SSC Story Contest Entry #2

Well, I did what I could. See whatcha think...500 words is nuthin'!!! Sigh, sigh, sigh.

Making Conversation

He crushed her angrily against the wall, his large hand stamping her shoulders, driving her into the plaster. She gasped short-wicked breaths, the heat from her mouth echoing back against her lips. She fidgeted, growling as he slapped across her thigh, indulging her naked skin. She ground against the wall, curling her fingers deeper into the paint.

“You never say you want it here,” he whispered, tucking his face close to her own and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She whimpered, closing her eyes.

“But here,” he hissed, scratching a hand down her belly, over her mound to her drenched slit, “Here, slut.”

He stroked her. Guitar. Flicking and plucking until she hummed, buzzed. She cooed, her chest pressed against the warming slab of drywall. His knee slipped between her thighs and she opened like a curtain, feeling him press up and against her, pinning her here, to this wall.

“You want me here?” he asked, his fingers slithering back up her stomach, her breast bone, his knee locked securely, her wet heartbeat hammering his thigh.

She said nothing, her breath trapped.

Without another word, his hand closed around her hair and he yanked hard, dragging her face down the wall. She cried through her sealed lips. Removing his knee, he yanked harder until her back was bowed deeply, her face lacquered to the wall with tears. She winced, her shameless craving for this displayed obscenely.

“What do you want, slut?” he asked, smiling nastily at her. He clutched a fistful of her hair and held her against the wall, capturing her ass with his free hand, groping, pinching, crushing her delicate skin between his cruel fingers. She whined, blinking away tears, blinking away words.

He glared at her, screwing up his face against her inability to ask for it. She would beg; he was sure. Nodding to himself, he smacked her furiously, covering her cheeks and thighs with a heavy-handed, meaty thrashing. His fingers knotted deeper into her hair, tugging at the words in her.

She howled.

He heard nothing; she said nothing. He darkened her skin, bruises concentrated. His handprints butterflied out from her dripping fold. He was not methodical, but obsessive, devoted, covering every inch dozens of times. She gasped, choked.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. He touched nothing, made no sound.

She choked on her tears, on her breath, on her words. He watched her, her body twitching convulsively. It was jarring, like when the bell in the tower stops clanging, both unfinished and too silent. She shook her head like an animal, confused, enraged.

He waited; touched nothing, silent.

She started to stand, slowly, but he didn’t stop her. She bent again, head falling between her arms, growling miserably. She chewed the words inside her mouth, ground them anxiously between her teeth.

“What is it that you want, slut?” he asked softly, lowering his face to her own. She breathed heavily and turned to him, her eyes frantic.

“I want more.”