The Little Bitch 2

Note: this is an extremely dark departure from my usual writing. I tried taking the point of view of a male character to explore experiences of bisexuality and non-consent. I invite feedback from my male readers about how well I represented the male psyche and male embodiment especially with regard to erotic fantasy, sensations of the male body during sex, and of course... force/non-consent.

-------------------------------

"Tu peux me faire tout ce que tu veux!" She had said like some femme fatal in a French thriller.

Some hours before, I had been dancing with her, a pretty dark-eyed girl in a bikini who was speaking French. I wasn't sure what she was proposing, but I eagerly agreed, "Oui! Oui!"

It had all gone horribly wrong when she had tried some sort of pirouette and fallen hard on the frat house deck. Next, I knew she was crying, her elbow sprained, and I was surrounded by irate sorority sisters all hissing that she was somebody's cousin visiting campus for the weekend, that she was only a high school student, and that I was a criminal predator...

...or something.

Yet the girl (who was in fact 18) defended me. "C'est juste un petit garçon pas un prédateur!" The "French" girl turned out to be from Atlanta, but had been learning French on Duo Lingo.

"Tu peux me faire tout ce que tu veux!" She insisted again as they escorted her off.

Later, I lay in the vacated bed of some fraternity brother who went home for the weekend, surrounded by crumpled red cups. I typed the French words into my phone. ""u peux me faire tout ce que tu veux," meant something like "You can do anything you want to me!"

Anything? I had bed spins. I had soul-wrenching regret. I was shitfaced and still horny.

Desperate and alone, I pulled my my boxers down to my ankles. There in the dark, I tried jerking off to a fantasy of what might have been. I imagined rubbing lotion into her sunburned back and belly. I imagined caressing her pear-shaped breasts, fingering her sticky vulva, and sinking my cock into her pert little mouth. Yet, somehow the fantasy barely made me hard. It wasn't enough.

"You can do whatever you want to me!"

Anything?

So, I imagined her passed out and only half-conscious as fondled her. I pictured holding her down and fucking her roughly, her tits bouncing with every thrust. I dreamed her voice begging me, "No. please. stop!" tears running down her cheeks, but her protests melting into moans. I heard myself growl at her "You like it, don't you? Don't you, bitch?" Rough and relentless, I made her cum over and over, even as she bucked and squirmed, resisting me. I had never fantasized about anything quite so dark.

"...anything you want..."

But as hard and as fast as I jerked off, lying in the single bed, and as much as my balls ached for release, the taboo fantasy STILL couldn't get me off. I just needed something even more intense. I mean, it was just a fantasy, I assured myself. It wasn't a thought crime.

So, I imagined slapping her across her face - and her head snapping to one side. The image was so vivid I could feel my own cheek sting with indignation. That almost made me cum, but not quite. I imagined choking her while I jerked off above her pretty face. I pictured shooting a load across her forehead and cheeks, again and again, into her wide open mouth, her lurid tongue wagging so as not to miss a single drop.

"Lick it up, bitch. Swallow it like a little slut," I whispered as I fapped.

My cock got soft. Finally, I just gave up. I thought about putting my clothes back one and getting an Uber back to the Art School where I was a sophomore. I barely knew the guys there at the State school, and frat boys weren't exactly my crowd. I had the body of Christopher Robinson and my only sport was chess.

But I was so tired and so wickedly drunk, I found it hard to move. Rolling into a ball, I wrapped covers around me like a cocoon and finally fell into a joyless sleep.

It didn't last long. Soon, heavy footsteps lumbered into the room. A low voice grunted, "Hey, what are doing? You're in MY bed, dipshit. That's Flynn's over there."

I didn't recognize the voice. I just sat up and squinted into darkness. "Sorry."

"Fuckit," he said, "I'll just take his bed." I heard the sound of him kicking off his sneaks.

"So, did you fuck that French chick?" I could see the outline of him against a window. Broad-shouldered and muscular. It was Brett, or Brad, or Bobby. One of the frat brothers. I had a hard time telling them apart.

"No." I said, sinking into the soft, warm bed. "She wasn't French." Why this explained anything I'm not sure, but he seemed to understand completely.

"Right. Sorry, dude. You looked like you were in like Flynn."

"Ha, Ha! You mean Errol with his thin mustache and rapier!"

"What? No. Flynn is my roommate. 'The fuck are you talking about?"

"No. The saying, like Flynn... never mind."

"Yeah...well... She was DTF, my dude. You should hit that."

"She even had a sunburn on her back just like mine," I said it like it was a sign of cosmic coincidence. "Wait...Do you have any aloe?" It was an utterly ridiculous request. I was drifting into delirium. My shoulder stung and my head ached. "And like some...advil?"

A dim light blue light shown from a window, and as my eyes adjusted, I could see holding out something. "Just drink this," he said, just a looming silhouette in the gloom.

I drank his mysterious, fizzing, bitter, liquid from a wine glass and almost immediately felt better. A warmth bloomed in my belly and splashed against the top my aching skull. Whatever he had given me, it was just what I needed. Pure nectar. I felt good again.

"God, I never wanted to fuck a girl so bad my entire life."

"She had some nice tities. Fuck. And a SAAA-weeet little ass?"

"I don't know. She was only in high school. Proving I'm some kind of rapist."

"She was legal and you had enthusiastic consent. You're no rapist."

"But the things I imagined doing to her. Trust me."

"Like what?" Something in his voice sounded a bit too eager.

"I don't know..."

Lying on my belly, eyes closed, I felt his heavy hands glide up my spine to my shoulders.

"What are you doing?" I mumbled, not really caring.

"You asked for it."

"For what?" His slippery fingers caressed my sunburned shoulders.

"Aloe vera lotion. For your sunburn."

"Oh. Actually. I'm good."

"Shut up, dude. Just relax."

He applied the lotion to my the backs of my arms and the backs of my legs with the precision of a physical therapist. I surrendered to the massage, too tired to move. Whatever I had just drunk made my limbs feel heavy as concrete, all willpower dulled, all possible objection muted. Besides, it was just aloe lotion for my sunburn. I decided it wasn't a big deal.

"She's the kind you just want hurt a little bit, yeah?" He almost purred. "Make her cry a little. Beg you to stop, but you don't stop. 'Cause you're gonna teach her to like it."

A shiver of anxiety cut through my torpor. I didn't answer, but my skin crawled. I pretended to fall asleep, but he kept going on and on in a soft sonorous voice, re-describing the girl's pear-shaped breasts "tight little ass" in perverse detail.

It was all right. It was just guy talk. The way he talked about how he wanted to bring the girl back to the room for us both to fuck stirred me up again.

"Wait. What? Is she still here? Like in another room?" I murmured, disoriented but aroused.

"Nah, she's long gone. Turn over," he instructed, and he was already lifting and turning me on my back. I kept my eyes closed and pretended to fall back into unconscious as his hands caressed my chest, rubbed my belly, and skipped down to my thighs.

It's nothing, I reassured myself. Just a sunburn...just a massage.

When the back off his hand accidentally brushed up along my crotch, I felt too embarrassed and shocked to tell him to stop. The idea that this frat-boy was hitting on me seemed preposterous. I was in utter denial right up to the point that his slippery fingers curled around my cock, which was erect and eager in spite of me. I should bolted upright and slugged him.

But, I didn't. My body felt too heavy. My mind foggy. My willpower weak.

I just kept my eyes closed, my limbs limp, as he jerked me off like it was just another thing two guys did in bed together when they talked about girls. I guess I somehow thought that if I didn't move, I wasn't culpable in what was happening.

Yet it WAS happening, and all at once, several hours of blue-balled frustration erupted, and I shot long, globby stings of semen on my own belly, and chest, right up to my chin.

Yet, I didn't open my eyes. I told myself that I was just completely wasted, too wasted to remember any of this in the morning anyway. I just needed sleep.

"You wanna suck my cock?" He purred in the dark, spooning me. My eyes snapped open.

"Not really."

"Come on. It's not a big deal. Not like a gay thing"

"Actually, it's kinda, exactly the definition of a gay thing."

"Just put it in your mouth. See how you like it."

I hesitated. I considered it. I weighed pros and cons. I realized I was afraid of him.

But, I thought that if I could get it done quickly, I could go to sleep. The drink he gave me made me feel a bit detached and compliant. I had a nagging sense that I owed him one, and a need to avoid conflict. So I reached out and took hold of his erection - only about four and a half inches and thin as ballpark weenier. A swordsman he was not.

I had never done anything like it before, so I just yanked tentatively, but my hand was dry. When I dropped a ball of spit on my palm and stroked him again, he shivered. Whatever, I told myself, so we traded hand jobs. It wasn't like I was actually going to...

"Oh dude, come ON," he whined. Then, I felt his hand clamp the back of my head and he pushed my face into his crotch. I squirmed and shook but he was much too strong for me. Finally, I just gave in to him, and opened my mouth. My pert little mouth.

He relaxed his grip but took a fistful of my hair and held me like the horn of a saddle. Then he fucked my mouth so recklessly that I gaged and choked and fought to breath. His hold was like an iron trap, and I was afraid I would throw up on him, so I thrashed and squirmed until he pulled out. I begged, "Stop. Just relax and let me do this right, okay?"

He relaxed, laid back, and I did my best to blow him - suck the way I always wished girls like the "French" girl might suck me. I started slow, licking the underside of his head. I used both hands. I licked his balls. I groaned and slurped with enthusiasm and delight. He was small enough that I could even deep throat so long as I was carful to relax the back of my throat and not think too hard about what I was doing. Some part of me liked that I was good at it...

...and some part of me desperately wanted to stop.

"Stop. I can't cum this way," he grunted suddenly, and let go of my hair. I rolled away and flopped on my back, relieved it was over and desperate for sleep. God, I just wanted sleep.

I may have actually drifted off, thinking it was finally over.

But it wasn't over. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling below me, hands lifting up my thighs, folding my legs ,and pressing my knees down towards my shoulders. I didn't really understand what was happening until I felt his aloe-oiled finger slip into my ass.

There it was. Third base. I was getting fingerfucked. The gentleness of it sickened me.

"No," I whimpered, struggling in alarm, slugging him fecklessly in the ribs, and almost-but-not-quite wriggling out from under him. But his meaty hand took me by the throat and pinned me down to the bed, while his other hand continued to finger-bang my ass. When he dug in a second finger, I yelped, "No. I don't want to!"

"You KNOW you want to," he cooed as if reading a script. "Who are you even fighting? Don't pretend you don't like it."

"I really don't want to," I whispered so no one downstairs would hear me.

"It's gonna happen," he whispered back. "So you should just relax. Stop fighting it."

His hand squeezed my throat tight enough so that I couldn't breath. It no longer seemed impossible that this random Frat Boy might actually kill me. So I just nodded.

"Good. If you didn't want to, your cock wouldn't be this fucking HARD."

It was true. My cock was hard again. In a physical response to the fear and stimulation, my body had betrayed me. I felt I couldn't argue. I stopped struggling. I closed my eyes.

It actually hurt less than I expected when he drove his slender cock, slowly but insistently, into my ass. There was a dark pleasure to it that I hated but couldn't unfeel as his rippled body started to make that slap-slap-slap percussion against mine.

I hoped it would be over quickly, but, it just went on...

...and on and on.

The longer it went, the longer I was stuck in a horrific limbo between pleasure and disgust, arousal and outrage. The only way through it, I decided, the only way to end it, was to surrender to it. Surrender to the part of me that was getting off to it, even if I didn't want to.

So, surprising even myself, I took both his cheeks in my hands, pulled his face down to mine and kissed him. He kissed back a sweetness that was spooky because it was so unexpected. As I transitioned to a French kiss, his hip thrusts got long and tender. I wrapped my my legs around his hips, arched my back and moaned like a horny schoolgirl.

Still he couldn't cum. I began to feel bad for him. I worried I wasn't good enough.

So I bit his ear hard whispered, "Let me jerk myself off while you fuck me." His eyes went wide with disarmed delight. He propped himself up to give me space and looked down to watch. As I expected, the site of me jerking off as his cock hammered into me drove him wild.

"You like it, don't you. Don't you, bitch?" He said, fucking me like a little bitch.

"Fuck me harder." I gasped, breathless and urgent. It was probably a bit much.

Crack! He slapped me so hard across the face that my ears rang and my glasses flew across the room. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.

Smack! He backhanded me again, not quite as hard.

To my own shock and horror, that made me cum. Our bellies were suddenly wet and slippery with my spunk, and our bodies slid against each other like seals.

Then all at once he pulled out of me, yanked off the condom, lunged forward, and shot a load across my forehead and cheeks. I closed my eyes. He shot again and again into my wide open mouth, my tongue wagging so as not to miss a single drop.

"Swallow it," he said, and I did.

Later, my whole body was trembling and I couldn't make it stop. Out of my mouth came a weird, broken, little giggle. I realized my cheeks were wet with tears.

"Tu peux me faire tout ce que tu veux." I repeated ironically, but he was already asleep.