Page 58 of Body Count

“Tell me—” he whispered.The words were the texture of velvet against the shell of my ear.“—what you want.”

He was right.Even through the pain, even through the exhaustion and the mirage-haze of my earlier rage and hurt and panic, my body remembered what it felt like to be wanted.I knew I was supposed to think.I needed to think.But it was hard to think.And it hurt to think.And it was such a simple thing to be desired.

I fumbled with my belt.The buckle shivered in my hands as I undid it, but my fingers were wrapped around the metal, so it stayed silent.As soon as I undid the waistband, Sunny’s free hand was there, yanking down the zipper, forcing the trousers down.His hand cupped my dick, which was already hardening, and he laughed softly and said, “What a slut.I knew I should have taken you when I saw you that night.”

He forced the trousers down the rest of the way and nudged me forward, onto the bench seat built into the window.I spread my legs as wide as I could and stuck my ass out, but he pushed me forward again, until I wasflattened against the glass: my head turned to the side, the window cool against my cheek and the length of my chest.I thought I could feel my heartbeat vibrating through the thin pane.

The rustle of clothing came from behind me, and then the click of a bottle opening, the slick sound of wet flesh.Then his hands were on my hips, and he pressed himself into me.He’d lubed himself, but without any prep, he still had to force his way inside.I’d done plenty of bottoming in my life, and I knew how to breathe through the initial discomfort—the stretch and burn that were, because he was being rough, worse than usual.Some guys got off on it, but that had never been my thing.It was just part of the process.The price before you got to the good stuff.

Today, though, was different.More intense, yes, because I was so tight, and because my body was so tight, and because my heart was jackrabbiting in my chest.But even though the discomfort bordered on pain, there was something pleasurable about it.Fuck me, I thought.Fuck me.Fuck me.Fuck me.And then, he bottomed out.He shifted his weight, moving closer, pressing into me to gain every last possible inch.The movement forced me even more tightly against the glass.I tried to find the window frame.I had the half-formed idea that I needed to brace myself.A vision of the window shattering.My face.All that glass.He started to move again—long, hard, fast thrusts.The window breaking into a million pieces.My cheek pressed against the glass.Harder, I thought.Harder.Harder.

He kept to that frantic, furious pace.The voice in my head that never shut up said, Not bad for an old guy, bro.The air ripened with the smell of sex and sweat.And slowly, no matter how much he wanted it to hurt, it changed into something else.Something more.My jaw slackened.I heard the noises I was making, and my face heated, but I couldn’t stop.

Each thrust sent mydick sliding across the window.It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before—stimulation, yes, but because it was glass, it was so slick and smooth and cool that it wasn’t enough.I was on the edge, and it wasn’t enough.Even to myself, my moans sounded desperate.

Then Sunny was clutching my hair again, forcing my face against the window as he pounded harder.It took me a disoriented moment to realize he was turning my head so that I’d look out that window.There had to be a hundred people down there, laughing and talking and drinking, while twenty feet above them I was getting bred like a bitch.

“Fucking bitch,” Sunny grunted.“Fucking slut whore bitch.”His grip tightened until tears rushed to my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously—only for them to slide down the glass.“Look at all those people down there.That’s what you need.That’s what you want.You want everybodyto see you like this.”

He was still standing on the patio.Still smiling.Holding a plate in one hand.A Pepsi in the other.If he looks up, I thought.If he looks up right now.

I came.And even over the intense rush of nutting, I heard Sunny’s stupid little noises as he popped off.He slumped against me, still clutching my hair, supporting himself with one hand on the glass.And then he pulled out.

My knees were stiff, and they ached as I scooted backward and awkwardly stood.I pulled up the trousers.My load dripped down the window.Some of it had gotten on my shirt.I tucked the shirt in and did up my belt.Not too bad.A little damp spot showed above my waistband.The smell of dick and ass and overheated bodies made it hard to breathe.

When I turned around, Sunny’s face was red.His throat was mottled with the flush.His expression was smooth, but you couldn’t miss the satisfaction.

“All right,” I said.

“We didn’t go over the rules,” he said, still stuffing his shirt into his waistband, “but next time we play, I’ll expect you to address me as sir, and to only speak when spoken to.”

“You know what?I’ve always been fucking terrible with rules.”

And then I punched him in the face.It was a good punch, and he staggered backward.His hip checked the desk.When I hit him again, he fell onto the desk.He flung out his arms and legs—not trying to fight, but flailing.Maybe he was trying to find a weapon.Maybe he was trying to find something to hold on to.

I didn’t give him a chance.I grabbed his shirt and dragged him across the top of the desk.A decorative pen set went flying.His ass got caught on the blotter, so I dragged that along too.When we reached the end of the desk, he tumbled onto the floor.He started to get up, so I kicked him, and he flopped onto his back.

He lay there, groaning.The groans turned into squeals when I stepped on his nuts.He tried to close his knees, but it was too late, and I applied more pressure.The squeals threatened to tip into screams.

I said, “Be quiet, or I’m going to pop them like a pack of Gushers.Do you even know what Gushers are?”

He probably didn’t, but he must have gotten the idea because he bit back his next scream, so I eased up.A little.His nose was bleeding, and when he’d fallen, the blood had smeared across his mouth.He stared up at me, wide eyed.Shock.A touch of disbelief.

“What happened with Tip Wheeler that night?”

“I told you: nothing!Are you out of your mind?Do you have any idea what I’m going to do—”

This time, it was more of a stomp.

He didn’t scream.He made a choked, gurgling noise, and the color dropped from his face.He didn’t puke either, but I thought that was because he couldn’t, not because he didn’t want to.

When he was breathing again—short, harsh little rasps through his nose—I said, “I’m not going to ask you again.”

His eyes filled with tears.“I told you.I already told you.He came on to me.”

“Yeah.And then you fed me a line about how you aren’t interested in young guys, all that mindfuck bullshit.You want to see a mindfuck?When I cut your dick off with a letter opener.How’s that for a mindfuck?”

Sunny swallowed.The movement looked painful, and I wondered if maybe he wasn’t past the throwing-up point.

---