You don't push me. You shove me. You pull and twist and tear and covet me like I'm nothing. Because that's just who you are. You rip and shred and tug and hold me like you don't care. Because that's just how you are.
Pressed against the door now, I could only whimper when you shove me against the wood hard as hard as you please. Pain shoots up my back, but I hide it and you don't mind it. You reach behind me, lock the door. It doesn't matter if you do; no one is home anyway. But maybe this is your way of keeping me in. I'll willingly stay though. You tug me by the collar of my shirt now as you clutch it between your hot, thin fingers. You draw closer, your hands keeping my hands and me pinned against the wood door of my room.
"No, Stan, I-" I start, but you cut me off immediately.
"Shut up," you tell me. You don't care what I think right now. You command me now. "It's just an experiment."
"But I-" your hand clamps over my mouth. You look at me with an expression that seems apologetic.
"It doesn't mean anything."
But that's just my problem, you don't understand! I want you so badly to mean it, even though you never, ever will.
You move your hand to my cheek, thumbing over the skin there as you look at me with those half-lidded eyes. I can only stare back into your eyes, those eyes that have that illustrious color. I can't help but stare. Yet, today, they have a darker color to them. What is it? Why is it?
You lean forward and our lips touch. Rather, its not a gentle kiss. Its not soft. Its not tender like I imagined it would be for all these years. You hold my arms roughly against the wood. I like this feeling. But it makes me sick. Mentally, that is. Physically too, I suppose.
It's a rough kiss. It hurts. Its fantastic and sickening.
Give me more.
Your hand makes its way into my hair, twisting and pulling at the red curls that you find. You pull and push me closer still and more roughly to yourself by using that hand. That amazingly thin and pale hand that I want to hold. To covet. I cry into you, opening my mouth. You take it as an opening and thrusts your tongue into my mouth. You taste so good. I want more. Give me more!
You make me want to vomit. Be sick all over. I feel disgusting.
I love it.
But I don't want it - lying. I'm a liar! - so I fight back. Our tongues wrestle for dominance. But I've already lost. You know it too. You push into me more harshly. I can't but release a moan in ecstasy and pain and lust. You take this opportunity again and dominate.
I like this.
But I feel so used.
What do I care now? You're mine for the moment.
Your other hand presses roughly into the small of my back, pressing hard so I buck my hips and push my chest upwards to rub into yours and our hips crash together. I groan into your mouth. My arms winding around your neck. I keep my hips against yours and you move your hand down to grope at my ass with a single hand. I moan out and you pull back from the kiss.
No, wait! Come back and--
A string of saliva connects us. I want to swallow it up again so we're back together again. Take it whole.
You lick my lips with the harsh intensity that you hold now, then move to lick and suck up my jaw line, continuing until you reach my ear. You press your tongue into the cavity where my jaw meets my ear. I writhe underneath you. I feel so hot. I'm burning. I feel like I have a fever. Dizzy. Confused. Sick.
So give me more and more and just keep giving until you can't fucking feel yourself any more.
I feel like screaming with joy and lust and sadness as you kiss and suck the skin of my neck. Your lips flutter over my pulse and then you bite down hard into my skin there. Its rough. It burns. It hurts so good. Into the skin around my jugular do you bite and suck hard enough to make a bruise appear. I dig my fingers into your shoulders and groan, my eyes pressing tightly shut. This is too much; the butterfly feeling, the heat, the things you're doing to me. I want this so bad.
Goddammit!
Give me more - so much more!
I can feel the bruising arise as my neck is turned a dark red by your mouth. Its so good.
You continue to suck and nip and bite and pull. I lean my head back against the door to give you more room. You greedily take it. I'm running out of breath. I'm holding my breath.
Your fingers probe my ass hungrily, your mouth ravages my neck. You squeeze your hands tightly and I let out a strangled gasp as you do so while you suck on throat, pulling and biting the skin until it hurts. I know I'm hard. And from the way you smirk against the skin at my collarbone before you nip at it, you know I am too. I can't stand this any longer.
Your hands glide down the back of my thighs and push forward, just as you do with your entire body against me. You press me harder against the door than I thought possible. You pick up my legs and I wrap them around your waist tightly, grinding our erections together. It feels too good. Its so wrong. I want to be sick. The feeling of fluttering in my chest and stomach is driving me crazy. I can feel my heartbeat in the back of my head with a large throbbing as the rest of the blood stays in my erection. I feel my heartbeat down there too. A loud pulse that aches with need. I would be you could hear it. It's driving me crazy. I know you can feel it. I have to roll my hips again. They crash against yours in a rough thrust and I tremble as the pleasure completely takes me over.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
So let's continue.
You get the idea, push your hips up into mine, grind us together again. You step from the door with my ass in your hands and me in your arms. Or rather, you're in my arms. My arms are around your neck. Your arms are under me, supporting me, groping wildly and lustfully at my ass.
You know you don't need me to do this. What am I?
I don't know when it happened, but our mouths became connected again. You attack, ravage, assault, molest my mouth. It's so disgustingly amazing. But only because I know you don't mean of this. But I don't give a fuck right now. Right now, I've got you, and that's all I need. The consequences will come later to kick me in the ass. You continue walking across the room. I know where you're going. I know especially when I feel your knees hit the side of my bed. But that doesn't stop you; no, it doesn't stop you. You keep going. You tip over, putting me on bottom and yourself above me. You loom over me and buck your hips into mine continuously as our tongue twist and thrive with life once again in our mouths. They're slow thrusts, but they burn with longing, with lust, with hunger, with hankering. They begin to pick up the pace themselves. My arms stay around your neck so I can keep you down against me. Your hands sneak their way up my shirt, tickling my stomach with faint, ghosting touches that leave invisible burns behind them. Your fingers scrape up my stomach and you dig your nails down into my skin again. Or at least it feels like it. I feel scarred and bloodied and bruised and beaten. I feel used. I feel amazing.
Your fingers become relentless. They've made their placidly tender way to my chest, having pushed my shirt up in the process to meet the cold air. You grope at my chest furiously. The intensity is starting to burn and build. I don't think I can take much more. Our mouths still wage battle, just like our hips are doing. Three wars just between our bodies. They're making massacres. They're all killing my mind, my judgment, my morale. This is war between us that both of us will win in for now and that I will ultimately lose. I feel that coming. I know it will. Our war will continue because we're both virgins and we don't know how to stop ourselves. But I'm the practice war. Your war is with someone else. This is a pleasuring practice war. I'm normally a user, but now I'm being used for practice. Your war isn't with me, Stan.
Please, give me some more… I'm begging you…
Your fingers leave me chest and suddenly the skin there becomes cold, having grown used to the heat your hands cause and release. I whimper, gasp, groan, moan. You push your hips up for a moment and I want the friction back immediately. You're driving me crazy. Your fingers rush to my hips and immediately undo the button of my jeans. I'm running out of breath, forgetting to breathe through our kiss. You push down the zipper. Through the hole of my boxers you find want your hands want. But you ignore it and grab at the hem of both my boxers and my pants. You push them down. The fabric rubs over and immediately I can't help but groan when I'm finally free from their grasp. You don't care enough to push them down past my knees. By this point, I'm writhing with need for you. I crave you more than anything else. I always do.
You lift your hands from stroking up my thighs faintly, making me twitch from the ticklish sensation you bring to me. Your fingers fly to your own pants and you release yourself as well. You don't even care to push down your pants. You immediately point yourself to where you want to go and without a care, you thrust in. The blood all over me begins to boil and I can't help but pull back and scream. You cover the rest of the scream with your mouth. Its painful, agonizing, laborious, dreadfully terrible and so fucking amazing.
Its heartbreaking and disgusting.
I want it so much.
You don't care enough to be gentle. Your thirst for sex overweighs your mental capacity. You thrust hard and thoughtlessly. You're rough and harsh and resilient and unforgiving. With each thrust it becomes worse. I want it to last forever. I want it to end now. I'm on the brink. I'm already on the point of that edge between giving in and lasting. You groan and growl into me. I moan and scream into you. Its disgusting; like animals we are. Its amazing; like saints we are.
A few more thrusts and I feel white noise shoot through me. Colors flash behind my eyelids and I feel everything about me go numb. I'm bloodied and bruised and ripped and torn as you finish inside of me.
Our war is over.
Before I can even breathe, you're standing up and smiling down at me like it never happened, like you're not phased, like you don't care.
Our experiment is over.
"Later, dude," you say. Our war is done. I stare back at you blankly, a dead expression. You shrug softly and tell me to take some Advil and that you're sorry, but that you've got to go, you've got a date with Wendy.
That's your real war.
You unlock me door, then close it softly, leaving me to rest, to wallow in my self-pity, to die slowly and rot from my heart outward.
After a few moments, I hear the front door close.
I roll over in bed and face the wall. I feel naked, exposed and disgusting. I tremble and quiver and judder. Of all those words that came to mind while you experimented, I can't think of any to how my heart feels. I've never felt this before so strongly. I know the word; my brain is too shattered, too ravaged to think of it.
I want it…
So I lay, bleeding invisibly onto my bed as my heart pours out its sorrow through my eyes.