Get your Fix

His smirk twisted into something darker as he pushed off the wall, the scent of stale sweat and nicotine rolling off him in waves. "Move," he grunted, jerking his chin toward the hallway. Your bare feet stuck slightly to the grimy carpet with each step, the fibers damp with something you didn't want to identify.

The hallway walls were papered with peeling floral print, stained yellow in places where the roof had leaked. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows that made his locs look like cracks in the air itself.

The door groaned as he shoved it open with his shoulder, revealing a cramped room where the air sat thick and sour. A stained mattress sagged in the center of the floor, its fitted sheet half-peeled away to expose yellowed foam. The scent hit you, sweat, old sex, the chemical bite of something burnt in a foil pipe.

His fingers closed around your wrist, calluses scraping skin as he dragged you forward. "Quit dragging your feet," he muttered, the plastic baggie crinkling in his other hand. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress, the springs whining under your weight.

He loomed over you, blocking the flickering bulb’s light, his shadow swallowing yours.His fingers dug into your wrist as he shoved his free hand down his sweatpants, the fabric straining. The plastic baggie dropped onto the mattress beside your thigh with a soft crinkle as he pulled himself out, thick, dusky, already half-hard, hanging in front of you. The head glistened under the flickering bulb, the musky scent of unwashed skin mixing with the chemical reek of the room.

"Eyes up," he grunted, tapping his cock against your cheekbone hard enough to sting. The heat of him radiated against your face, the weight of it leaving a damp smear on your skin. His grip tightened in your hair, forcing your head back. "Open."

Your lips parted on instinct, the sour tang of his skin flooding your mouth before he even pushed in. He groaned, hips jerking forward, the thick head bumping against the back of your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes as you gagged, fingers digging into the stained mattress to keep from pushing him away.

The plastic baggie crinkled beside your knee, so close, just a little longer. His grip in your hair tightened, forcing you to take him deeper, the musky heat of him **** you. Saliva dripped down your chin as he rocked in shallow thrusts, his breath coming in ragged huffs above you.

The taste of him flooded your mouth,sweat, salt, and something bitter clinging to skin that hadn’t seen soap in days. Your throat convulsed, stomach lurching as his tip hit the back of your tongue again. Acid burned the edges of your mouth, your gag reflex kicking in hard. Spit pooled under your tongue, thick and sour, as you fought the urge to retch.

His fingers twisted tighter in your hair, yanking your head forward until your nose pressed into the wiry curls at his base. The musky stench of him filled your nostrils, your lungs, the weight of his cock suffocating. Tears blurred your vision as saliva dripped from your chin, slicking his shaft.

Your teeth scraped his length as he pulled back, the drag sending a shudder through him. His breath hitched, fingers tightening in your hair until the roots screamed. A choked whimper escaped your throat, vibrating around him.

"Fuck, you're earning this" he groaned, thrusting back in, the ridge of his cockhead catching on your lip. Dream or not. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, this was how she had felt. The helplessness. The sour burn of bile at the back of your throat. The way your body obeyed even as your mind screamed no. His hips snapped forward again, forcing another inch down your throat, and you choked around him, tears spilling hot down your cheeks.

His fingers tightened in your hair, grinding your forehead against his pelvis. "Swallow," he growled, and you felt him twitch against your tongue, the pulse of him thickening.

His hips jerked forward one last time, forcing himself deeper as his release hit the back of your throat in thick, bitter pulses. You gagged, throat convulsing as the hot spill flooded your mouth, salt and iron and something sickly-sweet that made your stomach twist.

"Swallow it," he snarled, fingers twisting tighter in your hair until your scalp burned. Your jaw ached, lips stretched obscenely around him as he held you there, twitching against your tongue. Every instinct screamed to spit, to ****, to bite, but his grip was iron, his breath ragged with warning.

He pulled out with a wet pop, his laughter rough and breathless as he staggered back a step. "Look at you," he sneered, thumb swiping at the mess on your chin before he flicked it into your face. The warmth of it splattered across your cheek, thick and clinging.

His fingers dug into the plastic baggie, yanking it open with a sharp tear. White powder clung to the creases as he pinched a rough line between his fingers. "Open wide," he taunted, tipping his hand. The powder hit your tongue in a bitter cloud, chalky and chemical, sticking to the spit-slick inside of your mouth.

As it hit your tongue, mixing with his sweaty cum, you felt a rush, a feeing your body had been craving since the shower, the reason you'd done this, or she'd done this, you were very much a passenger. And then, darkness again.