5 - Brose
O live flops down on the couch behind me, sighing loudly. My fingers pause on the keyboard, my eyes look straight ahead at the screen in front of me, and I start counting.
I have a rule. It’s hard, and fast, and one of many, actually.
Rules keep things simple. Keeps this little kingdom I’m ruling all very black and white. And this particular rule is that Olive gets to interrupt me when I’m busy with one sigh of frustration or boredom, and no more.
This was her one.
It’s been four days and she and I are practically living here at the Mule Pit. It’s been nothing but long days of waiting and, for her, at least, equally long nights of frustration.
Another rule I have is that if she is with another man, I take a break. I’m not going to compete with someone inside Olive’s mind. And while she obviously didn’t get far with Ean Shephard, she was wiggling in my lap just a few minutes prior to wiggling in his.
Then he left her hanging.
If Shephard is playing a game here, he won that day. Because she can’t get over that part. He walked out on her and she was giving him some good moves. So he’s up there, inside her head, and when it comes to who I am to this woman, it’s number one or it’s number none as far as I’m concerned.
It’s twenty seconds now and that one sigh was all Olive gave up.
“You’re bored?” I ask.
“Aren’t you?”
“You’re thinking about him?”
She scoffs. “Aren’t you ?”
I swivel in my chair so I can look at her. She’s wearing another one of those Roaring Twenties dresses. Not something she had, because she left Disciple when she was a girl. This dress is something she got from a thrift store. Apparently, you can find these dresses all over the surrounding counties and Olive has a whole closet filled with them now.
This one is long, straight, shapeless, and light yellow. I get the costume part of these clothes they wear at the Revival, but I don’t find any of it particularly attractive. Especially the hair.
Except for Olive’s hair, that is. Hers is dark blonde, shoulder length, and wavy, so it always looks the part, but that’s how her hair always is. She doesn’t need to do anything to make it blend in with the dresses, and I suddenly wonder if it’s genetic.
Which is stupid. But then again, there it is. Sitting right in front of me. Perfect, effortless, nineteen twenties style.
She’s waiting for my answer.
“No. I haven’t been thinking about him at all.” This makes her sneer, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows there’s more to my answer and there is. “I’ve been thinking about you and him.”
Olive presses her lips together and nods a little bit. She’s slumped back into the couch cushions, one leg thrown over the armrest, looking very sexy. That’s not the look she’s going for though—she’s trying for ‘moody’—so it’s all that much more alluring because of her lack of effort. “I figured as much since you haven’t fucked me in days.” All these words come out with an attitude. “You think I don’t know, but I do, Brose. I’ve been with you every day and every night for two years. I know you.”
I’m amused, so I tip my chin up and challenge her. “And what is it that you think you know about me, Olive?”
“Your rules . Just because you never made a handbook doesn’t mean I can’t read them.”
I’m surprised that she actually used the word ‘rules,’ but also intrigued as to what she thinks these rules are. “Go on.”
“Go on, what? That’s it. You have… lines, or something. Things I’m not supposed to do, except you don’t tell me I’m not supposed to do them. Or actually, you do tell me to do them, and then you punish me for it.”
“What do you think you did that you feel I’m punishing you?”
“I climbed into that guy’s lap. I was going to fuck him. And even though you agreed, you’re mad about it so you haven’t touched me in days. It’s your way of teaching me a lesson.”
“And what lesson have you learned?”
“That what you say, and what you do, and what you think are oftentimes… very different things.”
“I didn’t agree, by the way. It was your idea to fuck him and you placated me with that bait about watching.”
Her eyes squint down a little, like she’s thinking back. But this is actually how it went down, so all those frown lines forming across her forehead even out pretty quick. “So which part are you mad about? The fact that I wanted to fuck him or that you didn’t get a show?”
“You tell me. You’re the instant psychologist.”
She smiles at me, but it’s a sardonic one. Then she scoots her body just a little bit to the right without taking that one leg off the armrest. Just enough to make sure I have a good view as she slips her hand down her stomach and pulls up her dress to reveal the fact that she’s not wearing underwear.
I’m not sure if I’m angry about that or turned on, and I hate conflicting emotions, so I don’t react.
My apathy only prompts her to keep going. “Well, I can’t read your mind, Brose, but if it’s a show you want, I can deliver.” And then she flicks a finger back and forth across her little pink nub.
Olive is an eager girl when it comes to sex. She’s not hard to please. She touches herself often, always finding pleasure in it, so she’s getting a lot of pleasure out of this moment. Her eyes droop low, but don’t entirely close. Her mouth goes slack, affording me a little peek at her tongue, and her back arches just the tiniest of degrees.
It’s not an act. It’s real and even if I was trying my best to remain indifferent, I would have a hard time not responding. But in this case, after days of sleeping and working beside her with no sexual contact at all, that best try wouldn’t even come close to enough fortitude to withstand her teasing.
My dick grows inside my pants and her eyes are there to see it. Her tongue flicks out, swiping over her top lip, inviting me to picture her mouth sliding around my hard tip.
“If you want it,” she says, her voice low and seductive, “come get it.”
My smile is sideways. “That’s not how this works.”
“Today, Brose? Today it is. Because you have rules that I don’t know about. And you put me in situations where I break these rules, and then you punish me for it. And I get it. I’m a little slut. I like it. A lot .” She withdraws her fingers from between her legs, then closes her knees and stands up, straightening her dress. “But if you think I’m weak and have no self-control at all, you’ve misjudged me.”
I scoff.
Which makes her squint again. “Try me, Brose. Try me .” Then she turns towards the door, like she’s gonna walk out.
Immediately, I’m up from the chair and crossing the room. I grab her by the arm, spin her around, and push her against that door with a hard thump.
Her mouth is open when she looks up at me, shocked.
But it’s a split second of shock, and nothing more. Because when my hand slides over to her breast and gives it a squeeze, she smiles. “Take it then. Because if you can have rules, Brose, then so can I. And from now on, if you agree to something and then try and punish me afterward, I will punish you back.”
My hand slowly slides up to her throat and my fingertips splay open around it.
She holds her breath, hoping.
I’ve never seen a woman so turned on by choking. Ever. Olive Creed likes to be choked so much. Sometimes she tempts me into doing it.
The problem is, I like to be the choker, and it has happened on occasion that I have failed to… restrain myself.
I’ve choked her into unconsciousness three times now, and each time I did it, she came. Of course, while it’s risky, it’s not actually that dangerous. As long as I remove my hand the minute she goes limp, she comes back.
It’s just… I’m afraid that… one day… I won’t remove my hand at all.
“Do it,” she dares. “Do it, Brose.”
But I’m not going to do it, so I do not squeeze her throat. I just leave my hand there. It’s the equivalent of her grabbing my dick, but not following through with a hand job. “You wanna know what rule you broke, Olive? That made me hate you?”
Her eyes squint down when I use that word ‘hate.’ I don’t hate her. I will never hate her. It’s just a trigger word and it does the job. “You hate me?” she says.
“Do you wanna know? Or not?”
“Tell me.”
“You wanted him more than you wanted me.”
“That’s not true. I belong to you, Brose. That guy is nobody.”
“Make me believe it. Make me believe it, Olive, and I’ll—” I press my hand against her throat. She sucks in a breath. “I’ll give you a little bit of this.” I press just a tiny bit harder and her eyes close.
But at the same time, her mouth opens and those words I love to hear come spilling past her lips. “You think for me, I act for you.”
“Say it again.”
“You think for me, I act for you.”
“ Again .”
“You think for me, I act for you.”
This time, when she says the words, I push on her shoulders and she slowly drops to her knees. As she lowers, her head lifts up and her eyes are locked with mine. She doesn’t react as I undo the buckle on my belt and pop the button on my jeans. She doesn’t move when I slide the zipper down and pull out my long, hard cock. And she doesn’t resist when I wrap my hand round my shaft and push the tip past her lips. She opens wide for me, gagging a little, but trying her hardest, and I make my way inside her.
“That’s it,” I say, petting her pretty hair. “That’s it. You’re a good girl, Olive. You’re a very good girl.”
I hold my dick in her mouth, counting the seconds. Her eyes begin to water, making her mascara run, and her breathing is erratic and loud.
But I keep my dick right there in her mouth, pressed against the back of her throat, until I get to the count of three hundred. She’s counting too, I’m sure of it. She doesn’t know what my count is. It’s never the same, but she knows I’m keeping time.
And when I get to three hundred, I give it one hard thrust and then pull back to let her cough. But just as quickly as she recovers, I push back in, making her gag again. I keep doing this until the count of sixty. I’m not sure if she’s counting with me now. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s not, because she’s moaning.
“Do not come,” I threaten. “Do not come, Olive.” She looks up at me, nodding, her face smeared with black mascara now.
I just look at her. I want to take a picture of this moment, but my phone is all the way across the room and breaking the moment isn’t worth it. I live for this. I live for this girl, and her hot, wet mouth, and her makeup-smeared face, and her eyes.
There’s something really wrong about it.
My attraction to Olive is forbidden. And I don’t want to be so enthralled by her, but when those gorgeous eyes of hers look up at me like I’m her God , there’s no way I can resist her seductive enchantment.
You must, Brose. You must resist.
She’s not yours.
She belongs to CORE .
She belongs to CORE. She belongs to CORE.
I say this over and over and over in my head because it’s true. But right now, I don’t care about the rules. I pull out, grab her by the shoulders, spin her around, push her face up against the door, and lift her dress up.
She opens her legs for me without hesitation and I can hear her whispering, “He thinks for me, I act for him. He thinks for me, I act for him,” over and over again.
When I thrust my dick inside her, she comes. She doesn’t make a sound, nor does she clench me, but everything is so wet all at once that there is no way to miss her insubordination.
I lean in to her ear to make sure she hears my ragged, whispered words. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.”
But that’s what she wants. She wants to be bad and she wants to pay for it.
I grab her by the wrist and drag her over to the couch. Then I sit down, pull her across my lap with her ass in the air, and smack her until I come all over myself and her cheeks are red with handprints.