Stasi
Chapter 23
Stasi
70 Days Dead
“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Becca declares, head held high with entitlement, as she crosses the room and stands at the side of the bed next to me. No ‘can I come in’. No ‘hey, Stasi’. She’s been ignoring me for days after the abrupt end to our last confrontation. Now she sits here expectantly, the weight of her eyes is an irritating itch.
Avoiding her gaze, I let out a long sigh and roll onto my back. I burn holes in the ceiling, so she doesn’t see the relief swelling within me along with my self-disgust at the way I already feel lighter with her presence. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? I don’t want to do this anymore, Becca. I’m tired of this hot and cold.” I meant what I said about being used. As much as I want her to see the error of her ways, maintaining the power balance is crucial or I’m going to get destroyed in the process.
“So am I.”
Warmer. That genuine need in her voice causes my restraint to quiver like an exhausted muscle.
Her feet shuffle as she comes closer. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I—I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Warmer. God, she’s giving me exactly what I want. Exactly what I’ve yearned for. Still, I don’t give in, holding steady to the spiteful dismissal she deserves. The minutes stretch on and on— me ignoring her, her standing there awkwardly—but eventually, she breaks her silence. “C’mon, Stasi. Are you really going to make me beg?”
Fucking inferno. That gets my attention. Of course, I want to hear her beg. “Try me.”
“I want you to help me. I need you to help me.” It’s a start. “You’re going to make me work for this aren’t you?” The heavy silence answers for her. “You’re right, okay. I am a liar. But I don’t want those barriers between us.” This gets my attention, and I watch transfixed as her shaking hands throw her flannel to the floor and then tug her top over her head. “It’s what I do best, play pretend.” I keep my eyes on hers, even when her shorts hit the floor, leaving her in just her panties that I’ve been dying to see. “At some point, I let my fear of other people’s judgments force me into a box, and then I helped them close the lid. I never even tried to get out, never even thought about it.” Becca clears her throat, trying to dislodge the sticky words that are hard for her to get out. “I told myself the box was comfortable, that I wanted to be in there. That I was safe.” She scoffs at herself. “I never was . . . safe . . . though.”
Stockholm syndrome is a common side effect of comp-het. I don’t say it out loud because we’re not interpreting this the same way. She thinks her individuality and sexuality has been repressed, but it’s so much more than that. She’s missing an entire aspect of her identity. It’s stuffed into a forgotten, dark corner of that box. They cut that piece out of her like a problematic fucking growth. With their razor-sharp taunts cast from sweetly pink lips. Treating lesbian, gay, and queer like dirty, forbidden things. I’ll admit it even took me a few years to grow comfortable in that aspect of my identity, until the loathing lilt they’d said those words with faded away and was replaced with enthusiastic pride. I told people I was lesbian without hesitation, it had become a crucial part of who I was.
She continues, “I don’t know how to be anything different. But I want to try. I can’t keep living like—I can’t keep doing this. I can’t spend eternity lost and afraid.”
Finally, I turn to her. “What makes you think I can help with that?” It’s an effort to keep my voice neutral because all I want is to be needed— wanted— by her, for anything, for everything.
“Because I want to try. And, like you said, our chemistry doesn’t lie.” Becca’s cheeks blush like she’s just as shocked by her brazenness as I am.
Something like hope rattles awake within my chest and I know I should crush it, her confidence in me and that seed of desperation that’s blossoming inside me as a result, but I can’t seem to get the biting words out. That deep longing to be hers, in whatever way, peeks its head out of that hole it’s been hiding in. Slithering amongst my resolve, I know I only have a brief window to shut this down before it sinks its teeth into me and the need for her infects me again.
“I’m not some sex toy you can pull out and play with.” Instead of words lashing at her, there’s a pleading undertone that I hate. Please don’t use me like all the others.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” The conviction drains from her voice.
“What changed? What happened to you not being into women? I thought I was just a drunken mistake…”
“Maybe it was a lie.” She steps closer to me.
“Maybe?” My hands fit around her narrow hips, thumbs caressing the sides of her Medusa tattoo that guards her possessively. The snakes writhe with her unease at the touch. Slow and steady, Stasi. You’re so close.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this? Just a few days ago…” I search for the right words, skirting around the distressed reaction she had to my touch. “Just a few days ago, you made it clear that you didn’t want my hands on you.”
“I’m confused, isn’t this what you wanted?” A protective arm wraps around her chest.
“This isn’t just about me. Do I want to fuck you? Yes. God, yes, I do. But good sex is about communication.” I let go of her. “If you can’t even bear to be naked around me, then I don’t think now is the right time to do this.”
Becca’s hands capture my wrists, and she places my palms on her small breasts, our gasps mirroring each other—mine of surprise, hers of what sounds like need.
I try not to react further, but keeping my eyes on hers is a monumental challenge. “What’s changed? It’s hard to believe that you’ve suddenly decided you want this.”
“It’s not sudden. We both know you make me feel good. Well, the way you touch me, at least.” She bites her lip as I stroke my thumbs tentatively over her nipples. “I’m trying to get out of my own way. I need this.”
“Why?” I press.
“I can’t—“, her voice breaks, “I can’t even touch myself anymore. For months, seeking pleasure, giving pleasure, has become repulsive to me. Frightening even. My body doesn’t feel like my own anymore. I’m not the woman I used to be. My self-worth, my identity, my sexuality, all of it was taken from me.” She looks down at her feet as she speaks. “But when you touch me, it’s like I’m finally present in my body again. You know how to make me feel. I’m so tired of being numb.” Finally, Becca meets my eyes. “I want to feel feminine and powerful and desired.” A desperate sigh leaves her as she draws my arms around her waist.
“Trust me, there’s never been a day that you haven’t been desired.” It’s vexing that someone as gorgeous as Becca has ever felt lacking.
“I mean desired for me. Not what people think I am. I mean being desired in my raw sexuality, the one that I own. Not the kind where other people use me as a means to an end, to fulfill their own desires without any regard for mine.”
I empathize with her to an extent. It’s what she’ll do to you . My subconscious chimes in, stirring up those ugly, spiteful feelings that had receded for a bit. The chokehold her speech has had on me is broken. I’m not going to be anyone else’s experiment, especially not hers. I’ve waited for this day for so long, but now, it feels wrong for both of us. I have too much to lose, like my self-respect. Releasing her, I lean back. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
The defiance that flashes across her eyes surprises me. “So, what? All that taunting was for nothing?” She steps closer. “Who’s the coward now?”
That pulls a barking laugh from me. After putting herself out there like that, she falls back on provoking me? Okay. Two can play that game. “You had me going there for a minute, but you’re out of your fucking league. If you think I’m going to bend to your will just because you throw yourself at me, you’ve sorely underestimated me.”
“This was a waste of time. Just forget it.”
“Aww, Crybaby, don’t be embarrassed. Be better. Earn. It.” I step flush to her, forcing her bare breasts to graze my shirt. “I told you before, if you want to touch me, if you want me to moan with your name on my lips,” I breathe the words heavily against her ear, “if you ever want me to touch your pretty little cunt, you’re going to have to beg for it.” I trace the row of delicate ear piercings with my tongue. “And you can be sure that I’m going to make you suffer so beautifully for it.”
The shuddering breath that leaves her is heavy with arousal. A wicked smile curls my lips. Now this is what I’m talking about. Could even be worth the inevitable letdown. “Do you enjoy being put in your place?” I pinch her nipple, and she gasps, shoulders caving, mouth falling open. I don’t let go, but instead, I use it as leverage to pull her closer. “C’mon Crybaby,” I said, “beg for it.” My fingers release briefly then pinch down again, eliciting the makings of a reluctant moan.
“Ah-okay!” Becca’s fingers latch onto mine, attempting to pry my nails away from the sensitive bud.
I raise a brow, staring down at her as I hold my ground.
“Stasi,” she attempts to warn me.
“Becca?” I say through a devious laugh as I roll her nipple between my fingertips, my other hand sliding up her thigh and stopping just shy of her pussy. “Do you have something you’d like to say?”
Her stance widens, the heat of her inviting, tempting even. But I’m determined to see this through. I’ve waited this long. A whimper escapes her, but my fingers only tighten on her thigh.
“Fine,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “You want me to beg? I can beg.” There’s a crackling current of desperation I’ve never heard in her voice before, it catches along my spine, shocking me into an alert need.
“Let me taste you.” Before me, Becca sinks to her knees. My own nearly buckle at the sight. How many times have I imagined her feasting on my pussy? But I can’t give in that easily.
“I don’t know,” I sigh.
“Please.” She places a kiss almost mockingly on the knee tattooed with Be Thou My Ally. I watch her unyieldingly, and she repeats the motion on the other knee where the script reads Crush Not My Spirit . Her satisfied smirk nearly has them buckling, but I can’t let her get too cocky. I need more from her.
“Do you have any idea how many women have been in your place?” I caress the side of her face in a parody of intimacy. “The tongues on some of them, I mean…I’ll spare you the details, but fuck they knew what they were doing.” Tilting my head, I look down on her, sizing her up. A vicious hunger curls inside my belly at the way she hangs on my every word, parched for permission. “Do you really think you could hold a candle to them? It would be a shame to end up disappointed by a lackluster performance. I hate to be left wanting .”
Becca’s eyes brighten with defiance, her pride bruised, her need to please activated in a whole new way. And fuck if I don’t want her to please me, seek my validation, lose herself to her need for this .
I’m so elated that I’ve struck a nerve, that I don’t expect her spiteful retaliation until her teeth sink into my inner thigh as she tries to take a piece of me like the dig I just took at her. I’m not really one for pain, but the honest anger behind that bite turns me on. Behind that gauzy film of disdain is pure lust flaring bright.
I tsk. “Oh, come on, now. You can’t be the best at everything, Becca. We all have to start somewhere.” The synthetic sympathy mixes with the sourness of my taunting, sweet and tart like the strawberry lemonade we used to sell from her lawn. It’s refreshing on my tongue.
Ever insistent on being a teacher’s pet, she moves with purpose. Soft, slender fingers run up my legs—the delicious friction against my fishnets leaves tingles across my skin—and grip the back of my thighs, massaging there as she kisses her way up the sensitive skin above my knees carefully placing her lips in between the crisscross pattern of my tights. Up and up her fingers trace until she reaches the bands that hold them around my thighs. My gut tightens as she rolls them, then my panties down until they tangle around my ankles. I don’t step out, too transfixed by the show her lips are putting on. But when she plants a kiss on one of the tattooed bows—the ones that are a reminder of her—the spell is broken. This isn’t what I asked for. I’ve gotten distracted, but I can’t let her off so easily. We might want the same thing for once, but I’m determined to take the hardest route; she’s too used to taking perfectly paved roads. We’re crawling on sharp gravel to get to our destination.
My nails dig into her sculpted cheekbones. “I said beg , not seduce. If you want me to play with you, you need to follow the rules.” I loosen my hold. “You think you can convince me that this is a good idea? You’re going to have to work a lot harder for my approval than that. Go on, plead for my pussy on your mouth.” Her muscles tense with a harsh swallow. Those ocean eyes swim with uncertainty, so I coax her on. “I want outright devotion; I’m not caving for anything less. I want you to cry with need as I drip down your chin. I want to see you suffocate in my pleasure, then ask me to do it again.” I push her with dirty words and erotic imagery. One half of me hoping to prove her a fraud, the other yearning for her to surprise me.
On the battlefield of her beautiful features, lust and fury collide. The effort of their dueling is obvious in her heavy breathing, in the reddening of her cheeks. But finally, there’s a victor. She nods once and I release her face.
“Well, what’ll it be? Can you pass this test?” I demand even though she’s already passed with flying colors. She doesn’t even need to try, the simple act of her existing in my proximity has me unreasonably wet.
“Yes.” Her jaw is clenched so tightly that her lips barely move.
“I think you can do better than that.” I lean forward, meeting her eye to eye.
“Please,” her gaze falls to the floor, “let me taste you.”
The lack of conviction simply won’t do. “Better, but not good enough.” I take one step back and she launches forward, hands clinging to my legs. When she looks up, the desperation consuming her irises is dangerous . . . for both of us.
“I want to,” her voice dips low, “fuck you with my tongue.”
“What else?” I bring a finger to my clit and move it in gentle circles.
“Umm…” she stutters while her attention fixes on what I’m doing.
“Spit. It. Out,” I command as I slide a finger briefly inside myself. “Or I’m going to finish myself off while I make you watch.
Becca swallows harshly and rolls her shoulders back. “I want you to soak my taste buds, so I know every subtlety of the taste of you . I want you to fill my mouth with your release.” She clears her throat, but her gaze never strays from the movements I’m making. “I want it lingering there, between my teeth when I lay awake in bed tonight.”
“And I want to give that to you. But the thing is, watching you humble yourself kind of turns me on. You can see why I’m so tempted to draw it out.”
“ Please ,” Becca whimpers.
“Give me just a little more and I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“Please, please, please,” she gasps, burying her face into my thigh, inhaling deeply, like the mental exertion has impacted her as physically as it did me. Her shoulders sag as she leans into the peaceful embrace of honesty, the weight of her stubbornness finally disappearing.
“They say good things come to those who wait, why should I give you what you want just because you beg for it?”
“Because I need this.”
I don’t reward her with comfort or rest. “Was that so hard?” My vindictive fingers sink into Becca’s hair, scraping against her scalp, forcing her head back. “Go ahead, then. Claim your reward.” Parting my thighs and hiking my skirt up around my waist, I position myself over my Crybaby’s reddened lips. “Fuck me with your tongue; prove to me it’ll be worth all this trouble.” My fingers tighten a fraction, holding her just a breath shy of my cunt for just a few more torturous seconds. “Then maybe I’ll think about touching you the way you want.”
The first lick is feather-light, tickling, a tease of her own that drives me upward on my toes. I laugh; she won’t get the reaction she wants from me. I know how to play this game. “Surely that’s not all you have to give after all that?”
Her brow furrows and her fingers dig into the dips of my hips, dimpling them further. This time, the flat surface of her tongue drags across my center purposefully.
“Good girl, look at you take direction. Keep going, just like that.” For once, I don’t get any pushback from her. Instead, she repeats it and then begins to explore my clit with disjointed circles. Despite the jerky movements, or maybe because I know it means it’s the first time she’s ever done this, I can’t hold back.
Giving in to her is like taking that breath under water, I know I shouldn’t, but I need the release. It’ll probably be the end of me. But I’m burning up from the inside, my lungs too full, I need to let some of this desire out. I flatten my feet and grind down on her face, the long roll of my hips momentarily covering her only airways with my pussy.
Becca’s fingers dig into my ass, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she plays with different motions of her tongue—flicking, licking, pressing, and teasing. She could be doing anything, and it would be driving me toward the edge. Just fucking her face like this feels like vindication for all the times I’ve yearned to have her. Now she’s sloppily licking me up like she’s never tasted anything quite this good.
“Right there. Yes, B—” I clip the word. I’m not ready to give her that. She needs to do so much more before I’m willing to moan her name. I’ll admit it requires more effort than I’d like to keep it in when she’s licking me like this. When she’s on her knees letting me ride and use her face. With my fist in her hair, I tug harshly, forcing her to look at me. “Suck my clit and make me come. Can you do that? Or do you need me to show you?” I use my fingers to spread myself, revealing my pierced clit.
Challenge sparks in her eyes and she nips at it.
“Ah fuck,” I gasp, sharp pleasure momentarily dismantling my control.
Becca does it again, this time holding it between her teeth for just a second longer. A convulsion nearly buckles my knees, but I regain control with my hand in her hair.
“Suck.” Cradling the back of her head, I resume grinding on her face, while she dutifully suctions her mouth against my clit. “Yes, right fucking there, right fucking—” No one is more surprised than me when she pulls the orgasm from me that feels like it’s been building for months. It locks every part of my body into a state of temporary shock before I sag against her, trapping her between my thighs—good thing we don’t need to breathe anymore.
Becca’s jaw moves as she attempts to go in for another lick, but I pull away and capture her face in my shaking grip. She’s breathtaking with the evidence of my orgasm on her face, her upper lip and chin gleaming in the moonlight, but it’s not quite perfect. With gentle fingers, I stroke my center gathering the lingering wetness, and drag it over her lips tenderly, like friends doing each other’s makeup. “Rub your lips together, like this.” I roll my own together as if spreading around lipstick. Without hesitation, Becca does as I say. Pleased, I tuck my fingers beneath her chin and bring our lips together. As my tongue traces the curve of her lips, she shudders and leans in— putty in my hands .
With her looking up like this, seeking approval, desperate to know she’s done a good job, I could almost do anything she asks. I don’t even care that this is nothing more than a daydream that’ll undoubtedly end when she realizes what this all means. But I’m not going to be the one to wake us from it. “Come on,” I help her to her feet then tug her toward me as I sit on the bed.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t—”
I cut her off. “I’m not. You’re going to use me to get off.” I pat my thigh.
Becca looks from my leg to my face then back again. With my hands on her hips, I make her straddle one thigh.
“Ride it.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Grind down,” I apply pressure that forces her body against me, and she gasps, “it’ll stimulate your clit.”
Becca remains stiff with hesitation, but I’m not giving up so easily.
“You’re going to make yourself come. I want my leg soaking wet when you’re done.”
Shyness creeps back in as she rests her palms on my shoulder. The weight of her hands makes me remember mine and I tug them from her waist, placing them behind me and leaning back. I want to watch the show, but I refuse to touch her, really touch her , until I know she won’t regret it. Until she needs it so much, she’ll never think of the way it felt when anyone else touched her, especially not him .
When she rolls her hips, we both let out a gasp. Her at the pleasure, me at the evidence of how wet I’ve made her. How wet she’s made herself . She can deny her attraction to me all she wants, but her body tells me everything I need to know.
The silence is thick as she grinds down on me experimentally.
“That’s not all you want, is it? A little friction to take the edge off?”
“N-no.” She stutters, still resisting the temptation to really take what she wants.
“Then ride me, Becca. Take your pleasure. You said you wanted to own your sexuality, so own it. Show me what you like. Make. Yourself. Come. I won’t tell you again.”
Using my shoulders as leverage, she grinds down on me again and again. My leg becomes slippery as that sweet pussy drips onto me.
“How does it feel, Crybaby?” My nails are sure to tear holes through the comforter with how tightly I’m gripping the fabric.
She doesn’t even object to the nickname, so caught up in the movement of her body against mine. “It feels so good. Oh, god.”
“Your pussy is fucking dripping. Are you having fun making a mess all over me?”
“Ye-yes.” Her words are clipped and breathy.
“You’re getting close. Are you going to come on me? Hmm, Crybaby Girl?”
Her cheeks redden and she shakes her head back and forth.
“Yes you are.”
“I can’t. Not while you’re watching me.” She attempts to back off my knee, but I grab her around her waist.
“Fine, but I’m not done playing with you yet. Can we try something else?” Becca nods. “Stand up.” She does and I kneel on the ground and then lay flat on my stomach, pulling my skirt up to expose my ass cheeks.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t sneak a look at my ass every chance you get.” I tap it, and hunger enters her eyes. “Sit down.” I spread my legs just slightly, giving her space to put one leg on each side of my thigh.
“Umm, what do you expect me to do exactly?”
Propping myself up on my elbows, I look over my shoulder at her as she gets down on her knees and straddles me. Her hands hover awkwardly, fingers spread as they gravitate towards my cheeks, but her nervousness is holding her back from doing exactly what she wants.
“We’re going to pick up right where we left off. Just like you were riding my thigh, you’re going to use my body to get you off.”
“I can’t do this.” Her words and her body language don’t match as her pretty pink nipples harden once again.
“You can. You will . You’re not giving up? Are you Becca?”
Her punishing grip takes hold of each of my sides, and she lowers herself against me.
I suppress a groan as her wet pussy makes contact with my bare skin. “See, Crybaby. There’s no denying how badly you want me anymore, so just take it.” A moan escapes me with the first roll of her hips. Her slick cunt drags across my upper thigh and the curve of my ass. My toes curl as she picks up her pace. Carefully, I sneak a peek at her as she grinds against me, her eyes purposely focused anywhere but my face. I’m tempted to touch myself, but it would probably ruin the moment if I did attempt it. The last thing I want to do is distract her from the beautiful show she’s putting on for me.
The whimper she releases, as she speeds up her movements, sends a flood of arousal between my legs. Watching her get satisfaction from my body is something I’d only dreamed of experiencing. “Come on, Becca, you’re almost there.” Each thrust of her slender hips brings her closer and closer.
“Oh, ah—” The smooth-riding she’s been doing turns to jerky movements. “I think, I think I’m going—” Fear has that last word in a vice grip like she might try to stop it.
Arching my back, I press forcefully against her, putting more pressure on her clit that she’s stimulating so perfectly.
“Mmm, yes, that feels so good.” Her voice is a heady purr that sends pride and lust coursing through me in equal measure.
“Yeah, it does. Give yourself over to it. Let your body enjoy this. Don’t overthink it; you can do it.” All the fight has left me; my desperation to make her feel good has won out.
Short fingernails dig into me, pinching the fat at my sides; the demanding possessiveness of it makes my toes curl. For the briefest moment, my own fixation is reflected in her, but then it slips away, replaced with insecurity I don’t understand.
She attempts to retreat, but I grab her hand and turn onto my back. “Come here.” The urge to pull her against me gnaws at my restraint, but I’ve learned my lesson about forcing affection on her. Becca needs slow and steady, so that’s what I’ll give her, even if it goes against my very nature.
My patience is rewarded as she scoots forward, positioning herself more comfortably on my hips and allowing me to wrap her in my arms. She’s rigid against my chest at first, but with each stroke down her back, she relaxes.
“Something’s wrong with me.” The statement is as jarring as the cool touch of water that trickles down my chest. “I don’t think I can come anymore.” She trembles against me, and I tighten my hold just enough to reassure her that I’m not going anywhere.
“That’s nothing to feel ashamed about.” I trace the distinct outline of her spine with my thumb. “You don’t need to put pressure on yourself to make it happen. It’s okay.”
“Is it? How could you still want me now that you see how broken I am?” Her hands curl around my shoulders like she’s bracing herself for what I might say next.
“You’re not broken, you’re traumatized.” I swallow back the guilt and focus on putting her at ease. “And sex isn’t about having an orgasm. There’s no need to be ashamed about what your body needs. There are all different types of satisfaction you can experience.”
“Will you teach me?”