"J-Jaime, I can't believe you just said that to me," I said, tears coming to my eyes. "What is wrong with you? Please ... let me go. You're scaring me."
"Well, it's about time you were scared of me, I think," he said. "It's about fucking time. You're goddamn right that I'm not one of your brothers. My feelings for you are so far from that it's laughable." But he wasn't laughing as he said it. His mouth was still pressed close to my ear, and I could feel how fast he was breathing since his chest was pressed right up against mine, smashing my breasts painfully.
My brain was working in slow motion at this point. I was stunned, but I was surprised to find that my own breathing had increased. I was panting softly, whether from fear or something else, I didn't know. This was all so strange. He shocked me even more when he said, "And don't think I don't know that you want me too. You've hated every girl I've ever dated, and there's no other reason except that you want me for yourself. Do you think about me ... when you're fucking those other guys ... or when you're alone? Do you think about me touching you ... about me fucking you?" Through my haze of thoughts, I began to realize that, every time he said the word fuck, he ground his knee into me. It wasn't until he said it the last time that I felt myself anticipating it. That's when I realized he was right - about everything. I did want him. I did have dreams about him, even though, at the time, I hadn't realized it was him. There was always just this faceless guy in my dreams who knew everything that I needed and how to cherish me like a friend and a lover. But I never knew it was him, not until just that second. That was when I started to cry for real. Tears rolled down my face in waves, and I began to gasp for breath. That was also when I started to fight back. He was right; I would give him that much, but if he thought he was going to fuck me like I was one of his little part-time girlfriends, he had another thing coming. I wasn't taking that from him.
I tried to pull my arms loose from his grip, but stretched out as they were, I couldn't. I picked both my legs up off the floor, but his knee held me suspended and I couldn't move my lower body either. "Get off of me, you son a bitch!" I said. "I can't believe you would talk to me that way! I'm not one of your little whores. Now, let me go!" I was screaming by this point, bucking against him, trying my best to loosen his hold somehow, but to no avail.
I was still pushing against him when he started moving my arms in an upward arc so that they were both directly above my head. He took them both in one hand, and I was immediately more trapped than I had been before, basically being suspended off the floor by his knee and his grip on my wrists. It hurt, and my struggling wasn't making it feel any better. I stopped moving because my arms felt like they were on fire. His free hand was now grasping the upper part of my tank and pulling it down. "God, how I wish I had done this before," he said raggedly. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to see these tits of yours, Chris? They're fucking famous, you know. Your brothers have been beating up guys for years for talking about their little sister's big DD tits in the locker room and every other place guys gather to talk about sex. And now ... I can't see them. But that's ok, Chris, "'cause I'm going to touch them, and I'm going to taste them. So it'll be almost as good."
He had my tank and bra pulled down now, pushed under my big tits so that they were elevated and the hard nipples were pointing straight into his chest. I could feel the rough fabric of his shirt against me, and I saw his head lean down, his mouth searching for my right nipple like a blind babe first learning to suckle. But I knew, if I let him get that far, I would let him take me, however he wanted. And I also knew that I would be humiliated and heartbroken the next day if I did. So I did the only thing that I knew for sure would make him stop. I told him exactly what he didn't want to hear. I was still crying at that point, but I gathered my breath and said shakily, "Fine. Do what you want. You know, for that matter, you can even let me go. And I won't run. I won't leave. I'll stay here, and I'll fuck you ... because after all, I do feel sorry for you."
As soon as it was out of my mouth, he dropped me. It was so sudden that I fell down on my ass in front of the door. He started backing toward the couch directly behind him and pointed toward the door. "Get the fuck out, and I don't ever want to see you again, you little bitch," he said roughly as he sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands; it was the same way he had been sitting when I came in the room earlier.
I sat there on the floor gathering my wits. I don't think he cared one way or another about whether or not I actually left; I knew he heard me not opening and closing the door, but he didn't say anything else. I just sat there, looking at him. He was seated almost directly across from me, and now that he was no longer threatening me, my mind began to process everything that had happened in the past few minutes. It had seemed like eternity, but we'd probably only been standing there for about 10 minutes. I thought back over what he had said and how my body had reacted to him. And I knew he was right. I wanted him. I just hadn't wanted him to force me. He would have felt so terrible about it later that he wouldn't have been able to look at me, much less make love to me, which is what I intended to happen now that I realized how much I wanted him and that he wanted me.
I gathered myself up, took a deep breath, and began to edge toward the couch on all fours. I knew that, if I got up, I might make too much noise and he might notice that I was still in the room. I didn't want him getting angry again. So I crawled across the floor, making as little noise as possible, until I was directly in front of him, sitting back on my knees. I just sat there for the longest time, and I really don't think he noticed that I was there. He was so caught up in his despair that he simply wasn't paying any attention to me.
After a couple of minutes, he took a deep breath and leaned back on the couch just the way he had earlier, with his head against the headrest and his eyes closed. Both hands came to rest, palms up, on the couch on either side of his legs. I got up slowly and carefully moved as close as I could to the couch; then I slowly lifted one leg and placed my knee directly between his upward-facing left palm and his thigh. I put my weight on it and slowly lifted the other knee so that I was straddling his thighs, facing him. I sat for a minute, holding my breath, waiting to see what he would do. When he didn't so much as move, I took a deep breath and sat down, putting all of my weight against him, my thighs riding the outside of his, my crotch pressing against his, my chest to his, and my arms on either side of his head on the back of the couch. He still didn't move. I had a thought to check and see if he was still breathing, and sure enough, his chest was rising and falling against mine. It was as if he couldn't care less that I was not only still there but was now sitting on him. I didn't know what else to do at that point. I had assumed that he would either respond by shoving me off on the floor or putting his arms around me. He did neither. So, after a minute, I simply laid my head on his shoulder and put both hands on his waist, and waited. As I lay there, I realized it was the most comfortable I had ever been in my life. Even though he wasn't responding, I felt more safe and protected than I ever had before. It was so relaxing that my breathing soon matched his and we fell asleep that way, pressed against one another, breathing in tandem.
----End of Part 1----
