I SIT THROUGH THE REST of class the way I always do. I’m there, for all intents and purposes, the genetic make-up of flesh and bone. My thoughts, however, left with Melody. Four weeks I’ve been coming to class. Four weeks I’ve managed not to molest her with my eyes or hands, even though my mind was working overtime, imagining her in every position possible but always reverting back to doggy style while I tug on that luscious mane of hair and fuck her hard and fast, slipping from her pussy that I know will be tight, to her ass which is probably still virginal. I want to know what noises she makes. Want to see how far I can push her. What would a princess like her let me do before telling me no?
I like the release of sex. There isn’t much I find pleasure in and I don’t really find pleasure in sex, but it’s an outlet for me. I love pushing a person’s thresholds. I love to degrade them. Sadistic? Yes.
Damn, I hope she likes it rough because my hand practically vibrates to spank that tight little ass of hers. I know I should stay away from her, that’s why I ignored her when she decided to sit next to me. I’d noticed her amongst the crowds before we even got to class; her thick layers of chocolate hair that glimmer with specks of red in the sunlight, her green eyes shine bright even from a distance. Life and happiness dance in them. She is a blossomed rose in a vine of thorns. She stands out with her perfect womanly figure, round perky tits, a small waist, and hips that beg to be held on to, an ass that screams to be ridden and legs that go on for days, dying to be spread wide and cuffed to my bed posts.
I’m not the only one to notice her. Guys swarm around her like bees to honey. She must know how attractive she is but she plays it off, nonchalant. It intrigues me but after fucking every willing slut in high school and it causing nothing but drama and attention I didn’t need, I decided I’ll only fuck outside of my own college. My desired prey needs to be depraved like me so when I do spank her or surprise her with sex toys mid-fuck, she won’t run away screaming or crying rape.
I don’t care about the law but I take great pride in eluding them if I ever step over the line. I’ve labelled this pretty little thing, Melody, off limits, and she makes it hard, especially when her firm thigh brushes against mine, making my dick want to jump out of my pants straight into hers, testing her stamina in humiliation. I want to film me fucking her mouth, just to taunt her with the fact I have it. And even though I’m not going to indulge in my fantasies, fate has intervened. It’s destined to happen so I embrace it and play along, the game set out too perfectly for me not to play.
She practically shines with the air of money. I saw a few of her texts when she didn’t know I was watching, safety reminders or something from her dad. Warning her to charge her phone, carry her pepper spray, and lock up before she goes to sleep. An over-protective parent. God, she’s from another world. I’m only here in college because I was born bright. I have no clue where those genes come from but both Blake and I are talented, with well above average IQs. Blake also paid my full tuition and made me promise I would work hard and make a life for myself. He’s convinced he won’t always be around.
‘Some souls have a purpose, Ryan. Mine is to see you into adulthood and make sure you live and make something of yourself. You deserve to be happy and never feel anything but the good in the world.’
Guilt is a powerful motivator. Guilt has moulded Blake’s entire life. He never thinks about himself or what he deserves. I often study him, trying to crack into his mind to see how he sees things from our life. He committed the ultimate sin for me and that leaves a mark on someone. He thinks by shutting the world out, being anonymous to emotions, he has no conscience. But if guilt powers him, and memories of an ultimate betrayal fuel his blood, how can he be emotionless? I never mention this stuff to him, they’re just thoughts I muse over when watching him.
I’m good at watching the world around me without people knowing I’m recording everything, storing it away to muse over later. People’s actions, personalities, desires and actions fascinate me. I’m not delusional. I know I’m not your average young man. I give a stay the fuck away from me vibe on purpose. I have hard-to-satisfy urges and just because they’re frowned upon doesn’t mean I don’t do them, it just means I have to be wittier than everyone else around me and, lucky for me, I am.
I grew up quickly. I was never shown affection, well except from Blake, and even then he was more screwed up then me so his affection wasn’t the cuddles and good advice kind, it was more the I’ll buy you anything you want, I’ll show you how to fight and I will kill for you kind of affection.
Our mother is a cold-hearted whore who lets men fuck her for sport, and that’s where I get my women are usable fuck objects views from. Our father was a drunk who assaulted Blake and me, completing my fucked up psyche. I didn’t stand a chance of being normal, and because of my issues, I like to be beaten for fun. I like to go to dark, smutty clubs and let Doms or Dommes whip the shit out of me. I tell them it’s to punish me for my father’s abuse, for my mother not loving me and for my brother becoming who he is for me. The truth is I want them to whip some feeling into me, make me feel the guilt Blake lets consume him. When it doesn’t work, just feeling the cursed blood inside me leak out as I taunt the Dom with my laughs at his attempts to hurt me gives me a little buzz, and I crave that buzz. I like pain, and pushing someone to inflict it is the only thing I gain satisfaction from.
Fuck. Clive the asshole in his cashmere golf club sweater is right. I am a freak and a self-harmer; except I’m not the one doing the cutting. I let others cut into me instead.