Page 48 of The Final Storm
I extend my tongue, and he holds me back far enough, so I can only reach his tip. I can almost taste the pre-cum where I stand, and I can’t help the physical reaction watching this. I want to be disgusted. Dean’s a monster, and he’s done terrible things, but this version of us feels different.
“Good girl,” he offers, and I see myself smile. “Touch yourself.”
She brings her fingers to her cunt. I know how I’m circling my clit, closing my eyes with the feeling. Some things never change with time.
“Two fingers,” he commands. “Now.”
I watch her push them inside and shudder, keeping her eyes on Dean while her fingers disappear into her pussy. Dean lowers his head and opens his mouth. I know what he wants as she reaches up for him to taste. His dick bobs when he licks them clean.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Turn around. On your knees. How far will you stretch for me tonight?”
Without realizing it, I’m walking forward, and a beam of light illuminates me. I rush away and then remember they can’t see me. This happened in the past. This is a memory.
Why am I seeing this?
The old me is on all fours in front of Dean, and he yanks my hips back, pulling me up to his waiting cock. He pushes inside to the hilt without warning, and I cry out. “That’s good, baby. Take it like that. Stretch for me, feel it burn.”
From where I’m standing, I can smell the sex and hear the sounds of our bodies slamming together. The memory of him entering me rushes to the surface, too vivid to ignore.
I hate this man, but I’m standing here reminiscing about the harsh sex we had, my panties flooding at the sight. It feels wrong, but I can’t look away.
The woman in front of me whimpers with each thrust, and he goes back to her hair, yanking her head back, and pounding into her. His other hand slaps her ass, hard and fast.
I’m startled by the snap of his palm against the skin and how hard he hits. When he lifts his hand to slap her skin again, I see the large red whelp on her cheek from his first hit.
Pop!
He hits her again, harder, louder. “Tell me you want it, or tell me to stop, Rowan.”
I gasp this time and stumble backward. I know this is how we had sex. I remember it, but seeing the harsh rawness in front of me, I’m shocked. Even though he hits her once more, so hard I almost want to reach out and stop him, I hear my past self groan. She’s trembling on his cock, and she screams as best she can with her hair being pulled so hard her throat curves back. “Yes, Dean. I want it.”
“Do you want it to hurt?” he asks.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Make it hurt.”
Her hands lift off the ground when he pulls her hair this time, and she cups her breasts, pulling at the nipples. His hand slides up her chest and wraps around her throat.
Even in the darkness, I can see her face redden with the pressure. The veins in his forearm pulse while he constricts, never letting up how hard and fast he’s fucking her from behind. Fingers wrap around her throat for endless seconds, cutting off her breath. He controls her completely, and if he wanted, he could take her life.
And I would have let him.
He lets up his hold, and I watch my old self take in a long pull of air, tears streaming down her cheeks while she coughs and moans. When he thinks she’s had enough, he grabs her around the neck again, slowly pushing until he feels the pressure is right. I watch myself come as he chokes me, slamming into me, his release pouring down my legs.
He lets her go, and I see myself fall back to the ground, his cock slipping out, still streaming cum on her limp body. He pumps himself, spraying the last drops on her hip, and then he collapses at her side.
All three of us are now breathing hard in Dean’s side yard, but I think I’m the only one in shock by what happened. This looks different from what I remember, but now that I’m faced with it, I can’t deny the facts.
They look satisfied and calm, and the memories of all of our other encounters break through. We were always this way. He had control over everything.
Dean’s arm wraps around my middle, and he draws me closer.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but his words are perfunctory. There’s no meaning in his question. It doesn’t matter if I’m okay.
I nod but say nothing.
I’m smiling.
I liked it.
