Perfect
Be a
good girl
You've gotta try a little harder
That
simply wasn't good enough
To make us proud
.
.
.
Push a
little farther now
That wasn't fast enough
To make us
happy
We'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect
(Perfect, Jagged Little Pill, Alanis Morissette)
He went unrivalled. None of our two-bit classmates could ever lay a finger on his body. And, even if in their wildest fantasies, they did, he didn't take it lying down. He, as a seemingly invisible force of nature, would caress the air around him, as he moved in for the kill. His sense of concentration was oddly chilling, and yet, deliciously sensual.
His cold, icy gaze sent erotic tingles of pleasures down my spine. Those emotionless lips of his, so soft, brought a yearning of desire to my senses, as did the cat-like movements of even just those lithe hands of his.
But, yet, he is no different from any other man or boy that walks on God's green earth. He is a hungry, sex-driven animal, pulsing from head to foot with lustful thoughts and unbridled yearnings. He may conceal his emotions and deepest, sincerest thoughts from even the most acutely aware pf us, though, nevertheless, one thing he can't hide is his sexual instincts.
To the untrained eye, Kiriyama is nothing more than an emotionless vessel lacking a human soul – which I do think it quite possible with his aloof attitude to the whole of humanity. But, if closely observed, such as though my eyes, one would see that he is no different from any of the other so-called 'men' that wander the earth, in search of that wet cunt in order to thrust that hungry cock into, seeking the climax of release through a splash of bodily excrement.
They are all the end in the same.
Exactly the same…
"Your mother should have taught you not to stare."
Oh, even his tone is frigid. It doesn't surprise me. I smirk coyly, and toying with the tip of my right breast, I slyly cast a gaze up at Kiriyama. I was sitting in the remote dark corner of the library, holding a book, pretending to read, while I kept my gaze trained on him, until he walked over, like the proud son of a bitch he is.
"If you're going to speak of what one's mother should have taught one, perhaps I could suggest that your mother could have taught you what emotion is, Kiriyama-kun." I replied silkily, running my other hand over my vagina, softly rubbing it, as I discretely raised the hem of my skirt.
Yes, men like the vulnerable, irresistibly sexy girl. Their knees buckle at the sight of a wet girl; of a girl displaying her wears for the taking. The desire pulses through them as I do this. Even if he appears masked to everyone else, he is just as feeble as the sexually-driven rabble.
I moistened my lips, and tossed my hair over my shoulder, giving him my best sullen gaze, as I draped myself over the chair next to me.
"Oh, what's the matter, Kiriyama? Afraid that if you move even your lips that you might break your skin? That you might run the risk displaying human emotion? I can see it pulsing through you; you're a raging beast."
His eyes narrow.
He wasn't pleased.
Of course he wasn't. He was hard; white hot lust pumped through his veins. It had become the liquid of life that let him move each little insignificant muscle in his face, as his expression failed to change at the slightest provocation.
I pulled my shirt up slightly.
His breathing may have appeared to be level and rhythmic, but, there was a hint of lust that caressed each individual exhalation of breath.
His eyes flashed.
I didn't have time to interpret it.
I found myself pinned on the floor.
He moved as though the laws of physics were merely a suggestion. He didn't stir the dust that danced in the sun beam above us, as it streamed in, breaking up as it passed through the bars that covered the window – this is more like a prison than a school. Time stood still when he moved with the grace of a sakura blossom on the wind.
He stared wordlessly at me; fiery passion pulsing through every nerve in his body. Every perfectly controlled muscle aches with lust, as he stares emotionlessly at me, not a single thought crossing his focused mind, as he held me down.
I feel his hot, steam breath on my mouth, his face in close to mind. His breath stinks of nothing but the subtle aroma of stale antiseptic mouthwash.
His nose is touching mind; his eyes boring into the depths of mine.
He hand greedily cups my breast. His fingers dance over the nipple, after slipping under the bra; masterfully supporting it, while toying with the erect nipple.
"Souma, you are a tease." He hissed softly. He tone was neither warm nor seething, his eyes eerily and steadily transfixed on mind, his grip on my breast tightening.
His other hand slipped under my skirt. He wordlessly felt around.
I knew the routine. Men are weak little boys. All men are the same, aren't they, Daddy? You see, you taught me well. Men all like the same thing; the sensually built female form, rife with a set of breasts that are round as melons; nipples that are a perfect pink and stand erect upon the command of a man's lustful desire. A tiny waist to make it easier to hold that wild stallion down – we do buck don't we?
He freed my breast and with that hand, took my chin and forcibly kissed me. It was hungry; greedy. There was no human emotion transpiring through the exact of raw passion and desire. He was truly a machine; an android. The perfect soldier.
His other hand tore my underwear, making the process easier for him.
He wasn't one to take the long way. His approach was blunt and direct.
Kiriyama's eyes sharply perused my body, his left hand, letting my chin go, his lips breaking away from mine, breaking that dry, passionless kiss; so devoid of any human feeling. His lips were right above mine. He opened his mouth; the soft moist flesh of his pink lips brushing over mind.
Time seemed to stand still for an instant.
He was doing nothing. But, of course… He enjoyed building up suspense. Anyone who has seen any circumstance requiring him to fight, knows that not only is Kiriyama invincible, but, for a brief instance, in which everything else ceases to live, as the threads of time, stop weaving the winds stand still, his eyes shift, and for a moment, one believes that his facial expression may have changed, he just regards you.
Then, like the panther in the darkness of the underbrush of the jungle, he pounces; his aim impeccable.
His timing is an art…
And his movement, aggressive, and yet oddly graceful and rhythmic as he thrusts violently into my body, that hard cock ripping through my entrance. He remains almost entirely clothed, straddled over my hips, perfectly balanced, as he thrusts and withdraws.
He is violent, fast.
Like when he fights…
There is nothing passionate about the way he does anything. He just exists and operates as an android, and yet, pulses with lustful desire like all the other men. His fiery grace is busting at the seams with such dull, bridled passion.
There is one thing out of his reach of absolute self-control, and that is the effects of sex. Even he can't keep his breathing perfect, or stop his icy gaze from softening into a leering lustful glare. He could be just as weak as the others…
The climax; that bitter-sweet euphoria is lurking in his breathing, slowly emerging itself face. His grip on my wrists tightens. He's been holding me in place with such elegant tranquillity. I didn't thrash; I know the drill. I'm a good girl, yes, I am. Men like a good girl. They have their will, and they have desire, and they want release.
Kiriyama is far more belligerent than any of father's friends; than of any of those boys who have sought released in this cold, emotionless sexual encounter.
His thrusts are each individually demanding, as he pushes deep into my body, with intense animalistic rhythm. But, he knows I'm good; yes, I'm a good girl, aren't I? I'm very good. I know how to give pleasure, and never take anything in return. You see, I am a good girl, wouldn't you agree, Kiriyama?
You're getting what you want; I'm getting what I deserve. This makes me a good girl, doesn't it, dear Kazuo? You like this don't you? You can't hold another girl because no other girl is good enough to take you like this.
He thrusts and withdraws for the final time.
I feel him release a burst of hot semen into me.
He came.
He doesn't collapse on me like other panting, sweaty lecherous men do. He merely sits back up, his cock tamed; satisfied. His insatiable sexual hunger has been rewarded.
He just sits, coldly staring at me, his icy gaze fixated on me.
He leans in one more time, his breath against my ear, and callously whispers, "don't fuck with me, Souma, or you will regret it."
His lips briefly find mine, and he lays a fiery kiss on my lips before he gracefully rises to his feet, doing up the clasp and zipper on his uniform pants, before running the leather of his belt through the brass mental clasp, adding the final clutch.
He didn't even bother looking back as I sat up.
He is still like other guys; desire pumps through his veins. It's fuelled by the same toxic testosterone that drive other man, and them the sex-hungry beasts they are; devoid of anything other than the lust for pleasure.
But, I was good, wasn't I? Yes, I was a good girl… You liked it, didn't you, Kiriyama? Even with your back turn, as you retreat in such a cold manner, you still can't mask your desire and satisfaction…
Yes, I was a good girl, wasn't I?