The Things That Make Me Give In

by Charlotte Stein

  That’s what it feels like – as though he’s rubbing me with his tongue. He rubs against the curve of my hip and my tight nipples, and the smooth skin of my mons. He even murmurs his appreciation while he does it, like the good little pussy-eater he is. But it’s all in stages, far too slow, and I’m covered in slickness before he moves on to anything greater.

  Greater is his body pressed against mine.

  Oh, that feels good. It deserves more words that I’m not allowed to say: now, more, oh, baby, you’re so hot.

  Because his skin is hot. It burns me when he insinuates his body against mine, forcing me to push closer to all of this overwhelming heat. I rub my swollen nipples against every inch of skin I can reach, clasp him to me as if he may dissolve if I don’t, wind up straddling his thighs with his hands climbing my back.

  He sprawls back on to the bed and moans into my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, spurring me on. I grab his hand again, and shove it between my legs.

  ‘You want me to touch your pussy?’ he asks, still so cryptic and aloof. I want to shake some passion out of him. I shake it with babbling: ‘Yes – yes, please, please!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  How can he not know? Oh, God, I’m going nuts!

  ‘Of course I’m sure! Jesus, Todd, just do it!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Touch my pussy.’

  He puts his hand over me. Not in me or around any interesting places. Just over me, as if he’s cupping a ball.

  ‘No – goddammit. Touch me properly.’

  He looks very amused.

  ‘Touch my . . . clit.’

  It isn’t fair that I’m having to make him obey me, but when he does it’s too good for me to care. He just eases his thumb between the lips of my juicy pussy and presses down firm on my aching bud. I want it so much and seem to have been waiting so long that I immediately jerk my hips back and forth so that he’s rubbing without actually moving.

  ‘Does that feel good?’

  His voice is hoarse, though not as hoarse as I fear mine’s going to come out.

  ‘Yes. So good. Harder.’

  I was right about my voice.

  ‘Like this?’

  ‘Rub . . . more. Rub it in circles.’

  ‘I bet that feels good, huh?’

  ‘Yes. Really good. Do you want me to . . .’ God, I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to demand. It’s not really playing the Yes game but it’s something more than that, I think. I’ve never been a good dirty talker. Sometimes I can say something, sometimes and when I’m completely in control. But I don’t feel in control and I’m too worked up and I feel like a fool. A greedy, dirty fool.

  But I get the words out anyway. Mainly because I suspect this is the point.

  ‘Do you want me to touch your cock?’

  And then I modify it, because man alive, if he can’t ask for it, then I’m going to give it anyway.

  ‘I want to touch your cock.’ Another deep breath. ‘I want to suck your cock.’

  His reaction is immediate and visceral. He squeezes his eyes tight shut – briefly – and his hips lift so high that his cock touches my belly. And the sound he makes – a nothing sound, as though he can’t process the feeling inside him properly.

  He takes his own prick in his hand, and I ache with the loss of it. I want to feel the thick meat of him, feel him straining my grip and swelling beneath my caress. But most of all I want –

  ‘Rub your cock against my clit,’ I say, and he moans louder. He’s jerking himself, now, but in between those punishing strokes he manages to urge the tip up so that it almost kisses my clit.

  I part the lips of my pussy myself, and let that slippery tip slide against it. Pleasure surges and tries to force me over the edge into orgasm, but I hold off. I want him to rub against my clit and then push his cock into me. I want him to fuck me the way that he just fucked himself – in punishing strokes that make me pant harder and say more than I’m doing now.

  And when I tell him all of this, he sings my praises.

  I sing his right back. I tell him all the things I’ve always wanted to, but left by the wayside because they sounded too cheesy or clichéd or too much. When he pushes his cock through my slit and down to my wet and waiting hole, I tell him that he’s so big, that he fills me like nothing else, that I love his cock in my pussy.

  And when he fucks me, and grunts and groans and pants that he’s going to come too quickly, I tell him that I don’t care. I love when he gets so excited, I love how frantically he fucks me, I love him.

  And when he grabs me by the waist and pulls me over and around so that I’m underneath him, I tell him I love what a beefcake he is, how he can just move me about like that and lift me up and do whatever he wants to. But I also love how he’s not so much of a beefcake that he can’t be tender, and kiss me in long wet twists while he strokes my clit. He strokes it just right, too, pressing firm as he surges into me, kneading the whole of my softness around his stiff shaft.

  But I don’t – and shouldn’t – need him to do anything to say what I know is true. He does it just right every time, and he’s so good every time, and he just is: my Todd.

  He tilts my hips to meet his thrusts, one-handed. Just one big hand on my hip. His fingers stir against my clit, and my orgasm begins like something fluttering. Wings beating against my skin. Saying something now only makes them beat harder.

  ‘Oh, yes, baby, make me come. Ohhh, yeah, oh God, that’s good, fuck my pussy. Fuck me hard!’

  He likes that – I think he likes all of my words. He purrs for me, and rubs and fucks harder, faster, until my back arches and I actually feel my clit swell against his fingers. Pleasure gushes through me in aching spirals, and it aches sweeter when he shouts out, and jerks over me.

  I clutch at his back, and feel him shuddering. When he finally sprawls over me, the shudders remain.

  It’s well into the night before we stop. One orgasm just wasn’t enough, and he licked me to another. After I asked him to, of course. After I begged him.

  And then when I was nice and juicy, he fucked my arse, too. But only when I said I wanted him to. I can’t even remember what I said, now, though it heats up my face to imagine. Usually he only fucks me there when I’ve done something mechanical to make him sure I want it – lubed myself up for him, maybe.

  But this time I had to ask.

  I turn to him through the darkness, still glossed with sweat but sleepy and satisfied. He seems satisfied too, but really, how can you ever know? About another person, I mean.

  ‘Is that what you wanted from me?’ I ask, and he grins.

  ‘I know I didn’t play by the rules,’ he says, hesitating only slightly. Just a touch. ‘But what I wanted doesn’t work if I order you to do it. I wanted you to say those things because you mean them. I want you to want me just because.’

  I reach out and touch the lovely silky dark strands of his hair.

  ‘Don’t you think I do?’ I ask. At least the corner of his mouth turns up.

  ‘Sometimes. I did an hour ago when you asked me to shove my cock in your ass.’

  Ah. So that’s what I said.

  Thankfully, it seems I can giggle about it. It’s not so bad, letting someone know how much you want them. Need them. Can’t be without them.

  He giggles, too.

  ‘You could have just asked me to be all hungry for you.’

  ‘It’s hard to ask someone to . . . I couldn’t ask you to say you want me, or wanted me to do this or that. It’s not the same as asking someone to walk around naked.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a little bit the same.’

  More than a smile or a giggle now. He turns over and faces me.

  ‘I do want you, you know. All the time,’ I say, and he leans in suddenly to kiss my cheek.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you know that I love you, right? I love you . . . I love you with all of me.’

  His smile lights up the dark room.

&nb
sp; ‘Yes,’ he says.

  Sometime Soon

  HE DOESN’T PUSSYFOOT around. His hand goes immediately underneath my skirt, while he continues kissing me roughly.

  I say roughly, but he isn’t, really – he’s firm. Insistent. His tongue isn’t jabbing into my mouth like a pneumatic drill, though I can’t think of the word for what it is doing. Probing? It feels exploratory, the way it’s flicking and teasing. He does not seem the type to have that flicking teasing tongue. Or that soft warm mouth.

  The rough fur of his porn moustache burrs against my skin, queerly not half so bad as the stubble. I’m still going to be sore later, I’m thinking, but then he stops the deep wet kissing and does number three thousand in things that don’t seem like him, so I cease the thinking.

  This isn’t a Reese Witherspoon vehicle, BJ, seriously. You don’t have to start kissing my neck, pretending we’re lovers. I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t lovers. He just ordered me to get on up into his truck, and I did.

  And now he’s kissing my neck like in some fade-to-black rom-com. Though I’m guessing Matthew McConaghey isn’t fingering Reese Witherspoon as he smooches her shoulders in Legally Alabama Congeniality.

  Because that’s what BJ’s doing, and he’s doing it well enough to make my legs damn near flop open. He just slides my panties to one side and dips his fingers in with that same delicious smooth firmness he had with the kissing.

  I hear him groan against my throat, and it’s obvious why. I’m soaking wet. I got wet just thinking about being in the truck with him, standing in the parking lot of his garage. And I’ll admit, I looked in through that window at him and posed just so, tits jutting out – braless, as I always am now when I stop by the garage – nipples getting hard knowing he was looking and wanting.

  I can’t count the times I’ve sat on the hard plastic seats inside his place, watching him work on my car with those rough hands, those big thick arms. Getting wetter and wetter and sometimes, unable to wait for home, pulling over somewhere to shove my hand inside my panties and find myself hot and slick.

  And now here we are, parked in the middle of nowhere. I’m definitely going to get it. But I can’t say I don’t want it.

  He gets rough with me, now, just a little. He yanks my panties down. I guess he’s thinking, why wait? I should be grateful he thought to check I was primed, in all honesty. But, oh, he saves the best for last.

  ‘Turn around,’ he says.

  Because doing it face to face would just be too fucking much, I suppose. Whores and plain girls have to have it facing the headboard – or in this case the car door. I know that he’s doing me a favour, throwing a fuck at the eager slut.

  But when he calls me that, God help me, I ache. God help me, I obey. Perry, with all of his kindness and sweetness, couldn’t make me tremble like this. I’m trembling with it, with all this hot slutty lust, and despite my plain-girl status I think he is too.

  When I’m facing the door, crouched on the seat, he palms my thighs apart. Christ. And then he gets a handful of me, a big rough handful of my swollen overripe pussy, and oh Lord, it feels so good I make a little sound. He slides two fingers into my liquid cunt, and then – oh, he so shouldn’t know how to do this; what the fuck did he do, read a manual? – he curls them, and rubs, and it feels incredible.

  I moan shamelessly, then.

  ‘That’s it, slut,’ he says. ‘Give it up.’

  And I do. I moan and buck on his working fingers, and skirt the edges of orgasm when he keeps talking with his filthy redneck mouth. I fucking hate his mouth. I hate it, only not right now, not right now.

  ‘You’ve been wanting this forever, huh? Sitting in that waiting room, staring at me – think I didn’t see ya? Look how bad you want it, look how juicy you’re getting.’

  And then he stops, just as it’s getting really good, and slides his fingers up my slit. I try to get away but he holds me still. I’m certain that, if he touches my clit, I’m going to die. One more word, and I’m going to die.

  Instead I just squirm and say, ‘No no no’ and get stabbed by giant spikes of pleasure.

  ‘What do you mean, “no,” slut? Check out this wet little snatch.’

  I do. I can feel it slopping around his fingers, leaking down my thighs. And it’s not just how wet I am. My sex lips are all puffy and swollen, and my clit feels full and stiff. A little pulse beats in it, and it twitches and jerks every time he strokes it.

  But thankfully I manage to dodge his tormenting hand after a moment. Mainly because he uses his free, restraining one to undo his pants. I hear the zipper go as he thrusts his fingers back inside me.

  Condoms, I think, but in truth I hardly care. I’m desperate to come, and I know he’s going to make me on his cock. I turn my head and see him with the thickest longest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and then I can’t do anything but watch as he tugs roughly at this monstrous dick. My cunt spasms to think of it thrusting in, but even worse is what I suddenly have the urge to do: lick it. Even through the darkness of the cab, I can see how the swollen pink tip glistens. He squeezes it, and a little bead of pre-come wells in the slit, before dribbling down over the head.

  But then he tells me, ‘Eyes forward,’ and the show’s over. I obey, just as he touches the tip of that gorgeous cock to my hole.

  He groans his appreciation when he pushes into me, but I can’t answer him. I’m made speechless by the size of him; it’s almost painful. I squirm and he gets hold of my thighs, the hollows of my hips, and pulls me on to him. He must think I’m the squirmiest chick he’s ever had, but it’s impossible to help, even when he’s gentle.

  And he is, in most ways. He urges himself against me, slow, slow, until I stop squeezing him tight enough to cut off the blood supply. His hands run up over my back, around and then inside my T-shirt. He caresses my breasts, teasing the peaks, which are of course diamond-hard, and now I’m squirming with impatience.

  The pace is maddeningly slow.

  Which is how I end up fucking him. There’s no other word for what I do. I just thrust back on to him as hard and fast as I need it to be, and when I do he pants out, ‘Oh, you fucking slut.’

  I think that’s why he went so slow – to make me fuck back on him. To drive me crazy until I bucked like a wild animal.

  He teases my clit and I jerk myself over his cock, grunting and sighing. I tell him how big and hard he is, how much I love to feel something so fucking thick inside me, and he responds with crude endearments about my slippery cunt, how he can see all my juices on his cock when I pull away from him, how I look split on his fat prick, how good I am for taking all of him.

  I don’t care. In fact, I like it. The cruder he is, the better it is.

  ‘Fuck me harder,’ he grunts. ‘Fuck me hard, you little bitch.’

  And I do. I fuck him as hard as I can just to make him talk like this, and make those dirty gruff noises he does, until I’m all shaky and even less able to control myself.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he groans, and it’s delicious. I’ve never heard him so much as ask someone to pass him a wrench, in the garage, never mind begging someone not to stop. It’s even better than hearing him calling me ‘slut’, and I draw out a long moan for him.

  ‘You want me to fuck you, baby?’ he asks, and I reply, ‘Yeah. Yeah.’

  He doesn’t make me beg. He pushes me down so that my face is in the seat, grabs my hips and holds me still so that he can fuck me good and hard. Now he’s hitting some lovely place, over and over, and we’re making slick wet sounds together, and he tells me uh uh uh.

  When I come, it curls around and inside me, squeezing me tight and then releasing, and I shudder and jitter and give him an ooooohh yeeeaah, now.

  I want to tell him directly afterwards that no one has ever made me come like this before, with just a straightforward fucking. That I’ve never had this type of orgasm before, and he’s too good, too big, too fucking fantastic, but all I can do is say his name and that’s too much.


  He asks me to say it again, which is probably the closest he’s going to get to a sweet endearment, and when I do he fucks into me hard, grabbing my hips again and pulling my lax body back on to his dick.

  ‘Ohhh, fuck, baby, here it comes,’ he says, and I feel him swell inside me.

  There are other signs he’s going to come. He grabs my tits, and I can feel him shaking. At the last second, he fucks in as deep as he can go, and then he unloads in my pussy. I think I feel him spurting. I certainly feel it when he withdraws for the last few spasms, and then I lazily turn my head and watch him milk his cock, striping my ass cheeks with his come.

  ‘Here,’ he says. ‘Clean my cock.’

  And then he tugs me around and aims at my mouth, and I greedily suck him in. He tastes sweet and salty, like me and him.

  He doesn’t let me play for long, though. He pushes me away when it gets too much, and then I sag against the seat, face almost in his lap. Some time must pass, I guess. I don’t know. Next thing he’s buttoning up his jeans and telling me to get up.

  I slide bonelessly into a half-hearted sitting position, probably getting our combined junk all over the seat. I have no idea where my panties are. He’ll probably be mad tomorrow, when he sees what I’ve done to his precious truck.

  I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. As he starts the truck I lay my head back against the seat and close my eyes.

  He’s not exactly the cuddling type. Every time I imagine him kissing me and putting his arms around my shoulders, it descends into screwing fantasies again. I used to sit on those plastic seats and imagine the lewdest things. That cutie tootie chickie that used to come in and get his attention – maybe I’d lick her cunt for him, put on a show. Maybe he and that other mechanic, Dirk, could take turns fucking me over the hood of a Camaro, greasing me up with engine oil, one of them in my pussy, one of them in my ass.

  He would find the vibrator in my purse and make me suck it like a cock. Make me put on a show for the men in the garage, skirt up and pink plastic buried deep in my streaming cunt. Buzzing it against my clit. Creaming for them, moaning for them, oh, those fantasies, while sitting on the plastic seats.