My parents live in Florida since leaving the family property in Alabama to my older brother when his longtime girlfriend wound up pregnant. They got married, and my parents gave him the house and land. She lost the baby, and two years later, they divorced.
Now, Brandon has an enormous bachelor pad and a drinking problem. My younger sister still lives with my parents near Tallahassee.
“Call me back tomorrow,” my mother replies. “Get some rest, Abigail.”
I drop the phone on the nightstand and shut my computer. I double-check the door and click off all of the lights before flopping on the bed. My mother is right about one thing; I am exhausted.
In the middle of the bed, I stare up at the ceiling. My skin tingles with nervousness as I tuck my fingers inside my panties and touch myself. I’m soaked by the fear as I arch and moan. My fingers clench the sheet as I hold out as long as possible.
I think of waking to find him standing at the foot of my bed, staring at my bare skin, and stroking his cock steadily and slowly. He falls on top of me, pinning my hands with one of his, and guiding his dick to my wetness.
He thrusts inside with ferocity.
The fantasy is all about his wants, needs, and desires through every buck and pulse of his rhythm.
I don’t fight because he feels too good.
With my fingers circling my hardened bud, I need more and pull open the nightstand to grab the thick dildo. I shove it deep inside and close my eyes to pretend it is him.
My fingers fall from my clit, hoping to extend my release a bit longer. I reach under my shirt and twist my nipple as I fuck my pussy with—his hard cock—taking and claiming.
What woman hasn’t wished for more hands at this point?
I’d have fingers on my clit, up my ass, and on both tits. I might even have a couple gagging my throat or cinched around my neck, choking me.
More. More. More.
My mind is on fire with thoughts of his jacket zipper sawing against my nipple with each thrust. The burn of my pinch comes on strong, and I drop my hands low. One hand rubs my clit, and the other pumps the cock without remorse.
“I’m going to come…”
And he’ll say, “Admit how much you like my hard cock, baby girl. Say it. Let me hear you say it.”
“I love your dick…give it to me…take me…please,” I beg between pants. “Use me like your slut. Fuck me like your whore.”
I’m going…to come…
Within minutes, I erupt, gushing on my hand as tears drip from the corners of my eyes onto the pillow, and I whisper, “I saved it all for you. I saved it all for you.”
I thought I had him. I thought he wanted me. I thought he would stay forever.
I pull the fake plastic cock from my body and roll over with a nauseating feeling. And I cry myself to sleep, alone, again.
4
The ABCD’s of Me
Echo
The next morning, I rock back and swivel in the chair with my feet up on the desk as I ponder the ad. I tap the mouse, hovering over the EDIT button, with my toe. The cursor blinks on the screen at the letter R.
I finish my coffee and mumble, “… Why won’t anyone respond?”
Sitting up, I set down my cup and let my fingers hit the keys. I write what I want him to be.
Considering my additional details, I shrug and pick up the phone to call Selia. “Do you have a minute?”
“We’re on our way to an art exhibit,” she happily informs.
“Just listen,” I warn with excitement. “Don’t say anything.”
RAPIST WANTED
Vibrant collegiate student, 20-something adult female seeks any race/age/profession of male for a sexual encounter.
You are a:
Dominant. Alpha. Male.
I am a:
Blonde. Hazel eyes. Looks like the All-American girl next door, cheerleader type. Physically active, runs the park loop in the evening. Social gatherings downtown every weekend. Works at The Village. Physical passed. No drugs/diseases. Psychological screenings passed.
Obviously, due to the nature of the request, no references are available.
If interested…
If interested, please do not contact. Find me.
“Get rid of the double if interested…”
“I know, I know! Stop editing me!” I rebuke. “I was thinking and typing at the same time, but how does it make you feel?”
“That’s kind of quirky, but you’re still fucking crazy,” she giggles. “But I mean, what could it hurt?”
I laugh. “Exactly! Thank you! Have a beautiful day!”
“You, too!” Selia says. “Oh, and when did you bleach your hair again?”
“Last night,” I giggle.
Feeling good about my updates—or lures to catch a monster—I take a quick shower and dress for work. I dry my hair, put a few curls in it, and dabble on a bit more makeup than normal. The new blonde has me feeling alive and free—a real partygirl.
I arrive a few minutes before I’m expected at the shop.
Upon walking in the back door, I spot José. He’s the beer guy, a good looking American Latino, and about my age. Unfortunately, he falls under the nice guy header.
“Good Morning, Echo! How are you?”
“I’m good,” I reply with a smile. “How are you?”
“Better now.” He winks and walks away with the empty dolly. I take a quick count of the cases of beer and know he’ll be here for a few minutes. I strategically plan to be bent over and putting my purse in the locker when he returns with the next load of suds.
I hear the snicker under his breath as my very short skirt leaves little to the imagination. He neatly stacks the cases and says, “You’re such a good girl.”
Hmph.
I’m somewhat insulted by his tone, kind of like a girl saying a guy’s dick is cute. I understand he means well, but his words snag in my brain. I meander to the front of the shop where Morgan is counting out her register before we open. I smile, but the harshness of José’s assessments hit home as I furiously stomp to the back room.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the face doesn’t match the attire,” he says, unloading the dolly as I follow him out to the truck.
“What does that mean?”
“You’re untouchable, Echo.”
My hands raise with a marked sigh. “… Untouchable?”
“You’re like a wedding cake topper. The girl guys are supposed to marry, not have a good time with if you know what I mean.”
A look of horror washes over my face as I mumble, “Ewww…”
Loading another round of beer, he snickers, “Not exactly. But you aren’t the dating type. Or, for that matter, a one-night stand.”
“So, I’m stuck? In limbo? Until Prince Charming comes along?”
I don’t bother to tell him how dark that prince needs to be to earn my attention.
“Hey, José,” Morgan says, standing at the backdoor. “Can you help me move this display?”
“Sure thing,” he says, staring at her ass as she walks away. He peers down at me. “Marrying type,” he instructs, and then with a nod to Morgan, he adds, “Fucking type.”