Twist Me(10)By: Anna Zaires
He doesn’t move his hips, doesn’t thrust, even though I can feel the tension in his muscles. Instead, he gently kisses my forehead again. I close my eyes, bitter tears streaming down my temples, and feel the light brush of his lips against my eyelids.
I don’t know how long we stay there like this. He’s raining soft kisses on my face, my neck. His hands embrace me, caress my skin in a parody of a lover’s touch. And all the while, his cock is buried deep inside me, its uncompromising hardness hurting me, burning me from within.
I don’t know at what point the pain starts to change. My treacherous body slowly softens, begins to respond to his kisses, to the tenderness in his touch.
The evil bastard senses it. And he slowly begins to move, partially withdrawing from my body and then working himself back in.
Initially, his movements make it worse, only adding to my agony. And then he reaches between our bodies with one hand, and uses one finger to press against my clit, keeping the pressure light and steady. His thrusts move my hips, causing me to rub against his finger in a rhythmic way.
To my horror, I feel the tension gathering inside me again. The pain is still there, but so is the pleasure. I’m writhing in his arms, but now I’m fighting myself as well. His thrusts get harder, deeper, and I’m screaming from the unbearable intensity. The pain and the pleasure mix, until they’re indistinguishable from one another—until I exist in a world of pure, overwhelming sensation. And then I explode, the orgasm ripping through my body with such force that my vision darkens for a moment.
Suddenly, I can hear him groaning against my ear and feel him getting even thicker and longer inside me. His cock is pulsing and jerking deep within me, and I know that he found his release as well.
In the aftermath, he rolls off me and gathers me to him, holding me close.
And I cry in his arms, seeking solace from the very person who is the cause of my tears.
* * *
Afterwards, my mind is foggy, my thoughts strangely jumbled. He carries me somewhere, and I lie limply in his arms, like a rag doll.
Now he’s washing me. I’m standing in the shower with him. I’m vaguely surprised that my legs can hold me upright.
I feel numb, detached somehow.
There is blood on my thighs. I can see it mixing with the water, running down the drain. Also, there’s something sticky between my legs. His semen, most likely. He hadn’t used protection.
I might now have an STD. I should be horrified by the thought, but I just feel numb. At least pregnancy isn’t something I have to be concerned about. As soon as I got serious with Rob, my mom insisted on taking me to the doctor to get a birth control implant in my arm. As a nursing assistant at a nonprofit women’s clinic, she saw far too many teenage pregnancies and wanted to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to me.
I’m so grateful to her right now.
While I’m pondering all this, Julian washes me thoroughly, shampooing and conditioning my hair. He even shaves my legs and armpits.
Once I’m squeaky clean and smooth, he shuts off the water and guides me out of the shower.
He dries me with a towel first and then himself. Afterwards, he wraps me in a fluffy robe and carries me to the kitchen to feed me.
I eat what he puts in front of me. I don’t even taste it. It’s a sandwich of some kind, but I don’t know what’s in it. He also gives me a glass of water, which I gulp down eagerly.
I vaguely hope that he’s not drugging me, but I don’t really care if he is. I’m so tired I just want to pass out.
After I’m done eating and drinking, he leads me back to the bathroom.
“Go ahead, brush your teeth,” he says, and I stare at him. He cares about my oral hygiene?
I do want to brush my teeth, though, so I do as he says. I also use the restroom to pee. He considerately leaves me alone for that.
Then he takes me back to the room. Somehow the bed now has fresh sheets on it, with no traces of blood anywhere. I’m thankful for that.
He kisses me lightly on the lips, leaves the room, and locks the door.
I’m so exhausted that I walk over to the bed, lie down, and instantly fall asleep.
When I wake up, my mind is completely clear. I remember everything, and I want to scream.
I jump out of bed, noticing that I’m still wearing the robe from last night. The sudden movement makes me aware of a deep inner soreness, and my lower body tightens at the memory of how I got to be that sore. I can still feel his fullness inside me, and I shudder at the recollection.
I am sickened and disgusted with myself. What is wrong with me? How could I have just lain there and let Julian have sex with me? How could I have found pleasure in his embrace?