My Killer

The Cherry On Top

Fuck you!

My lips on his were an angry bite, a stark contrast to his slow, almost seductive, movements. I was like a runaway truck, desperate to get this whole fucked up situation over and done with, but his toned body was like the steady flow and ebb of the ocean, my forceful need for speed could not change his slow paced tide, you can't win against the force of nature. No, you bend to it. He took his time, forcing me to match his agonizingly slow pace. This fucked up monster was just as determined to make this last as I was determined to get it all over and done with.

It's just sex.

Just sex...

Just a casual fuck...

With a fucked up man...

With a killer...

Stop!

Don't think about with who...

Just...

Just do it...

Just pull down his pants and ride his cock...

Just do it...

My own mind sounded like a fucking commercial, trying to encourage me to go through with this act despite my obvious hatred for the vile man.

Just do it...

My fingers, which had in a fit of rage unbuckled Michaels belt and unbuttoned his jeans, became entangled in his much larger hands as he pulled them away from their frenzied task of trying to undress him any further. He would not let me pull his fucking pants down. He gripped my trembling, yet determined, hands in his own calm, unyielding grip.

Fuck you Michael, fuck you...

His warm lips left my own forceful ones and came to rest against my cheek, the soft skin of his lips brushed gently against my cold flesh as he spoke.

"Why don't we take this delightful activity upstairs. Not that I mind fucking you up against a wall in the hallway, but I would rather take my time as I feast on your flesh. So a bed would be in order little princess."

I didn't hesitate for even a second. My answer shot from my lips accompanied by a very visible sneer. I hated his suggestion almost as much as I hated him.

"No."

Hells no!

I did not want him to feast on me. I did not want him to enjoy the act more than strictly necessary, nor did I want him to take his time with me. I wanted this to be over with, a quick hard casual fuck. That I could deal with, that I could keep myself detached from, that I could own. That I could even pretend to almost enjoy as I desperately tried to twist this horrid act into something of my own choosing, of my own making.

I am not a victim...

I did not need this killer to try and make it into anything else. I would fuck him, cold, calculated and utterly detached as I took my own pleasure from his flesh. Heck, to be honest, the likelihood of him making me cum was rather slim. I wasn't like those girls who creamed her panties if someone grazed across her clit a few times. No, real effort had to be made to make me cum. Fuck if I would ever let him put in the time and effort necessary to do just that. No, a quick hard fuck was all this was going to be, and I would for my own piece of mind pretend that this was my choice. That I had decided to do this. I would not let him hold me down, nor would I sob underneath him as he forced me. I needed to control this to make it feel somewhat okay. I needed this to be okay.