Chapter Five
Cyn
“Oh, my God. What the fuck. This can’t be happening.”
The sun has just risen, and I’m lying flat on my back on my living room floor, still clad in my mini dress, though I’ve kicked off my heels. I’ve been here all night.
My pussy throbs, still aching from the best fucking I’ve ever received. And that's saying a lot coming from a professional fuckee. Fucking unprecedented all around.
Beau Bradley. Of fucking course he fucks like a Greek god and has the cock of a horse.
I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. When he first slid inside, it felt like a lightning rod filling me. Deep and hard and hitting every nerve. I came. I’ve never come just from insertion before. I swallowed my cry and enjoyed the dicking he was serving. Why not?
I came three times from him just fucking my pussy.
Then the monster slid in my ass with not even a refractory period of rest!
Thank goodness I had the foresight and knowledge to lube up beforehand.
I don’t know what reset button he’d punched in my bowels, but as he plowed my ass and finger blasted my pussy, I fucking squirted!
Squirted! My cheeks heat up even thinking about it.
He must’ve thought I was some nympho horn-dog whore who needed cock daily by the way my traitorous cunt was acting!
Virgin my fucking ass.
My phone rings, and I pick it up immediately when I see Trini’s name.
“What in the actual fucking magic pussy do you have going on between your pretty legs, you little slut!” Trini shouts at me through the phone.
“Why are you calling so early?” I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes and setting my phone on my chest.
“Because, you little dog you, I woke up to multiple emails from you know who.”
“Can we just say his name?” Beau Bradley. Beau Bradley. Beau fucking Bradley.
“BEAU brADLEY.”
“What did he say?” I ask. Did he recognize me?
Does he know? My eyelids flutter away tears.
I will not cry. I haven’t shed a tear in years; I’m not going to start up again today.
But why the fuck was it so perfect with him?
How did he know to be rough with me? To spank me and slap my clit?
To fuck my pussy like he didn’t care if I came or not?
“Bitch, he wants to see you again. Tonight.”
“What? No! Is he insane? That’s so much money.
I hope he has a good financial planner because this is a very poor use of his funds.
” Holy shit. Does he want to see me again because he somehow recognized me?
There’s no way, not after this many years and this many elective procedures on my body and face.
And I had my contact lens in to make my eyes less recognizable, something I started doing early on so johns wouldn’t recognize me on the streets if I weren’t all done up.
“And by the way, there’s no way in hell that man was a virgin! ”
“Holy shit, was he that good? I fucking knew it! Every time I watch him play or see him in an interview, I think the same thing. Homeboy has big dick energy for real.”
I bite my tongue to keep from blabbing even more about his perfection.
He’s got high, glorious cheekbones, those dimples that are deep grooves even when he’s not smiling, full, firm lips, and dark hair that he has to tuck behind his ears.
The rasp of his unshaven cheeks against my belly, my breasts—fuck me, if I saw him again tonight, maybe he would eat my pussy?
He’s had two of my holes but not my mouth yet. I could—
“So I’m telling him yes?” Trini asks excitedly; I swear I can hear the beads she puts on the ends of her braids rattling through the phone.
“No way. Absolutely not. There’s no way I’ll be ready. I’m not even joking, Trini, I’m sore.”
She sighs resignedly, then says, “Fine. He won’t take another girl. He said it has to be you.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. I get it.” Trini doesn’t try to guilt me into it; she’s good to her girls. Meeting her in a Capitol Hill bar as a drunk tourist tried to negotiate with me for a blow job was the best thing that ever happened to me. Tell him to fuck off and meet me for brunch tomorrow. Here’s my card.
I tap out of the call and heave myself to my feet.
I drink a bottled smoothie. It’s tasteless.
I can’t blink away Beau Bradley’s face lying on that hotel bed.
His features were smooth and soft with sleep.
His big, hard chest, the terrain of it rocky even while slumbering.
Muscular and hairy. A man now, not the boy I used to know.
Gracyn! He had shouted my name, the shock and fear in his voice palpable.
He shouldn’t have been there; he should have been at the stadium, winning state, celebrating.
I couldn’t breathe; I was panicking, pulling down my T-shirt to try and cover my bare legs.
My stomach ached from what Peter had been doing.
This couldn’t be happening; Beau can’t know.
No! I screamed wildly. Don’t look at me! Go away! Go away! I wished everyone was gone, Beau, Peter, and me. I wished I were dead, like I had so many times before when cold hands touched me, and I squeezed shut my eyes, pretending it wasn’t happening.
There was a chaotic shuffling of bodies, Peter shouting and chasing after Beau as I screamed and screamed.
Peter came running back, so frightened I almost laughed.
Then he slapped me hard enough that my eye bulged.
You’ll tell them you wanted it. You’ll tell them you seduced me, got it? Leave your mom to me.
The cops were there within minutes, and I didn’t have to tell them anything.
I shut down and went silent. My mom was called out of work, sobbing and embarrassed.
We were put up at a hotel overnight. The cops explained to her that because I was underage, my name wouldn’t be released to the media.
But everyone in our small town knew who I was, making it so that I couldn’t go back there; they didn’t want people talking, speculating.
A victim liaison helped us get settled and explained the process.
Because by then the cops had discovered just how fucked up Peter was.
Mom was still in shock then, but when Peter started calling her from jail, lying to her, things got worse for me.
I step into my shower and let the hot spray cleanse the makeup from my face, the lotions, and body butter from my skin. Water doesn’t rinse away the memory of Beau’s hands on me. It doesn’t take away the phantom limb sensation of where his cock had carved out my insides.
Gracyn! His frightened brown eyes. Too young to see what he saw. To deal with all those feelings. Just like I was too young. How unfair. Gracyn!
A sob wracks my chest and rips up and out of my throat. The tears that spill are burning hot, hotter than the water cascading over me. I feel them slide down my cheeks, following the tendons of my neck, pooling in the cup of my clavicles before waterfalling over the edge.
I wrap my arms around my center and squeeze, trying to hold everything that’s trying to force its way out of me back in.
Contain it. Ignore it. My throat aches from the sobs, and I slide down the emerald green tiles I’d chosen and bought with money paid to me in exchange for my body.
A fair trade. A commodity for a commodity.
The shower rains on me until my muscles loosen and my arms fall limp, and I can’t stop the outpouring of tears and sounds, and all I hear is Beau shouting my name over and over and over.
I wake, stiff, in bed. I’m half-wrapped in a sheet towel, and my hair has air-dried into a tangled, wavy mess. My face feels swollen, and my organs feel tight and dry inside my body.
I stare at myself in my floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Muddy olive eyes, red-rimmed. A dark brown pie slice in one iris.
No makeup on. I almost look like Gracyn Moreno rather than Cyndi Maltese, the name I chose when I turned eighteen.
Mom went back to her maiden name of Pryce, mainly so people would stop harassing her online.
My lips are thicker and my brows microbladed.
My nose is slimmer at the bridge after a rhinoplasty I had done a few years ago.
Age has thinned my cheeks, and with no makeup contouring, I look young.
I suddenly want to see Beau again. Even if he doesn’t know it’s me.
I want one last chance. I want to touch his abdomen, feel his strong thighs, and press a finger to the center of his lower lip.
Maybe I can even kiss him the way I dreamed of doing as a sixteen-year-old.
As a thirteen-year-old. Hell, it’s always been Beau.
The sun has almost set when I text Trini.
I’ll meet him if he still wants to. Same deal, no talking.
Fuck me. Hold on.
Then, minutes later, Lucky girl. It’s a go. You’ve got one hour.
Thanks, Trin
The majority of the time is spent straightening my hair. I put lotion on. But that’s all. I don’t do my face. I pull on a comfy matching blue sweatsuit, pop in my contact lens, put on white tennis shoes, and I walk to the hotel.
I’m naked and waiting. On my knees this time. No lube because my pussy hasn’t stopped dripping for Beau Bradley since the moment I recognized the pro-football player.
My back is arched so deeply for him that I’m almost U-shaped. I open my mouth and let out the needy whimpers, whine, and wriggle my hips the way I wish I could when he arrives. When the door opens, I still. I relax my muscles. I’m so fucking ready for him; it’s stupid.
“I almost lost hope,” he murmurs under the rustle of clothes.
I squeeze my eyes and smile into the bed.
My pussy is still puffy from his big dick, and I know he sees it, even without the lamps on and only the city outside to backlight us.
There’s a crinkle of condoms tossed on the bed. Fuck. I forgot them. But he didn’t.
I feel the warmth of his body before I feel the dip of the bed.
His tongue, long and agile, laps up my slit so suddenly I gasp.
He’s eating my pussy as if ravenous. He slides up my whole gash and up my asscrack.
His big hands pull apart my cheeks, and he’s nibbling, sucking, eating ass then pussy, sucking clit, as if he doesn’t want to miss anything and doesn’t have enough time.
Saliva and secretions slide down my thighs, and he’s snuffling like a wild animal foraging for food.
Only it’s my vulva and ass he’s dining on.
He growls and sits up, and I somehow don’t sob at the loss. Then his palm makes contact with my spread cunt, and I do cry out. He slaps my pussy again, and my neck snaps, my head flung back.
“You shouldn’t have made me suffer. Bad girl.
You knew all I wanted was to fuck you and make you cum.
But you told me no and made me sit through meetings all day thinking I would never see this perfect pink slit again,” he grunts out over my cries as he slaps my pussy hard enough to sting.
He leans over my back, huffing, his hand sliding over my wetness. “You like it. I know you like it.”
My ears ring, and I don’t know what’s happening until he grabs my hips and his fat dick is sluicing through my pulsing crease, then hitting its target and sliding deep in one firm push.
Fuck therapy. My mind becomes a swirling black void with no intrusive thoughts, and my limbs go limp. All I need is Beau Bradley sliding my body on and off his fat cock.
I cum. My tunnel tenses around his shaft, throbbing.
He fucks me harder, rougher. Droplets of sweat are flung onto my back, and I just know his hair is falling wetly over his eyes.
I’ve seen him pull his helmet off after a game and his black locks fall in exactly that way before he shoves them back with the same big, veiny hands that are circling my waist. He shouts and inflates and slaps my ass and balloons that damn condom inside my cervix.
I blink several times. A warm hand cups my bottom, smooths up over my hip, and fingertips trace my spine, walking up it like a ladder. My eyes open slowly, and I’m grateful for the fluffy hotel comforter that covers half my face in the darkness.
He’s lazing next to me on his side, pillows shoved under his back.
He’s thick all over. Black hair curling and whorling down his stomach, to his groin.
Patches of soft, bare skin at the tops of his thighs before more hair and bulging muscles.
Thick running back thighs, and I haven’t even seen his ass, but I just know it’s firm and bubbly.
Bravely, I lift my arm and twirl my fingers around his belly button.
His abs flex, and I play at his treasure trail.
His cock pulses like a living thing, bulbous and soft, but each touch of my fingers makes his blood roil and shoot downward.
It’s growing before my eyes, flopping sideways, furling out, bobbing up.
“Mmmm,” I hum, my lip twitching. Beau Bradley, as I live and breathe. Coming to life for me. For me. My eyes are too wet, my body too satiated. I need to get a grip.
“Ride me,” he orders gruffly. He’s watching me too; thank goodness he dicked me face down, or else I might be in more trouble.
But he doesn’t seem to suspect. Hell, he’s probably forgotten all about Gracyn from next door.
He’s a football player. Top of his game.
A college graduate. He’s living his best fucking life.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for him. “Put the condom on and ride me.”
My chest tightens for a moment in fear. He’s going to get a clear view of my face. Everything will be ruined. At least I had these last moments with him.
But no. I’m a fucking bad bitch professional. I’m going to blow his damn mind. I’m worth every damn penny he’s spent on me.
I wriggle over and kiss the center of his chest, stroking the surprisingly soft hair.
Then I kiss and kiss and kiss my way down.
I lick his Adonis belt and nibble at the firm skin.
Then I circle the base of his engorged cock in long rasps.
He’s groaning; his hand cups the back of my head, fisting my hair around his hand over and over in triplicate.
I mouth his big tip, popping it into my mouth like a ripe fruit, and I suck, letting saliva stream out and down.
When I cup his balls and grab his root, he pushes down, and I let him, the heavy weight of his leading fist exactly what I want.
He shoves his hips up, and I gag for him, swallowing around his head, forcing it through my esophagus and down my neck.
Yes, baby, fuck your whore’s throat. Face fuck me like you paid thirty thousand dollars for it.