Page 7 of Massacre Monday
“That’s more like it. I thought so. You look like that kind of girl.”
I know I’ll regret hearing his answer, but I ask anyway. “What kind?”
Relief washes over my scalp when he lets go of the chunk of my locks under his grasp. He strokes himself languidly, then presses the head of his dick against my lips, parting them slightly, gently, as he says, “The kind thatlovesto drink cum. Bet you’d beg for it on those huge tits, too. They look like they’re trying to bounce out of that top to get coated with some.”
Something about the way his breathing puffs out roughly, like he’s about ready to explode, makes me even hotter than before. Whether it’s from the wrath he’s caused or wanton desire, I’ll never know.
“Tell me you want it. Plead with me to stay alive for you.”
With a pop, he pulls out and taps his cock on my nose, and I squint as he does. “I want it. Please stay alive for me.”
“Nah. Say those cute words you used earlier. The ones about things getting better.”
That need to keep him here and the reason I’m choosing to do this overwhelms me for a moment. Perhaps he truly is hurting and not just an asshole. Maybe the prick uses his candor because he’s done with life. I can’t see him, but I blink at the camera and speak with sincerity. “It will get better. I promise.”
“Fuck…yeah. That wasit, P.I.C. Yes. Here it comes.” He shoves in my mouth and erupts violently, a loud roar escaping his throat that causes echoes to float up from downstream. His taste is bitter, strange, but not as unpleasant as I expected.
As more heated liquid surges from his dick, he pulls his hips back, then aims at my breasts, soaking them with more of his spend. It seeps between my deep cleavage until I worry how I’ll sneak in the door at home tonight without anyone noticing.
He’s so out of breath that he takes a good minute to recover, chortling softly as he does. Then, he stuffs himself back in his boxer briefs and holds the camera high. “Give me a smile.”
I do, partially glad it’s over, but also red with rage and a pussy pulsing with unfulfilled longing.
With a few taps on his phone, he turns off the camera as I wipe at the destruction left around my lips. Anxiety makes my neck tense, thinking about what will happen from here.Do I have to give him a ride? Make sure he walks away? This entire evening has been a terrible idea. From finding Nico to wandering here alone.
Instead of getting dressed, though, he tears off his jeans and T-shirt, tossing them onto the pile next to him. One of his forefingers strokes my cheek as his fist lifts my face up by the chin. My skin tingles when he unleashes a dramatic juniper-scented sigh, like this is a play we’ve put on for an unseen audience.
“Well, that was the worst blowjob I’ve ever had. So bad, in fact, I’m jumping. Thanks, anyway. Hope to see you on the other side.”
“Wait!”
I attempt to grab him, but he leaps into the inky sky with a backflip off the cliff while I scramble to the edge. My fingers cling to the rock as a raw scream breaks through my ravaged throat. Panic takes over until all my thoughts cease. This cannot be it!
The crash of a large object plunging into the deep water flows over the roaring rapids, and my tears return, thinking about what a waste everything was. Is he dead? What was this all for? I sob, wondering if I’ll be traumatized for life.
It’s nigh impossible to see into the void, but a bubbling echo of laughter floats up through the canyon.
“You did it, P.I.C.! I’m alive! Look at that!” He rips another loud chuckle as his head bobs above the surface of the inky water.
“You asshole!” I yell, the sound bouncing back to me ten times. “I hope you drown!”
With a shove, I raise my body off the ledge and grab his phone from the pile of his clothes. I snatch those, too. I toss them all into the waterfall, hoping that takes care of the video.
Every hurried step back down the trail toward the parking lot is haunted by the billowing reverberations of his raucous laughter through the trees.
three
It’safter two in the morning when I make it to Gnarled Pine Hollow. I slip through the side library entrance of our Gothic Tudor manor, tiptoe up the creaking back staircase, and sneak into my bedroom without detection. By the time I reach my ensuite, I’m naked, and the tension I’d been holding in my shoulders finally loosens as I step into a steamy shower.
Smog, engine grease, and dried cum swirl down the drain as the hot water washes away everything I just did. But the places he touched are seared onto me like a brand, and no amount of scrubbing my skin removes them.
What did I justdo? How could I have been so naive? I feel completely stupid andused.
It’s my family’s fault; my father, brothers, and even my mother, aunts, uncles, andcousinshave always protected me, to the point I have zero knowledge of what this supposed real life is like. Perhaps Nico is to blame, too, by leading me on foryears.
A horrible realization makes me dry heave, then vomit. Seeing the contents of my insides is not enough to make me feel clean.
What if I was such a lovesick kid that I read too much into everything Nico did over the years? Am I so far gone that I misinterpreted it all? Maybe his rejection is the reason I was so willing to give a blowjob to a stranger.
