by Lilly Garfield
I found him sitting on a crate, cigarette in one hand, book in the other. He looked up and smirked.
No words were exchanged as I felt a hand on the back of my head, fingers lacing between strands of hair. He forced me down a flight of stairs. The basement smelled dank and moldy and my sweater felt a little damp as my back hit the wall.
His mouth tasted of coffee and nicotine and I smelled faint cologne as my tongue explored. My teeth found his ear and he let out a faint gasp as they sunk.
A boot planted firmly between my feet forced my legs apart and his hand reached under my skirt as his teeth nibbled at my erect nipple. In one move my underwear ripped and fell alongside jeans on the concrete floor. His fingers explored, finding a home deep inside. I whimpered from the ecstasy of the sharpness of pain and the fullness of his hand as he knelt before me putting my leg over his shoulder and burying his tongue.
My back arched as pleasure took hold and just as I began to reach the top, he forced his fingers into my mouth, leapt quickly to his feet, and pushed himself inside me with a force that knocked my head against the block wall. His furious thrusts lifted me off my feet again and again until his hand was on my neck and he forced my face down on a steel table sitting beside us.
My breasts complained as they were crushed by the weight of him on my back once again forcing my legs to each side of his and entering me violently from behind. I struggled against his movements and he held me tighter owning more and more of my body until he collapsed in a heap on my back.
I caught my breath as his panting subsided and the smell of our activity filled the air. We lay silent for what seemed like a decade until he left my body and said, “so, how was your flight?”
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