Chapter 4 #2
But my body is coming alive by the second. I still can't make myself move, but sensation is returning to me in microdoses, rippling through me with each new wave of disgusting pleasure.
"Stop!" I beg, everything inside of me clenching as I try to fight it. "Nick... please don't..."
"Looks like she's getting close."
"Oh, she's soaking now. Look at that." Nick laughs, dipping his fingers lower for just long enough to run them along my slit, collecting the slickness that's gathered there... proof of my arousal. Proof of how fucking disgusting I am, that I am enjoying this.
Shame sears through me, the only emotion I’m suddenly capable of.
I can feel my fingers when I dig them into the ground, but it's not enough. Whatever they gave me still has a hold on me, and when Nick's fingers return to my clit, I lose the ability to focus again.
"Nick!" I beg him, but it comes out as a moan, a sound that causes laughter to ring out in the church.
The church.
Oh my God.
I cannot have sex with Nick in the church.
"Shh. I'm going to let you come first."
"Such a nice guy." Brant snorts.
"That's good old Saint Nick for ya." Cole laughs, too. "Always thinking of others."
I don't want to have sex with him at all, but I especially don't want him to make me come. I don't want him to make me feel good.
Noah made me feel good, but it wasn't like this.
He was slower, gentler, and he loved to tease me, building me up with his tongue and then pushing me over the edge.
This, though? Nick is relentless, demanding as he circles three fingers over my clit, rubbing it in vigorous circles and breathing heavily as he watches my face, trying to look for cues.
The heat is building fast— painfully so— and I can feel it pushing and pulsing beneath my flesh, pressure begging for release.
I can feel my toes, too, curling so hard that they feel like they're cramping, and my body is stiff, rigid as I try to deny what is going to happen regardless of whether I want it to or not.
I can't hold back the gasp anymore as it nears a flashpoint, and I hate myself.
I hate myself more than I've ever hated anyone, more than I hate Nick or Cole or even Brant.
I hate myself because I'm weak, a stupid whore wilting so easily, giving something that was never meant to be shared with him.
"Look at her face! She's going to blow."
I'm holding so tight to the air in my lungs that I think I may suffocate on it, and I'm trying not to breathe, not to let myself relax into it. I turn my head, trying to hide the shame searing into my soul.
I'm going to hell for this, I know.
A hand closes around my throat, turning me back to face him... them.
I knew that Cole and Brant were watching, but I think some part of my brain was trying to protect me from realizing the full impact of that. But now, I'm face to face with Brant, whose hand is wrapped around my throat, keeping me from turning away from him.
My thighs ache, but the feeling is returning to them enough to allow me to try and push away.
Nick moves with me, refusing to release his grip as he slams himself on my thighs again, pinning me back against the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to deny the rapid building inside of me, the devastation that is seconds away from ravaging me.
I fight as best as I can, trying to get some freedom from the pulsing between my thighs, to slip out from his touch, to free myself from the hand closing off my air supply and intensifying everything I can still feel.
A sharp slap to my breast sets off a chain reaction, making my eyes fly open as I gasp, strangling around the lack of oxygen and the lightheadedness that was starting to set in.
A choking sound slips out of me before Brant squeezes harder, and Nick doubles down, circling faster as everything inside of me reaches a crescendo, a point of absolutely no return.
"I think she likes a bit of pain." Someone laughs.
They test that theory, pinching a nipple between rough fingers and twisting, hard, at the same time Nick thrusts his fingers inside of me... the fingers of his other hand.
The combination is too intense. All the sensations are too much, and I can't even focus on a singular one.
My body doesn't let me. Instead, it folds, and I come, screaming as my walls clamp around his fingers, trying to pull them deeper now instead of forcing them out.
The grip on my throat shifts lower, not letting go of me as Nick releases my clit, his fingers pumping into me, gliding easily now.
He doesn't let me down, just fucks me through the release with his fingers, not letting me recover from the orgasm before it seems like he's trying to coax another one.
I don't know if I'm relieved or horrified when he stops just long enough to pull his fingers from inside of me and replace them with his dick. He lines it up with me easily, magnetized to my core even without him having to look, and begins to push inside of me.
He goes in so easily that my body feels like an even bigger traitor than it did seconds before, sinking deeper inch by inch, reaching a place no one has been before and making me sob harder at how fucking easy I made it for him.
My virginity belonged to Noah— the promise ring he gave me in tenth grade, the one still on my left finger, was a symbol of that.
No one else was supposed to have this... especially not him. Especially not like this.
I'm choking on my sobs, tears flooding my face as he lowers himself overtop of me, sinking inside so that we're connected at his base, and I can feel his balls against my ass cheeks, which are still dripping with my arousal.
I know I should keep trying to get away. I should keep trying to appeal to him, to get him to stop. But what's the point? He's already taken so much... made me give him so much.
"Shut up." Nick growls, his frustration evident as he presses his hand to my mouth. The scent of my own desire floods my nostrils, and I hope I fucking suffocate on it. I deserve that. If I don't die from that or the hand on my throat, it will certainly be on my shame.
Nick digs his fingers into my lips, prying them apart, seeking entrance to another part of me, asking me to give him more. And if I don't give it, he will just take.
"Suck." He commands, shoving them against my tongue so hard that I gag, his fingers in close proximity to the back of my tongue.
I try to twist my head, to get free of him, to get space to breathe for a second. But he presses them deeper into my mouth and his eyes take on a dark glint as I stare up at him through tears.
"I said, suck."
The hand on my throat tightens, and I think I might die right here in this church, in the very same spot where Noah killed himself. I hope wherever he is, he isn't watching this, that he never knows I let his best friend fuck me like a whore in the spot where his blood was pooled a year ago.
I don't know why I listen. Because I want it to end, because the quicker he comes the quicker it will be over. Because I'm a slut who does everything a man tells her to.
I swirl my tongue around Nick's fingers, and he groans, sliding out of me and then back in, building a pace that chases pressure inside of me again. This time, it's not a good pressure. It's painful, uncomfortable, and each movement of his hips shoves it deeper.
His gasps turn ragged as I suck his fingers harder, trying not to think about the fact that I'm licking my own release off of him like I enjoyed it. I effectively shut my brain down, refusing to indulge in the shame for a second longer; I'll have to deal with it in the morning.
For tonight, I need to do what I need to do to make this stop.
I can tell he's close by the way his movements get less coordinated, so I suck him harder, desperate for him to be done, desperate for all of it to stop. My cheeks hurt from the force and my tongue feels bruised, but I lick and suck greedily, and he loves every second of it.
When I open my eyes, I see his face screwed in concentration, his jaw clenched, and beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
"Fuck!" He slams into me, one final time, so deep that I feel myself move as I try to escape the relentless force of him.
But he only grips my hip with his free hand, the other one pushing deeper inside me, his fingers nearing the back of my throat and making me gag.
He doesn't seem to care whether I vomit, and I can taste the eggnog in the back of my throat, my stomach turning with it as he tilts his hips, trying to empty the last of his release inside me.
He pulls out of my mouth first, a thick string of saliva trailing his fingers as he wipes them on my stomach and pumps into me, once, twice, small little movements that feel like stabs in an open wound.
When finally his cock slips out of me, I see him draw back.
I stopped crying a while ago, and now I feel hollowed out, half dead—like he scooped something from inside of me on his way out and took it with him.
"Oh, shit." He muses. "Are you on your fucking period?"
I don't know what that has to do with anything or why he'd be asking, and I can't make myself care enough to answer him.
I just stare at him, trying to decide how I'm ever going to live with myself knowing I let this happen.
"That's not enough blood for that," Brant shakes his head. "Trust me. You made her come. If she was on the rag, it would have been much messier."
"Nasty."
"No way that was virgin pussy?" Nick says, but something about his tone of voice makes it sound like a question instead of a statement.
"She's a church girl." Cole reasons. “That a purity ring on her finger?”
It's just occurred to me that I'm still naked, completely exposed. I haven't even snapped my legs back together yet, and I can feel their eyes on me, all over me.
It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to roll over, flipping myself onto my stomach and hiding all the vulnerable parts of me that were left exposed when Nick moved away from me.
I want to lay my head down on the glossy wood beneath me, to lay there and wait until I have the energy for something more, but I'm still cold, so I roll myself onto my knees, swaying a little as the motion makes the whole world tilt precariously.
"The fuck does that mean? Noah and her were together for like five years. You really think he never got it in?"
I find my feet somehow and get them beneath me.
My brain doesn't feel like it's operating at a hundred percent. Everything is dim and hazy, like when a snowstorm knocks out the power and plunges you into icy darkness. The emergency lights come on, but nothing is still operating as normal.
I pick up the snow globe I left on the steps, ignoring their bickering as I stare at the photo inside.
The couple in that picture is gone. Noah died, and I may as well have. I'm looking at ghosts.
"I don't fucking know. Ask her."
"Does it change anything?"
"I feel kinda bad now, yeah." Nick snaps.
They don't seem too bothered by me ignoring them. Nobody looks my way until I'm at the first set of pews, the snow globe cradled against my chest.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
I'm not sure if they're talking to me. I don't care if they are.
I walk away from them, ignoring the pain that radiates inside of me with each step, ignoring their bickering, their laughter, their footsteps that follow me to the front door.
"You're gonna go out there like that?" One of them laughs, and the others follow. "You'll freeze to death in two minutes and be begging us to let you back inside."
I don't answer them.
I'm not cold anymore.
I can feel the pain inside of me, but there's no more fear, no more shame, no more anxiety. Nothing to worry about.
The door gives easily for me, and an icy plume of air filters into the church as I step out of it.
"Where you going?" Nick calls after me. "My keys are inside?"
"We're not done with you, yet!"
They're not done with me.
I'm done, though.
I'm going home, even if I have to walk the whole way there.
I don't walk straight to the parking lot. Instead, I turn left, toward the back of the church, with the woods in the distance. I can walk home, through the woods.
"Fuck. It's fucking freezing out here." Nick grumbles, and I hear his footsteps as he takes a few to follow me. "I gotta get dressed. Fucking get her before someone sees her like this."
That's the last thing I hear, because his words are swallowed in a howl of wind as I step into the back of the church and see the woods in the distance. It's not far.
My feet sink into the snow with each step, and my movements get slower, my limbs awkward with the cold shutting them down.
I walk on anyway, moving forward because it's my only choice. I can't go back, obviously.
"Stop walking away from me!" Cole's voice carries on the wind, but I don't care enough to turn back to face him, much less to actually listen.
"Fucking bitch! You trying to turn into a popsicle out here?"
Still, I move forward. I don't stop until a weight tackles me to the ground and I land, face first in the snow.