27. Fischer

27

FISCHER

I 've never had sex with an adult film star, but I'm guessing this is what it must be like. The way they keep going and going and never come.

Matthew starts slow and almost casual. A few hip shifts, some banter exchanged as my poor, abused hole adjusts to having something stuffing and stretching it wide. And then, gradually he gains tempo and shuts up.

I expected him to be more careful with me, knowing it was my first time, knowing how freaked out he got over a cut on my head, but I'm glad he isn't. I don't think I could handle it. It's the difference between slowly entering freezing water or taking the plunge all at once.

It's also gratifying that he thinks I'm tough enough to take some discomfort. Although, uncomfortable isn't how I'd describe what it feels like to have him inside me. It feels right . Perfect. I've never felt closer to him, and the throb of my ass stretching to accommodate him is proof that we fit.

When he starts to move, he stays in control, going at the pace of a steady heartbeat. Straight in and out strokes. Holding me by the hips, he rocks me back and forth gently. I feel like a flesh light—passive and relatively comfortable with the pillow cradling my cheek, and his thigh acting as a backstop for my ass. The burn of his sharp penetration was over almost as soon as it began, and now it's all about coping with his length.

When he starts to roll his hips, my dick rises. The new angles he hits cause his crown to rub my prostate in a way that makes me understand why sodomy is still illegal in far too many places. Nothing should feel this good. It creates the perfect breeding ground for insanity.

"Fuck, that's amazing…" I grunt, liking this far, far too much for a novice. It makes me feel like such a needy whore.

"No," he sighs. "It's better than amazing." He keeps screwing me deep until I'm at full mast again, blood rushing between my legs. A wave of frustrated exhaustion hits me. It's so much .

Is it possible to be gang-banged by one person? Because I can't imagine that the woman on the bed in Gibson's club feels all that different than I do. Matthew's at least seven different people.

"What's your next trick?" I pant.

He adds more lube because he's a gentleman, I guess, and gives the bottom of my ass cheek a light slap. "Something like this," he says before he digs his nails into my sides and bangs into me hard four or five times before settling back into his deadly roll.

I'm gasping, barely able to process what's happening to me. "Which one makes you come?"

"The thing I do after you come."

"What if I can't?" It's not an exaggeration to say there's a flare of panic inside me at the prospect. That this could go on forever, and I'll be the last story on the news in a few days—fucked to death. RIP Fischer Cannon Elliot.

"Then I guess you'll never know," he says coyly.

"Doesn't it ever sneak up on you?"

"Sure," he says. "I'm not a robot. But I came when I was eating your ass, so you might need to settle in for a minute."

"Oh, shit," I croak as he angles his crown into my prostate again. The pillow is damp with my sweat and drool. "How do you know when to switch it up?"

"You gonna keep talking?"

Maybe? No? "I feel like I'm coming undone."

He chuckles and hits the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves too many more times to count while I groan and bury my face in the bed. I'm not blacking out. Not quite. I don't think.

But time folds in on itself some.

I'm at the Two E lounge, and Matthew's staring at me with his bedroom blue gaze.

I'm drunk and running my hands under the hem of his shorts.

We're kissing on the couch, and my ass is in his hands, and I'm close?—

Out of nowhere, I come at the memory—not a thing touching my cock but the air, and I almost choke, it blows through me so fast. " Fuck! " I shout as my asshole flutters with uncontrollable spasms.

Matthew drives into me hard from behind with quick, sharp stabs. He growls, determination in his grip. His thrusts are measured, powerful and deep, timed almost exactly to the jets of cum soaking his sheet beneath me. " More ," he says in a voice so low I wouldn't have recognized it.

There is no more, I want to tell him, but it turns out there is, and he fucks it out of me like some all-powerful sex god until I'm mewling and desperate to get away from him. My sanity is departing my consciousness. I'm out of my mind. He's fucking my brains out, and if I manage to survive this, I'll either leave here grateful for my life and vowing to steer clear, or I'm going to be like one of the junkies underneath the bridge, jonesing for my next fix.

Jury's still out.

Because he is still fucking me. The sound of his body slamming into mine echoes off the walls.

" Come, Matthew, please …" I don't even know if the words make noise. If my lips form them. Should I have asked for a safe word? Would I use it?

It's not like me not to suffer.

I feel like a part of a ritual. There's no chanting, but there is rhythm. There are no spells, but I feel dizzy. He's the leader, and I'm the sacrifice. You're such a bottom, though…

Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. Another hour. I don't know. But I recognize he's no longer inside me, and I let myself sink fully into the mattress.

The sound of the condom coming off is like the crack of a whip, and I flinch. Fast, wet sounds and his low, punched groans tickle my eardrums, and then his breath has sound. " Unh…unh…ungh…fuck… ffffuuuuccckkk …."

He covers me with his cum. The hot blasts land on my sweat-cooled skin, and I shiver at the thought of being marked this way. Painted. This goes on for so long, I turn my head to catch a glimpse of him. He continues to jerk himself, no longer producing streams but drops and rivulets. He guides where they land, creating a splatter pattern down my spine.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I see the wildness in him. The part of him that growing up in the suburbs could never contain. A flicker of the beast who lives beneath his skin. And like he's proving me right, he bends over, pressing his mouth to the arch of my lower back and cleans me with his tongue, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Oh fuck …" I moan at the sight. My mouth goes dry, and I'm positive my eyes are black holes as I look at the hottest, most depraved thing I've ever seen. He kisses and slurps. Sucks and licks. Tracing a new pattern as he works his way up my body.

When we're face-to-face, I stare, fixated, at his cum-covered lips. "Give it to me," I whisper.

He kisses me.

When I wake, the loft is saturated in pure sunlight. The white sheets are blinding. My asshole is on fire, and I'm as hard as a baseball bat.

It takes me a few seconds to register I'm not just sore. I'm being penetrated, and I'm very, very close to orgasm.

This is insane. What is happening to me?

But I don't say that. Instead, I'm back to begging. "Put your dick in me," is what comes out of my mouth. If I'm going to come again, I want my ass around his hot cock, not a couple of his fingers.

Rip goes the condom packet and up goes my knee. In goes his cock, and he locks an arm around my chest, thrusting into me with rough, hurried strokes, his hot breath on my neck coming out in blasts.

But he's not trying to leave hickeys this time. He's branding me in a different way.

With words.

"I couldn't control myself, Fischer. I couldn't leave your ass alone. I told you this could be the worst idea, and I was right, wasn't I? Fuck… fuck, you feel so fucking good . Wasn't I?"

I lick my hand, grip my dick, and jerk it. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back, welcoming the filth and the fear coming out of his mouth. "I was asleep…"

"I know. I'm out of control. All out…"

I groan something wholly unintelligible.

"You weren't even hard until I was two knuckles deep, and then you started squirming like you needed dick. This dick."

"Fuck yes," I gasp, so close.

"Is this what it would've been like? You're so fucking easy. I can do anything I want to you, can't I?"

"Yes… Matthew …" My words are barely more than sharp breaths.

"Because you can take me, now, can't you?"

His question is vulnerable and pained. It shouldn't turn me on, and it definitely shouldn't make me come, but it does. So hard .

He drills me through the orgasm again, but this time it's not to milk me for all I'm worth, it's to get himself off. His choked cry comes as my dick is spilling yet another load onto his already soiled sheets, and my asshole heats and fills with his release.

This time, he allows us both to bask in the refractory period. And I do find myself basking in it, trembling like I'm fucking possessed, but contained in his tight hold.

It's eerily familiar, the way he molds his body to fit mine, the only new element being the blissfully erotic sensation of his dick going soft inside me. I notice his hand on my upper abs and the way my body moves slightly with each breath he takes.

"What made you think you could do that?" I ask him. Is there something else about me he sees that I have no clue about?

He buries his face in my neck and shakes his head. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not."

"Promise?"

"I told you to do whatever you want. I meant it," I remind him.

"You didn't mean this."

"I do now."

"Wait, really?"

I reach up, finding a handful of his hair to give it a tug. Turning enough that I'm able to see his face, I kiss his cheek. "It's been awhile since I felt like I was good for something."

"You have no idea how good," he says, causing a flush to heat my face. "That was beyond hot."

"Good," I say, feeling smaller in his arms today. I appreciate the praise more than I care to admit.

I try to shift again. I want to see him better, kiss him more, then realize that he is however—still in my ass. "Do you mind?"

"Oh. Right." He uses his hand to slowly remove himself.

I wince, waiting an uncomfortably long moment to let my body clamp back into place. I feel raw. Used. Whole. Finally, I gather the energy to turn over, and he helps, planting his lips on mine before I even have a chance to make the move. And I fucking whimper again .