Let him have what he wants..

I couldn’t find the strength to resist anymore. My arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. The room was warm and blurry and kind of nice in a gross way. Maybe it won’t be that bad, I told myself. Maybe he’ll be quick. Guys usually are when they’re this excited, right?

The thought about no condom floated up again, but I shoved it right back down. If he doesn’t use a rubber… okay, whatever. He’ll probably just finish on my face or my tits. I’ve seen that in porn a million times. Guys love that. It’s like their big finish move. Messy, sure, but no big deal. I can just wipe it off. No consequences. Nothing permanent. He gets his thrill, I get to leave. Easy.

I was so sure of it. Totally sure. Like, duh, of course that’s how it would go.

He didn’t even bother pulling my jeans all the way off—just popped the button, yanked the zipper, and shoved them down to mid-thigh. Then he pushed me backward onto the bed. The mattress groaned under me and the sheets smelled strongly of old spaghetti sauce and cigarette smoke. Gross. But also kind of… real. Raw.

He hooked one fat finger into the side of my pink panties and tugged them roughly aside. No warning. No asking. Then he was there—hot, thick, pushing straight in.

It felt… intense. Really hot. Almost burning for a second. But then my body did its thing and started getting slick, making it easier. I hated that it felt kind of good at the same time I was scared. My breath came in little shaky gasps.

His big sweaty hands slid up under my tank top, shoved my bra up, and grabbed my breasts. Squeezing. Kneading. His whole heavy body pressed down on me, pinning me into the dirty sheets while he started moving—slow at first, then faster.

What would my husband say if he could see me right now? The thought flashed through my head like lightning and then disappeared again. Too scary. Too big. I pushed it away with everything else.

“You’re gonna lay still and do everything I want, my little slut,” he panted, grinning down at me like he’d just won the lottery.

I looked up at him. His eyes were locked on my flat stomach, on the way my hips flared out under him. He kept licking his lips—slow, hungry. I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but I could tell he liked what he saw. A lot. And weirdly… that turned me on a little. Being wanted so badly. Even like this.

He started muttering to himself between thrusts, voice so low she couldn´t hear anything.

“Fuck… getting so close… this little whore’s gonna take it… gonna give her my big load right in that tight young pussy… fuck this feels good… I feel so fucking powerful… she’s not even fighting… this isn’t ****, she’s letting me… look at these hips… fuck… I’m gonna fill her up… gonna shoot it all deep inside her…”

“FUCK—here we go—keep still!” he growled, hips snapping harder, fingers digging into my waist to hold me exactly where he wanted.

I looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. My heart was pounding, but not really from fear anymore. More like… anticipation? In my head everything was still simple: Just let him finish. He’ll pull out at the last second or shoot it on my stomach or my face like they do in videos. Then he’ll be happy. Then he’ll let me go. Then I can catch the late bus home, take a shower, curl up next to my husband, and this whole weird night will just be over.

I really believed that. Completely. Naïve, drunk, foggy little Holly thought she had it all figured out.

So I stayed still like he told me. Legs trapped in half-pulled-down jeans, pigtails coming loose against the filthy pillow, pink panties shoved to the side, his heavy body rocking into mine.

I even gave him a tiny, shaky smile—trying to look cute, trying to be good, trying to make sure he enjoyed it enough to keep his promise.

Any second now he’d finish. Any second now it would be done.

Right?