Hope
The boat is small, but not as small as it looks from the outside. There’s room enough on the deck to walk around, and cushioned seats line the decked area. The cockpit is covered with a sort of balcony, which you can climb up to, if you want to sunbathe or admire the view. There’s also a decked area at the front of the boat, in front of the cockpit.
Killian cruises for about five minutes until the streetlamps which line the boardwalk are small dots in the distance, and then he kills the engine. I know we’re still in the harbor, because the waves are soft, lulling, but we seem very far away. We’re the only people alive right now, I think. Or, we might as well be.
Killian emerges from the cockpit. He’s taken off his biker leathers so all he wears is a plain black t-shirt, tight around his muscles, scuffed jeans and his brown boots. His tattoos are dark and difficult to determine out here under the stars. Killian himself looks like a silhouette, an intimidating, commanding silhouette.
Then he walks right up to me, and I see that his face is serious, intense, full of lust and passion.
“You want it,” he says.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.
“Yes,” I say. The hint of a moan creeps into my voice.
“You want it,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I moan again.
“You want it, hard, dirty. You want to be used. You want me to take charge of you.”
“Yes!” I cry.
“Good.”
He takes me by the shoulders, gripping me hard, with all his strength. It makes me realize that he’s never truly handled me before. Before, it was tough but not impossible. Now, I couldn’t even try and break free. His grip is like steel. He turns me around, walks me to the railing at the edge of the boat, and bends me over. I prop my knees on the cushions and grip the railing, bending over the side of the boat.
My panties are wet, soaked, dripping. No other man has made me this horny before. Hell, even Killian hasn’t made me this horny before. My clit tingles, sure, but more than that my hole tingles, vibrates, begs to be filled. It’s like there’s something missing in my cunt. I want it. I need it. Despite the cool autumn air, sweat drips down me. Sweat sticks my hand to the metal railing. My legs shake, but not from the cold. My knees click together from lust.
Then he pulls down my panties around my ankles. I step out of them and arch my back, displaying my pussy for him, wanting him to fill it, just fill it, fill it all up until it hurts.
He unzips his jeans and pulls then down, and then his cock touches me. But it doesn’t slide into me. The tip of his cock presses into my clit, just below my hole. He doesn’t rub it, doesn’t move it, just keeps it there, hard, pressing.
“What are you doing?” I moan, unable to hide my frustration. I’m panting with lust.
“You want it, don’t you, you dirty little girl?” he breathes.
“I want it,” I moan. “I need it! I need it!”
“Then tell me how badly.”
I feel dominated. I feel controlled. He has complete power over me right now. One-hundred percent control. There’s nothing I can do to fight him, nothing I can do to fight the lust he provokes in me.
“Please,” I moan, moving my pussy up and down against his cock. “Please, please, I’m so wet, please, I beg you.” Damn, I want to be submissive. I want to be used. It’s never been like this, with anyone. I never knew I wanted this. But I do. Right now, I want it more than anything. “Please, please, fuck me, fuck me hard. Make me scream. Please, I’m begging you.” Moving my pussy up and down. Rubbing my wet pussy against his hard cock. “Please, do it. Please, please, please.”
He brings his hands to my ass cheeks, pushes them together. “You’ve got a perfect fucking ass,” he breathes. “And you beg like a good whore. Do you want your reward?”
“Yes, yes, please, yes!” I cry. “I want it! I need it!”
“Good.”
Gripping my ass cheeks, he slides his cock into my hole.
I’m soaked and it slides in without any resistance. My hole opens for him. His tip touches my sweet spot, and that’s all I need. My pussy seizes up, three of my fingernails break on the railing, my legs become wobbly. I come all over his cock. Right then, after one quick thrust, I squirt all over him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cry. “Please, keep going, please, please, please!”
He fucks me harder than he ever has before. His cock pounds and pounds and pounds my cunt. He’s dominating me. He doesn’t care if he hurts me. He just wants to use my hole. Fuck, who knew how exciting that could be?
“Beg!” he roars.
I come and come and come, my pussy going tight around his cock, squirting all over it.
“Please, keep fucking me. Please, please, please! I want more, please! Fuck, please! Oh, fuck, fu—”
He’s using me, I think as I come. He’s using me and I’m his whore and he’s a bad biker and he’s fucking using me. Yes, yes, he’s using me. Oh, yes, he’s using me!
I come for the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time, and then he leans over and bites me shoulder, groaning into skin.
“Bite me! Use me! Come in me! Yes, yes, yes!”
He empties himself inside of me. When he pulls away, my pussy and my shoulder ache. But I don’t care.
I collapse into the cushions and pant out the pleasure.
“Fuck,” I moan, turning over.
“Fuck,” he agrees, staring at me in shock. “You like being dominated, pretty lady.”
“I do. I never knew I did. But I do.”
The deck is cool, but we lie on it anyway.
I nuzzle into Killian and he keeps me warm. Together, we gaze up at the stars.
“This has been quite the adventure, me and you,” I say.
“It has,” he agrees, stroking my hair. “I never knew that sexy waitress would turn out to be such a little sicko in bed. I really didn’t.”
“You make me sick,” I laugh, slapping his hand.
“Of course I do, Hope, of course I do.”
We stay like that for a long time, just hugging, talking about nothing in particular.
And then Killian says, “Imagine if we could just stay at the cabin, forever. No worries, no stress, nothing to concern us apart from each other. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be heaven?”
“Be careful, Killian, you’re sober now.”
“I mean it,” he says, weaving his fingers through the strands of my hair. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Just me and you. Nothing else. No club to worry about. No stress. Just sex and love—”
“Love?” I interrupt, squeezing his free hand so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t wince. “Did you just say love, Killian?”
“I did.” He looks down at me, smiling, starlight caught in his bright blue eyes. “I said love. What about it?”
I lay my head on his chest. “I feel the same,” I murmur.
And just like that, we admit it.
Then sleep takes us.
I’m shaken awake by Killian. He’s moving his lips, opening and closing his mouth, and I’m aware there are sounds—but I can’t make out the words. He shakes me and screams at me, screams right in my face, his face full of rage.
At first, I’m sure it’s a dream. That’s the only reasonable conclusion. You don’t fall asleep and then wake up to this. Plus, my body feels numb, detached, and my thoughts come slow and drawn-out. It’s the only conclusion I can reasonably come to. This is a mad dream and soon I’ll wake up.
But the more he shakes me, the realer it becomes. I just wish I could feel what was happening. Everything is fuzzy, like I’ve hit my head. Has he gone mad?
I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is lead and no words will come. I know what I want to say: What is going on? But no noise comes from me apart from faint moaning.
Then, absurdly, I laugh.
I don’t know where the laugh comes from. It just emerges out of nowhere, a pointless laugh, and the laugh becomes a guffaw, until I’m sweating with laughter.
Killian stands up and stares down at me with a face of disgust, his lips twisted, his eyebrows low, judgmental. I’m sorry! I want to yell, but all I can do is laugh.