Dont Blame Me

Chapter 30

She has the strangest ability to suck the air from my lungs with a simple look. And when her terrifying words accompany the deadly stare, it feels like I don't have any lungs at all.
The hoodie parts and she slowly pulls it down my arms. The material drops to the floor, where muddy shoes have trekked across a thousand times tonight.
It feels like a cruel metaphor. Along with my clothes, my flesh and soul will be stained tonight.

"Someone could come in here," I whisper, my voice barely penetrating the tension in the air.

She smiles-a wicked smile that tells me she wouldn't mind if someone did.

"What do you think they'd do?" she implores as she lifts my shirt, the pads of her fingers grazing my skin. Goosebumps rise, a physical reaction from the electricity dancing across my skin wherever she touches me.

"Do you think they'd watch?" she asks. "Do you think they'd enjoy the sight of your naked flesh on display? Maybe they would get off on seeing your dripping pussy reflected back at them everywhere they look. Or the pretty flush on your chest when you come. I think they'd even enjoy watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when my cock fills you so fully, you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear injects straight into my heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. But yet, my body still responds in a much darker way. Just like her words, I feel my pussy pulsate as my panties gradually dampen until it's exactly like she said-dripping.

Would I be okay with a stranger watching? I don't think so. But something about the way she paints the picture makes me wonder if I'd let it happen anyway.

"You'd be okay with other people seeing me naked?" I challenge breathlessly, watching my shirt flutter to the black floor, her fingers drift up my spine, slow and deliberate. They burn like lava searing my flesh.

"No," she murmurs in my ear. I watch her through the mirror, her eyes drifting down until they're targeted on my chest. The band of my bra tightens, the material biting into my skin before it loosens. The black lacy cups supporting my breasts fall and bare me completely. My nipples are painfully tight. When she catches sight of my hardened peaks, her tongue drifts across her lower lip as if she's salivating at the sight.

"You want to know what I'd do?" she questions. "I would let them watch. I would let them watch me claim you as mine and own every inch of your body. They would watch my cock fill every one of your holes and then watch you cry because of how hard you came. And then I'd fucking kill them. My cock would still be wet from your cum as I'd slice their throats for even daring to look at what's mine."

The fear inside me tightens into a sharp point, threatening to pop the balloon of sanity I have left.

"You're psychotic," I gasp. This time she laughs, the dark rumble traveling straight to the apex of my thighs.

"You will learn to love it," she murmurs distractedly. Her attention has been pulled away as her hands drift across my flat stomach and cup my breasts. I don't have small breasts by any means, I was blessed with good genes. But the size of her hands-they're so big that they make my breasts look small, barely overflowing her hands.
She's a monster. Inside and out.
Still, I feel my panties becoming more drenched.
It shouldn't be possible for the body to concurrently feel hate and desire, but I suppose we would all be lifeless without the complexities of human emotion.
She squeezes my breasts, nearly to the point of pain.

"I'm going to fuck these soon," she promises before releasing them and moving her hands to the button of my jeans. With a single flick of her hands, my actions creep in no stealthier than a bank robber in a vault full of money.
What the fuck are you doing, Rosie?
Fuck, I don't know. This is wrong. So, very wrong. But I don't stop her from unzipping my jeans. Nor do I stop her from hooking her thumbs on either side and pulling them down.
She helps me out of my shoes first and then slips the jeans completely free. I'm left in nothing but my black lacy thong. I swallow, my heart racing as I take in our reflection. She's still fully clothed, her eyes ping-ponging across the mirrors to look at every angle of my undressed state. She looks as if she can't decide which mirror to settle on. I fight the urge to cover myself. I find the act of hiding more embarrassing than standing almost fully naked in front of a beautiful woman.