’ll be gone.”
Believing her was a conscious choice.
Having been in my wife’s shoes, I knew she couldn’t be so aware of the next steps with such certainty. Having spent days on end listening to her story, I knew she wanted to avoid pain.
But what if the forced orgasm was the pain?
And what if she was right and this was over?
She might need sex to flip to Greyson for the last time, then we’d know where we were.
I helped her get my dick out. I was already throbbing for those lips.
She kissed off the drop of precum that had gathered at the tip and ran her tongue around the head, then down the shaft and up again, leaving me wet and wanting. I watched my cock disappear down her throat. Holding the base, she took increasing lengths until her nose was pressed against my stomach.
She sucked dick like my wife, that was for sure. I pushed into her, driving deep, and she took it. All of it. The last time we’d had sex, I’d been left unsatisfied. It wasn’t long before the pressure was too much.
“I’m going to come, baby.”
She popped off, chin shiny with spit. “Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
She opened her mouth.
“Then take it all. Swallow it.”
She impaled her face with my dick, stroking and sucking, opening her throat. I pumped my hips to her rhythm and exploded in her mouth. She took it all like a fucking champ, like Greyson always did. I stroked her hair away as she licked me clean until I was at half-mast.
“Do you feel better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Come up here.”
When she stood, I slid off her pants and underwear, then I turned her around on my lap so her back was to me.
“Open up.” I pulled her legs apart until they were draped on either side of my knees. “You’re so fucking sexy. You give me so much.” I pulled her shirt off and felt the hard, twisted pebbles of her nipples. She held my hand over one.
“Pinch it,” she said, and I did, twisting until she leaned against me with a groan.
I could see her in profile against my shoulder. Parted lips. Eyes half-closed. Cheeks flushed.
“You like it.”
“Hurt it.”
I didn’t expect this side of her would like pain, but when I pulled her nipple, she went taut with agony and pleasure. I pulled my knees apart, spreading hers. I reached down between her legs. So wet. Her arousal was getting me hard again.
“You want it to hurt?”
“Yes, please.”
I flicked her swollen clit, and she twitched. “Don’t move.”
“Okay.”
I slapped between her legs. She let out an unf and curled her feet around my calves.
“When you come,” I said in her ear, my hand circling her clit, “Greyson’s going to come back.”
“I know.”
“When you’re back in the darkness, I don’t want you to worry. I love you.”
“And her?”
I wrapped my arm around her so she couldn’t move and slapped her cunt again. She tried to twist, but I held her. “And her. All of you.”
“You promised her something. Oh, God, that feels so good.”
“I promised to fuck your ass. But I didn’t say when.”
“What about now?”
I hadn’t expected that. I’d thought she was making sure I wouldn’t. But with her head on my shoulder and her legs spread over me, she was looking at me hopefully. Maybe she saw my hesitation. Maybe she was just impatient. She pulled my restraining arm away and got up to face me. Her hair was a sexy mess, and her tits were pink where I’d abused them.
The thought of her tightest hole made me hard again. “Get on the bed.”
She went the few steps to the bed and bent over it with her ass up. “Like this?”
“For now.”
I walked to the bathroom, stripping clothes as I went. I grabbed lubricant and brought it back to the bed.
“This ass.” I kissed it.
Laying her cheek on the sheets, she smiled at me. “You like it?”
I gave her a slap. “I love it.”
Dropping the lotion at the top of her crack, I positioned myself against her cunt.
“First this.” I entered her easily and pushed the lotion to her anus, massaging it until it accepted my finger. She gasped. “You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember me doing this to you?”
“I think. Everything’s foggy.”
Was she close to coming back? Was this a sign? Would she be whole or another split?
“What do you remember?”
She paused, bending her head so she could pull her hair over one shoulder. “It hurts at first.”
“I’m going to k
eep that to a minimum.” Two fingers, slowly. She cringed. “Try to relax. Trust me.” When they were all the way in, I twisted them to loosen her. The cringe slackened to something more like pleasure. “That’s my girl.” Pulling out, I gave her bottom a light slap. “On your back.”
She rolled over. I spread her legs, bending her knees until I could see her wet cunt and her lubed, relaxed ass. I put her hand on her clit. She hesitated.
“Touch yourself. Bring her back with your own hand.”
She pressed her fingers against herself.
I ran the head of my cock along her seam and pressed it against her asshole. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to go slow.”
“Don’t. Do it to me like you do it to her.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t think she could take it without preamble or tease. I’d already given her more warm-up than usual, and she’d need more. But if she was asking for rougher, I could give it.
The head went in.
“Ah!”
“Say stop if—”
“Harder.” She rubbed her clit, nodding. “Hurt me.”
Yes. Greyson was coming through. I believed it through all evidence to the contrary. Maybe that was a mistake. But I trusted her and leveraged myself against the floor with my knuckles braced against the mattress on either side of her head.
She nodded.
Her consent blinded me with lust so hot I couldn’t break it down into its component parts. I drove the entire length of my cock into her ass, and she screamed so loud I stopped.
“Don’t stop!”
Fuck it. I pounded her ass like a train without brakes, my face close to hers, belly to belly as she whispered with each thrust.
“Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.”
I wanted to rip her apart. Break her. She scratched my back with both hands.
“So tight,” I grunted.
“Hurt it. Harder. Hurt me. I deserve it.”
The train had brakes, and those last three words pulled them so hard I screeched to a halt, pulling out of her with my balls ready to burst.
“What did you just say?”
Chapter Nineteen
RESPITE
“What did you just say?”
Caden was bent over me, sweating with strain, teeth gritted. I was clutching his back. My ass felt a strange, distended ache the diameter of his dick.
“Harder. I said—”
“You said you deserved it. Pain.”
I didn’t deny it, because I did deserve it. I punched his chest, but he didn’t reenter me. “Why did you stop?”
“Because I’m not here to give you what you deserve. I’m here to give you what you like.”
“What’s the difference?”
He stood up and sliced the air with his hand. “That’s my fucking limit, okay? I can’t do that to you.” He scanned the floor for his clothes and found his pants. “I love you. I’ll do anything for you.” He stepped into a leg. “Anything for you. But I won’t do anything to you.”
“You have to.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t do this alone. I’ll get you off and back to Greyson, but I’m not judge, jury, and executioner, and I’m not hurting you because you came when he assaulted you. That was your body doing what it was asked to do. It doesn’t mean you consented, and it doesn’t mean you should be punished.”
I needed to be punished, but he was misunderstanding.
“Not for that,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I needed to hurt for. “I didn’t want to hurt for that.”
His embrace was so quick I didn’t see him coming. His arms were around, me and his voice was close. He was freshly ground coffee and rich soil. He was at the end of a long tunnel of clarity that was disorganized chaos at the edges. A vignette of nonsense sounds and thoughts closed in on me.
“Why do you think you need to be punished?” By the time he got to “punished,” the tiny circle of lucidity was a pinpoint of light.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t see it.”
“Tell yourself.”
“Can we bring her back?” I whined. “I’m so tired.”
He took my hands like he’d done a hundred times before, as if he wanted to drill what he was saying into me. “Finish it.”
God. He knew. Start to finish, without me telling him, he saw into the tunnel and knew I’d stopped that memory on the roof at the orgasm.
“I can’t,” I cried. “It’s too long. I’m going to break.”
“I’ll hold you together.”
“I need relief. I feel it coming, but I don’t know when.”
“When you finish, I’ll bring her back.”
He kissed my knuckles. The sunlight came diffuse through the blinds, hitting the blue in his eyes. The irises looked like blue glass bowls. They covered me and only me. A sky of my very own, watching me, protecting me, pinning me to the security of the earth.
I crumpled into his arms, whispering a lie I didn’t expect him to believe, shaking the last of my denial out of the bottom of my mind.
“It’s finished. I swear.”
Caden didn’t press, harangue, or demand I tell the truth. He sat on a chair, draping me over his lap, and held me. He accepted that whatever the next part of this memory was, he would be the sky over me.
I knew why Greyson loved him because I fell in love with him too.
As the feel of Caden stroking my hair fell into the background, the gears churned back to life. I was on the roof again, with ripped tights and a throbbing clit.
* * *
The orgasm was still hot between my legs.
The guy in the chambray shirt leaned heavy on my body with a look of surprised satisfaction. “You hot little slut.”
Without thinking, I landed a hard clap on his face. “Get off me!”
“That’s how you want it?” He slapped me.
I touched my face in horror. That wasn’t how I wanted it. Not at all. But he thought so, and he pushed me down with one hand and reached for his dick with the other. In a moment of imbalance, I rolled and got out from under him, crawling away while he got on his feet.
“No!” Swaying, blood dripping down my leg, I got my feet under me, feeling everything as if I’d been abandoned by the numbing of the eighth kamikaze.
“Fuck you,” he growled. “You came. The least you can do is suck me off.”
“If I suck your dick, I’m going to throw up.”
That wasn’t an idle threat. My stomach was eager to expel what felt like half a gallon of vodka and triple sec. He must have known it. His tone changed back to the guy I’d kind of liked for a couple of hours.
“Come on.” He came a step closer. I took half a step back. “Hand job. You already touched it. Don’t leave me hanging. It’s going to hurt like hell if you do.”
“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not ready.”
He held out a hand for me and saw the blood on his fingers. “Man, I busted your cherry?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Not a big deal.”
“Fuck.” He was staring at his fingers.
I walked toward him a little, thinking he felt guilt. I was foolish.
“I bet you’re so tight.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? I couldn’t tell.
“Listen,” he said as if he was the most reasonable guy on the planet, “it’s busted. You might as well. You came already.”
His cajoling tone made me very, very angry. Rage filled me like a foul, sulfuric burn.
“You mean like a hot little slut?”
“That wasn’t an insult.”
“Like fuck it wasn’t.” I stepped forward, and he took half a step back. “You put your fingers where I didn’t want them.”
“You seemed to like it.” Defensive. Irritated.
I should have been worried he’d come at me again, but his moment had passed. This was a guy who didn’t think of himself as a rapist even when he r
aped.
“I. Said. No.”
“But you came.” He put his dick back in his pants and zipped up. “If you don’t appreciate what I just did for you, then fuck you.”
I hated my orgasm because it made me into a liar. It made me into a prude who—deep down—wanted it. It made me into a cocktease. It made him right.
“I’m sorry.”
What was I apologizing for?
I’d said no, but I’d come right onto his hand.
He offered a slice, and I’d taken the whole pie.
I was too drunk, too young, too fragile to know I didn’t owe him an apology. But he was shrewd. If I was drunk, young, and fragile enough to apologize, maybe the night wasn’t over.
“It’s all right,” he said, using his forgiveness to take a step closer. “Did it feel good?”
He asked as if he was curious, not as if he wanted to weaponize the answer.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Thank you.”
He reached for me, and I let him move the fall of hair away from my eye. “You’re really pretty when you’re mad.”
“Thanks. We should—”
—go.
I never got to finish the sentence. He was on me. Trying to push me down. He was going to take what he wanted no matter what I did.
Once I was down, I was done. I knew that much.
There wasn’t a middle ground. I had to resist all the way or not at all.
My anger coalesced into a fine laser of energy, a force directed squarely at his chest, propelling me forward with all my weight. I pushed him not just away, but back so hard he stumbled with one leg crossing over the other, losing his balance until his calf hit the ledge and he disappeared over the edge.
* * *
In the middle space between the mind and the world outside it, I watched the shape of his body change as he fell over, the expression on his face. The second before I heard the hssp of a one-hundred-seventy-pound sack of bone and tissue hit the ground lasted a lifetime.
In the hours/minutes/seconds between that sound and the sight of his body on the ground, bent like a swastika with his head in a pillow of black blood, I went cold. Everything emptied out of me. Every emotion, thought, personality trait spilled out as if a bucket had been shot full of holes.