30. Lennox
30
LENNOX
H er words are my undoing. I wanted to take it slow, but Anne begging me to fuck her shatters my self-control.
I press my lips to hers, giving her a passionate kiss before entering her to the hilt, knocking the breath out of her. Shit. She’s so fucking tight. And wet. And warm.
“You good?” I ask, grinding my teeth to stop my cock from thrusting into her even harder.
“You’re just… so big.”
My face contorts into a diabolical smile. I am just a man, after all. And what man doesn’t go feral hearing how big he is?
I pinch her nipples harshly, eliciting a wild, uncontrolled moan, before thrusting in again. Spreading her knees wider, I open her up for me. Tied up and under my control like this, she’s mine for the taking.
I pump into her at an unforgiving pace. Her perfect tits bounce with the movement, and I can’t resist taking one into my mouth. Her tight pussy grips me harder, and I almost come.
But what really pummels me toward the edge are the sounds she makes.
“Fuck, Lennox. Yes!” In between uncontrolled pants and moans. “Fuck me harder!” Who am I to say no to that request? “Yes, that thick cock fills me up so good!”
Fuck. Hearing sweet little Anne so untethered by my cock that she suddenly mastered dirty talk makes my balls tighten, ready to burst.
My head drops down to her lips again, swallowing her moans. My hand finds its way to her clit, rubbing it in quick circles. I hold off on my orgasm just long enough to feel her spasm around me, gripping my cock like a velvet vise. Lights flash in front of my eyes as she pulls me over the edge right behind her. My cock pulses inside of her, filling her with cum as I fill the room with grunts and animalistic moans.
Dropping down onto my elbows, our sweat-slicked chests heave with racing breaths. I don’t exit her. Not yet. Not until every last drop of my cum has seeped itself deep inside of her.
I use the time to untie her hands, noticing the glaring red marks the rope left on her soft skin. When I eventually exit her, she lets out a surprised breath. As if her body expected me to stay.
And I would. I could stay buried deep inside of her until I’m hard and ready to go again. But I need to tend to her wrists. And her emotions.
Leaving for the bathroom, I swish some mouth wash and return to the bedroom with a warm wet washcloth and a bottle of lotion. I clean her up thoroughly, admiring the way my cum drips out of her.
Never have I ever came inside of a woman bare before. I’ve seen my cum on almost every surface of the human body, but I’ve never seen it drip out of a perfect pink pussy.
Now I think I need to do this every single time. I need to fill Anne with my cum so deep she won’t be able to get rid of me for days.
I finish with her pussy before getting back up. Placing a gentle kiss on her lips, I breathe her in as she melts into me. The kiss turns less gentle when our tongues tangle together, but I break it to tend to her.
“I need to put some lotion on your wrists.”
“Oh,” she responds.
Lying beside her, I pour some lotion on my fingers and lightly massage her scraped wrists.
“That feels nice,” she croaks, inhaling deeply.
“Did it hurt?”
“Not really. It was more of a constant reminder I was tied up.”
“And how did that feel?”
“Really good.” She chuckles.
My hands get down her body, prickling her skin, and when they get to her hips, I remember spanking her ass. I turn her around to the side to massage some lotion on it. Her pale skin is still flushed in a gorgeous shade of red with marks from my palms. My hands lose themselves in the soft flesh as her breaths grow heavy.
I was never a fan of impact play. Dominating, yes. Ropes, yes. Some degradation, why not. But hitting and spanking—not really. Still, Anne’s porcelain skin made me desperate to mark her. And she seemed to have liked it.
Pouring more lotion, I massage her ankles as well before spooning her into me.
“I need to pee.” A shy whisper breaks the content silence, making me chuckle.
“Sure.” I point her to the bathroom. As she does her thing, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge and get my way back. She’s already lying on the bed, a blanket up to her neck.
“How are you feeling now? Cold?”
“Erm… a little.” She isn’t cold. She’s hiding, still unaware of her beauty.
“Hopefully it wasn’t too much for you.”
Her eyes roam my body hungrily, and I realize I’m still naked. “Nope,” she pops the p. My cock grows hard under her stare.
I wasn’t planning on fucking her again. She should really get some rest. But if she continues to stare at me like that, this will be a long night.
“How about we order some food?” Like clockwork, her stomach rumbles in response. Her face turns red, and I hate the fact that she’s still insecure.
I order us two huge burgers with sweet potato fries, not giving her a chance to pick the salad. She opts to take a shower on her own, declining my offer to help her. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with her naked, but I respect her decision.
The food arrives just as she finishes showering. Her face is clear and glowing, all traces of fucked up makeup removed.
“Dig in.” I gesture for her to join me on the bed.
“Don’t know why, but I’m starving.” She says, sitting down.
“Good sex will do that to you.” I wink and her eyes grow large, her cheeks turning pink. “It was good sex, right?”
“Yes.” She looks away. “It was amazing. For me.” Her gaze snaps to mine as if backtracking. “I hope it was ok for you.”
This time, a deep laugh bubbles out of me. She isn’t insecure, she’s fucking delusional. “What do you think, Firecracker?” I turn her chin to me. “Do you think I was just saying those things? That I faked the stiffness of my cock and filling up your pretty little mouth with my cum?” As I’m speaking, her lips part. “Do you think I’m not already ready for another round? The only reason I’m not inside of you right now is the fact that you need time to rest. Physically and emotionally.”
I grab a fry, stuffing it into my mouth, giving her a second of reprieve.
“Oh,” she whispers but doesn’t say more. I’m wary of saying too much—I don’t want her to get attached—but I can’t let her be delusional anymore.
We eat in comfortable silence and, thank God, she eats the whole burger.
“Could you drop me off at the shelter? I’m already late and there’s no need for me to head home before,” she asks me next morning, entering my car.
“Yeah, no problem. Just put in the address.”
“What are your plans for the day?” She punches in the location and makes herself comfortable.
“Nothing much… stuff around the house mostly.”
“Perfect. You can come with, then.” She flashes me a bright smile.
“What?”
“Remember last weekend when you said ‘next time’? Well, it’s now. So why not join me for a day of fun and helping people?”
Yes, Lennox, why not? What could you possibly say to her in lieu of a plausible excuse?
So, instead, I say, “Sure.” And stifle a groan.
We find street parking close to the address she put in and walk to the inconspicuous looking building. There are no signs that this is a shelter for domestic violence survivors, but my stomach swirls with nerves.
“Anyone can just walk in?” I ask, my voice high with surprise.
“Oh, this is just the community office. The location of the safe house is confidential. There’s no way you could get in. Besides, we have Kev here.” She smiles.
“Hi, Anne. Good to see you.” An armed bodyguard sits at the reception desk.
“Hello, Kev. Good to see you, too. This is Lennox, I brought him to help out.” She points a thumb at me. “Give him your ID, please.”
I pull out my wallet from the back pocket, digging the ID out while the bodyguard eyes me suspiciously. He writes down my info onto a sign-in sheet before returning the card.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“Come on.” Anne’s soft hand squeezes mine in excitement, pulling me through the hallway.
“Hi, Sam. I brought help.” Her voice is cheerful as she greets the woman holding the scheduling pad.
“Sam. Good to have you here.” The woman is in her mid-thirties, heavily covered in tattoos, and her smile is warm and inviting.
“Lennox.” I shake her hand, returning the smile.
“We have a giant pile of donations for you to sort through.” She brings us to a small storage room overfilled with boxes and shoots us a grin. “Let me know when you grow tired of it.”
“So the safe house residents aren’t here?” I ask when Sam leaves.
“Oh, typically not. We do organize some classes here and they pick up the donations, though. Some of them also decide to volunteer here in a safe environment before they’re ready to get out into the outside world.”
I exhale a breath of relief. I guess I don’t have to be afraid of running into them and hearing their stories.
“What’s all this?” I look around.
“The donations they receive. A massive amount of these boxes arrive every week, but unfortunately, most of it’s trash.” She shudders. “But we go through everything, sorting what is garbage and what is good for use.” She grabs a pair of scissors and cuts open the first box. “It’s things like clothing, hygiene products, etc. All usable clothes go there”—she gestures to the pile of huge bags on the left side of the door—“sorted by type and size. The hygiene products go here”—she points to a large box in front of her—“but only the unopened ones. And the rest goes to trash.” She waves to a giant pile of clothes that is, supposedly, the trash pile.
I nod, taking the scissors out of her hands and opening a box of my own. She’s right, most of this is trash. Dirty or worn-out clothes. Half-empty bottles of shampoo. Even opened boxes of menstrual pads.
“And the residents… need this?” I ask, chucking one of those opened boxes in the trash with my face scrunched up.
She sighs deeply before responding. “They do. Most of them get away in the middle of the night, grabbing their kids and nothing else. It’s luck if they even have their IDs and medical documents. It’s rare that someone has time to plan a perfect escape.” She pauses for a second. “And lives to see it through.” Her voice breaks a little and my legs go weak.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I try to steady my breath and continue sorting. My focus is off, and I guess she notices.
“Hey, sorry if this isn’t how you wanted to spend your Saturday.”
“No. It’s nice,” I lie.
Nothing about this is nice. We’re sorting through trash to try and find some things that can be useful to women and children trying to avoid being fucking murdered. Trying to find scraps of basic necessities for the people who already lost pretty much everything.
She spares me another glance, probably knowing something is wrong, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, the door opens.
“Anne!” A scrappy kid that looks about seven years old runs in, directly into Anne’s arms.
“Mason!” Anne squeals back, just as delighted to see him.
“Who’s this?” He turns to me, scooting closer to Anne.
“This is my friend, Lennox. He’s here to help me.” Her hand lands on his shoulder, lightly squeezing it.
“I thought I was the one helping you,” he protests.
“Don’t worry. I need plenty of helpers. Matter of fact, there’s a box right here with your name on it.” She cuts open another box.
“This says ‘toys’.”
“Exactly.” She winks and his mouth parts on a silent ‘oh’.
“What I like I can keep?” His voice is hopeful.
“Of course, Mace. When have I ever let you down?”
He pumps his fist and digs into the box. Still stunned from their interaction, I watch the little kid trying to find a toy to brighten up his life.
Jesus fuck. I run my hand through my hair. Opening another box, I get back to work. Mason does a quick job sorting through the box before finding something he obviously likes.
“This is just like the one I used to have!” Mason yells in surprise taking out a blue scooter. He opens it up, stepping on it even though there’s no room to ride it.
“That’s great! Consider it yours, then.” Anne taps his shoulder.
“Thanks, Anne. I was so sad when Daddy broke it. My eyes were full of tears, but I held them in because Mommy reminded me Daddy gets angry when I cry. But now I have it again! Can I go show it to my mom?”
“Sure,” I faintly hear Anne say as the happy kids runs out, trailing the scooter behind.