by Anna Chillon
Another push took all the strength out of me, bringing a wave of cold sweat and chills similar to an electric shock. The back of my foot started to beat repeatedly against the mattress.
“Is this a protest?” He asked.
“Uhm... yes” came out of me in a hiccup.
“Nice.”
“It's too fat,” I complained, breathing with discomfort.
“My ego is happy that you think that, but I assure you that it’s pretty average” he kissed me on the jaw still smoothing my hair as if he were taming a wild beast. “But you can tell your friends that it’s enormous.”
He managed to make me laugh through the tears. I rubbed a tear from my eye with the knuckle of my thumb. It fell onto the mattress, where the sheet under my cheek was drenched.
“In fact, it’s actually you that’s squeezing me and making me go crazy.” His fist sank into the mattress in front of my face, the masculine forearm stretched shaping the muscle and revealing the veins, supporting his weight so as not to squash me. “Christ... you're magnificent.”
It was he that was wonderful for me, his gestures, his marked manhood disorientated me. And what was more virile than to meticulously penetrate me in hidden places, as if to tell me that there was nothing I could keep to myself. He came in bringing himself and went out taking me with him. And then back to the beginning. Every movement was sweet and tender, in sharp contrast to the brutality of what was happening. He was holding back to enjoy every minute, but also for me, to make the experience the least painful possible and he was managing more than it might’ve seemed to me. I began to enjoy it rather than to just take it.
He stopped, planted in my bowels, pulled my shirt off and moved up my back touching me so lightly, sending me long quakes of pleasure that didn’t care about the penis that was forcing me to the extreme. It was there, tightly wrapped, warm and secure as it would always be welcomed within me.
“Vince...?”
“Yes, little one?” He asked walking his fingers up and down my skin.
“Why does it seem so horrible, but I don’t want you to stop?”
“Because it's terribly intimate and immoral, even a little painful, that’s why we like it so much. You don’t want me to stop because you know I can’t own you anymore than I do now, in the same way that you can’t have any more of me.”
He moved a buttock trying to go further than was humanly possible, making me tighten my fists, and so awakening the wound on my hand. He slid more easily, resuming the rhythm of his hips and making me pant. He, with the sweet words in my ear, was the whisper of a warm wind that liquefied all resistance.
Every conception was lost, every perception of the matter, what was lawful and what wasn’t, I only knew what my limbs wanted and that something was the feverish coming and going of his cock, to the point where it would break me if necessary. I grasped his buttock, feeling it contracting with the thrust and becoming iron. I held him to me.
His hand sought my clitoris, having more ability to handle my body than I had myself. And my body answered as if it totally belonged to him.
“I want you to come now,” he announced. “Come.” And I, who could have laughed at those words because I never thought I could obey such an order, came desperately and unexpectedly. What surprised me most was that it wasn’t just a bodily pleasure, it was an emotional orgasm, as if he had put all my feelings into his fist, and with a tug it had brought them to the surface, freeing tears and laughter together.
I was amazed and ecstatic by the power he had over me. I wasn’t someone who allowed another to enter so deeply in my being, and I wouldn’t be in future either; but with the man who had taken me as a little girl and made me a woman, consciously and fully, I was.
It took some time before Vincent decided he’d had enough. He loved keeping me in that state, meek and overwhelmed, holding one buttock aside with his hand, coming and going gently, until it seemed that we could get used to it. He seemed afraid that if he came out of me completely, he would no longer be able to come back in, but he didn’t lose me that day and not in that moment either, I was there for him, and I only knew how to prove it by offering everything I could of myself.
He widened my legs with his own.
“Hold me, baby. Always remember me and when you want to hate me, know that I love you.” He pressed down with all his weight, weaved his fingers with mine and blocked both hands on my head. He pushed forward, making me arch my back and tightened his fists. “Do you feel it? Here I am.”
His muscles tightened, he palpitated and came.
I don’t know how to explain what I felt, mostly it was pulsating and a tender feeling of warmth that spread down there. Perhaps it really was his sperm, or perhaps it was the idea that accentuated that impression.
We remained entwined while our lungs found their normal rhythm and our limbs gradually and pleasantly relaxed. With the effort of keeping my body still, I’d crumpled my face into a grimace that gradually dissolved in a naughty smile, impossible to hide. I was happy to have taken and given myself so fully. It was worth it; the pain, fear, whispers, moans... everything made it incredible.
Vincent collapsed beside me, pulling me onto my side and against him. The only other effort he made was pulling the sheet to cover us. He wrapped my shoulders with his, with his eyes closed. In a state of bliss, his thumb walked across my face in search of residual tears to dry, and then to my mouth.
“What is this smile? You know it was supposed to be a punishment,” He said calmly, with slight irony.
“Oh yes? I don’t believe it.” I laid my hand on the sheet, feeling the shape of his fingers, still unable to believe that I had this man all to myself. “Well, at first it hurt like hell and I also found it a bit disgusting. But then... I think you'll have to try harder if your purpose isn’t to make me smile.”
“I’ll remember that.” He pulled my wrists under my chin, and covered my legs with his. “I think I can be satisfied: I like your smile.”
***
Around one in the morning the silence of the sleeping residential area was disturbed. As I was sleeping deeply, Vincent was awake; an arm held his head while his fingers played with my hair. He was enjoying that peaceful moment beside me.
The light of the headlights flashed on the walls, and he followed them with his eyes open, till then half-closed and half asleep. The electric gate sent orange flashes, a metallic sound signaling the automatic closure of the two gates, ending by slamming one over the other before it went quiet.
Vincent immediately realized what was happening and had very few moments to decide. The front door opened downstairs, there were footsteps and voices. My parents had come back early, hoping to give me a welcome surprise because Mum had decided we deserved a family Sunday, all together. She thought it would be the right time to tell me that in the end they’d given up the idea of the farmhouse and decided that we would all stay in Rome, to my joy.
Oh yes, great joy. Too bad about the timing.
Dad started climbing up the stairs, Vincent heard it distinctly, recognized his steps and remained perfectly motionless. He continued to twist my silky locks through his fingers, remaining unnaturally calm.
He wasn’t the type to hide in a wardrobe or under the bed, The idea didn’t even enter into his head. He didn’t even try to cover my naked shoulders or his chest naked to the waist.
Maybe he could’ve staged a farce, dressed and pretended that he’d come to check on me, but he wasn’t going to do that. No, he preferred to affront things head on, whatever the consequences were. Not to mention that no matter how much the situation had its advantages, he couldn’t be at the whim of a young girl forever. Or lie for her.
So when my father opened the door cautiously to check that I was asleep, Vincent didn’t move a muscle. The light from the corridor poured into the room to chase the shadows and Dad stepped forward to adapt his sight in that darkness. He faltered on one foot, first he didn’t understand what he was looking at, th
en he focused and identified Vincent staring at him with his eyes veiled by a cold detachment. That was how Aron discovered his little girl and his dearest friend, lying together without shame, as two wretched lovers.
For a moment his mind refused to elaborate what he saw, but a moment later it was overwhelmed by the raw reality. He knew there was no plausible reason why Vincent might be naked in my bed with me, apart from the obvious.
He and Vincent looked into each others’ eyes, maybe Dad was looking for a trace of repentance, a sense of guilt he couldn’t find.
“No,” he shook his head, clutching the handle so hard he almost pulled it off the door. “It's not true.”
My lover abandoned the lock of my hair, letting it fall, but impassive and mute, confirming what Aron had said. When you take off a plaster you have to do it without hesitation. He’d said it once and proved himself to be faithful to his words. Moreover, certain discoveries can’t be made less painful in any way.
Dad swallowed hard, trying to swallow too big a weight. “Why?” He growled through his teeth, overflowing with sorrow and tightening his jaw with anger. “Vince... why?”
At that moment, my sleep disturbed, but still unaware, I turned over. Though I was already occupying most of the bed I moved towards the edge, against my lover, my breasts sticking to his chest, my mouth and nose pressed on his chest looking for his smell. All this with my arm wrapped around his hip.
He took my wrist gently, shaking it off for an absurd respect for my Dad. “I don’t think you are interested in the answer now, Aron.”
He got up from the bed, completely naked, and searched for his jeans.
Dad recovered from the initial shock and exploded going to meet him. “Sick bastard, she's my daughter!”
Vincent slipped in one leg and then another. “I didn’t forget it, not for a moment.”
“You know how much I care about her!” He flew at him. “You looked into my eyes and told me you’d take care of her. You promised nothing bad would happen to her!” Those were the cries that woke me up and transported me into my worst nightmare. In the darkness of the room, I saw Dad throw a punch at Vincent who was still clutching his pants. He took it on his nose and turned his face, but Vincent didn’t react, stepped back one step and put his fingers under his nostrils, tamping the blood.
“No, Dad!” I jumped from the bed as fast as I could, put my shirt on and grabbed hold of the side of his hand. My face red with shame. “Daddy, Dad no! It’s my fault, it’s nothing to do with him!”
Aron didn’t seem to even notice my presence, going for Vincent again against the dresser. “What did you do to my daughter?!”
“He didn’t do anything to me! Leave him alone, Daddy!” I clung to his arm trying to hold him back, but couldn’t stop him from pulling another punch on his jaw. Vincent didn’t react, he looked at him compassionately and waited for his punches as if he’d been waiting for them and knew he deserved them. I'd never seen Daddy hit anyone, I was amazed that he was capable of it. With a bulk like his, one and a half times that of Vincent's, his blows must have been very painful.
“Curse the day I became your friend. Son of a bitch!” He planted a left in his stomach, making him stagger and bend forward.
“Dad, please!” My screams weren’t enough to stop him.
Having more toned muscles and being faster, as soon as Vincent decided he’d had enough, he dodged Aron's fist, and slowed his trajectory by grabbing it in his fist.
“Of course, it's obvious. I've always been a son of a bitch. I also was when you put your daughter in my hands. I've always told you what I am and you never wanted to believe me.” He released it, pushing him away, panting for the last punch that had taken his breath away.
Dad lifted his fist again, but at last he dropped his anger in a frustrated growl. “Damn it!” He massaged his aching knuckles, unused to striking a man's skull. “Is that supposed to be an explanation for the disgusting person you are? You have no excuse.”
“And I’m not looking for one.”
“Fucking hell, you're talking to me, Vince! What the hell got into you? The Vincent I knew would never do anything like this to me.”
Somebody put the lights on in the room. We turned around: Mum was at the door with one hand over her mouth and her eyes shining, immediately rigid. The other hand on the belly to contain the sense of nausea. “Not with Lalla, Vince...” she begged him graciously. “For heaven’s sake, tell me it’s not true. Please, Vince…”
“I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Adele.”
It was a tremendous damage, a dam exploded by a flood of sewage, in which we were all drowning. “Mum it’s not what you think.”
“But it is,” he replied. “It's exactly what it looks like: I wanted your daughter and I got her. It's pointless to turn it around.”
Adele covered her mouth, crying.
“I can’t look at you and I can’t even listen to you. Get out of here! I never want to see your face again!” Aron growled with his face deformed in a sneer. “And above all forget seeing or even hearing Giada ever again. If I find out you touched her more than a month ago, before she was eighteen, I'll slam you into jail, and your Daddy won’t be there to get you out.”
At that point, anger seized me too, that being the subject of that mess I was ignored as if I didn’t count at all, while my Dad had already started talking about prison.
“I'm an adult, I can do whatever I want,” I said, pointing to two of them. “You can’t force me to do anything and you can’t slam anyone in prison. If I decide to go to bed with Vincent or anyone else, I'll do it.”
Aaron grabbed me by an arm and shook me violently. “Don’t be stupid! He’s more than twice your age, don’t you understand that he's taking you for a ride? What were you thinking of ?!”
My mother yelled. My head bounced back and forth, for a moment I was afraid he was going to slap me, but Vincent intervened, pushing me away and holding Dad back with one hand against his chest.
“Just raise a finger to her, Aron,” he growled. “I don’t care why, you do it and I swear I'll take her away, and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“You can’t take her away.” “Do you want to bet? Just one word’s enough.”
I shivered from head to toe, waiting only for him to say it, tearing me completely from them.
“Aaron...” my mother prayed, knowing how determined Vincent could be.
Dad was just as fierce. “How dare you threaten me not to touch my own daughter? filthy piece of shit. You've always been perverted, but I never thought you’d go this far.” He looked down at him frowning, trying to recognize the person facing him, the one he’d always trusted more than himself.
“I’ve got no right, but you’ve been warned: don’t take it out on her, the responsibility is all mine.” Vincent continued to keep control for both of them, willing to get hurt and insulted only as long as I could get out in the most painless way.
“Of course it's yours. It's all your fault, damnation.” Aron let himself be taken over by rage and hit the armchair and ended up sitting with his head in his hands. “I can’t understand, wasn’t I a good friend to you? Where did I go wrong Vince?”
Vincent picked his shirt up off the floor. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Aron. You've been by my side when I needed you the most to the point of holding my father's weight for me. You've welcomed me into your home, among your loved ones as if I were part of it, since we were boys. You, Adele and Giada, were the family I always wanted and never had, that I would protect at the expense of my life. I would never have hoped to have so much... and yet I gave up on this family the moment I realized I loved your daughter. I gave up on you, Aron, to have my moment of paradise. I'm an impulsive man and fucking selfish, but you already knew that. So now I’ll take away this nuisance once and for all, and you won’t have to put up with me, or worry about your daughter again.”
I shattered at that moment. “Do you want to leave me
like this?”
He wiped the blood off his nose again, keeping his distance. “Do you really think it would end differently? Aron knows me better than you and he’s right: I'm not the man for you.”
“But I... I love you,” how wretched I felt at that moment. A pathetic, weak child.
“I’ll never put you against your parents, Giada.”
He was abandoning me. All those beautiful loving words and just like that he was ready to turn the corner leaving me in his shit. OK, “our shit.”
“Bullshit,” I reproached, lost inside his shirt. “The truth is you're a coward.”
“Lalla,” my mother softly intervened with the broken voice. “Vincent is a man while you’re a young girl: he’s already had what he wanted from you. Let him go, at least do it for yourself.”
I tightened the shirt around my body, clasping the arms to my chest. “Are you tired of me?” I approached him, even though he avoided my gaze, staying on Aron and Mum with frosty eyes. “Now I understand: you told me that it would be over because you wanted it to end,” I said.
“It was inevitable,” he said, doing his buttons up.
I felt more alone than ever before. Alone to fight for something he’d made me believe in but that only I actually believed. All I wanted was to have a chance for us, to see what could have happened, but he was denying me even more than my parents were. In that abandonment I seemed to see things clearly for the first time.
“It wasn’t inevitable, but easier,” I said with a lump in my throat. “You know what I think? You don’t have a family because it's a lot easier to fuck your whores when they come to be photographed. You're so used to having your freedom, you can’t stand anything that involves a minimum of commitment. If you really did care about me, you wouldn’t run away.”
“I'm not running away. I'm just giving you your eighteen years so you can be free to do what you want. It’s you that I want freedom for, not for myself.” His face was navigating in a familiar but serene pain, with no shadow of regret. “Goodbye, baby.”