I let myself push in. If I were thinking clearly, which at this point, isn't even an idea, and if it was, it'd be a foreign concept to me, I'd go slower, but at this moment, all I can think about is how fucking cute Egbert is, and how the only thing that could make this any better would be him screaming; and trust me, that will be happening. And by the looks of it, it won't take too long, if his current whimpering is anything to go by.
I rake my nails down his chest, adding a few new streaks to my canvas, already adorned with various other red markings, pulling a couple inches out to admire my work. When I slam back in, it happens. The adorable fuckass lets out a sharp cry, and I repeat motion until the individual shrieks blend together into one long wail, and tears roll down his cheeks. Which isn't quite so aesthetically pleasing as I had pictured it.
When I pull out, the idiot quiets down to a soft whimpering, and rolls onto his side, curling inward.
"Get on all fours." It isn't a question, and he knows it. Being the complacent piece of shit he is, he silently obeys, presenting me with the best sight I've bared witness to in literally sweeps. I sit back on my heels and stare for a moment, imagining the plethora of ways I could violate him right now; although I've already entered, there is still much damage I could be cause to. I look down and see him throbbing, and decide to start there. Leaning forward onto my right arm, I reach down and give his member the lightest brush possible at the moment, which is more like a soft rub. I am instantly rewarded with a pillow-muffled sound somewhere between whimper and a moan.
After a couple more of these teasing strokes, I decide he needs to be louder; I need to hear more. My first instinct is to lay on my back, with my head between his legs; I know from experience, that position is too physically awkward. Instead, I resolve to just have him flip back over, in the hope that his face is less blotchy and clammy.
What the hell? That dipshit is still crying. I guess I'll just have to avoid looking at his face until further notice. I hope he isn't one of those people whose faces stay all- I realize he probably is. His face will stay all loathsomely puffy for days, because everything about him was meant just to spite me. Holy shit I fucking hate the bastard.
I position myself in between his legs, once again, then, for the sole purpose of malice, I grip his pathetic ass, and lacerate the skin all the way up the outsides of his thighs, almost to his knees. Have fun wearing your little blue jeans, bitch. What's that? You gonna cry about it? All the better. I slide back a bit, so I can lie on my stomach, and use my finger to rub patterns in the inside of his thigh. Another whimper. My hands trail over to his strange, alien member once again, and caress it. The exquisite sobs he releases travel straight, yes straight, to my bulge, which I had almost forgotten. I lean down, and in a form of closure, I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Needless to say, it is music to my hear ducts when the loudest scream tonight comes flying from his talk blaster.
Sitting back up, I reposition both of us, leaning my back against the wall at the head of the fuckass' bed, and hoisting said loser into my lap, pulling his bloody thighs around either side of me. When I grip us together, that's when I get the first actual physical reaction all night. The boy jolts, then squirms in an attempt to withdraw, which is made ineffective when my hands firmly clamp around his delicate hips. After a moment of somehow mesmerizing myself by smoothing my hands up and down them, I realize he's finally gone still once again, and make another attempt. I press myself against him, an action to which he flinches, but this time does not recoil, and wrapping my hand around both of us, moving it in quick, vertical strokes.
I look back up at the derp's face, and the tears have stopped rolling. I was wrong, now that he's no longer crying, the only evidence he ever was is the lingering wetness. I continue the redundant motion, and the same pleasure I'm barely controlling at this point begins to overtake his face, and soon the sounds he makes are those of pleasure, and, perhaps joy. Who knows why, although, for that dimwit, everything's always fucking happy isn't it.
When his orgasm hits, he melts against me, almost knocking our think pans almost colliding. Annoying, but the perfect opening.
Without warning, I slam back into him, causing yet another pained outcry to fill the room. I don't even bother to look; I know tears are once again streaming down his face. I think I've lost the hearing in one duct. I continue the same as before, only the motions this time, are harsher and less coordinated. This continues for about a minute, his perfect screaming filling up the room, and consequently my right ear as well, although, it's pretty much lost all sensitivity at this point. Then, when I accidentally come up at a strange angle, Egbert's back arches, and his newest caterwaul is that of pleasure. The sound is interesting; I can't put a name to it. Wanting to hear more of it, I aim in the same direction once more. After this point, we both go completely shithive maggots.
Was it horrible? Tell me in detail. What could I do better?