Throb (Club Grit) (16 page)

Jason bit his lower lip as if to constrain a smile. “Naughty, naughty,” he said, as if he was a cold, harsh school principal reprimanding me for breaking the dress code, but I saw his cheeks fill with color, as well as a tent forming in his pants, strained as they were so tight around the crotch, but still there.

“I guess I am, Jason. So what are you going to do? Punish me for being such a slut?” I teased back, but secretly, hoping he’d be rough with me. Even though I was wearing this outfit to look more confident, to seem more powerful, there was nothing I wanted more than for Jason to take charge, to take away all the insecurities and troubles I had and make all the decisions for the both of us. To give myself up that way, to lose the need to have to make choices the way I had to in so many ways of my life, was the ultimate gift that I could give Jason, because I trusted him. To handle those things for me was the greatest gift he could give me.

I knew it was weird and fucked up, but I didn’t care. Things between Jason and I were at the same time the weirdest and the healthiest of all the relationships I had with anyone. I was too distant from my family, did too much for my friends (or rather, what remained of them). Jason was the only one who did things for me, regardless of whether they had to do with his expectations of me, and that’s why I needed him to fuck me senseless.

“I’ll sentence you to the most terrible punishment of all,” he growled into my ear. “You have to clean every inch of my body.”

Jason wasn’t joking. He took no time to kiss me or to nibble at my neck as he undressed my body, before leaving me, naked and wanting, on his countertop, forced to watch him undress slowly. It wasn’t sensual, it was torture, as he clinically unbuttoned each and every last button from the vest and button up shirt that was part of his Club Grit uniform. He made me watch, and didn’t let me touch, as he unbuckled his belt, removed and folded his jeans, and finally, lowered his boxers, showing me the last thing that I needed to feel but couldn’t have quite yet: his throbbing cock.

In the shower, Jason took a bottle of body wash, spun it as deftly as if it were a bottle at the bar, and let out a dollop of gel onto a loofa, which squeezed and forced to form froth. That wasn’t what I wanted to see squeezed and frothing, but it would do...for now. I took the loofa and gently scrubbed at Jason, but he ordered, “Harder.”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes, and pressing down more firmly, but it wasn’t good enough.

“I said I wanted it harder, Becca. You know what that’s like, right? Wanting someone to do something harder?” he asked rhetorically. We both knew what he was referring to, and the fact that Jason actually was showing an interest in power play and rougher sex tonight was a turn on. I resisted just pressing him against the slipper walls, using the ledges that were meant to hold the soaps and washes, and taking his cock then and there.

“You want it harder?” I asked, equally as rhetorically. “How’s this?” I pressed against his skin firmly, so that my knuckles were scraped by the loofa as I rubbed against him harder and harder and faster and faster.

“Not hard enough. Let me show you how it’s done,” he said, taking the loofa from my hands as if it were just candy from a baby. “Turn around.”

I turned, and he pressed against the small of my back with the loofa. “Now, touch the floor,” he said. I reached down as far as I could, and that was good enough for Jason. He pressed the rough sponge against my ankles and slowly shimmied up, the way he would with his lips when he was teasing me with the prospect of eating me out. Once he reached my upper thigh, he kept going, until he got to the small of my back, and then he rubbed in small circles, before making his way back to my upper thighs.

“You know what’s terrible about the shower, Becca?” he asked.

“What?”

I felt something that I would recognize anywhere hitting the top of my butt crack: the head of Jason’s cock. He slipped it down, past my starfish pucker, to my entrance, entering the tip and then pulling out before I could beg for more. “I can’t tell if you’re wet,” he growled.

“I am,” I said, turning my head, and getting up from the floor.

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” he said curtly. “I was only making an observation, not asking a question, but seeing as you want to not only test my patience, but be tested, answer me this, Becca: do you want this dick?”

“Jason, I—” I started, but he slapped my ass. Hard.

“It’s a yes or no question, Becca. Do you want this dick?”

“Yes,” I said, pressing back against his cock, but he pulled it away and reprimanded me with another ass slapping.

“I didn’t say to move. I just asked whether you wanted the dick. If you want it, you’ll be a good girl for me, Becca. You want to fuck a dirty man? You’re going to get fucked by a dirty man,” he promised, taking an ass cheek in each hand and spreading me apart firmly but gently, slipping his dick inside of me with ease.

Keeping the position was hard but having Jason’s cock throbbing inside of me was worth it. He pistoned in and out four times before removing his cock.  “This won’t work,” he said with a sigh. “Get up.”

“Why not?” I asked, still bent over.

“First of all, I said get up. Secondly, I want to fuck you, not kill the both of us,” he said, still with his commanding voice, pulling me up and close to him, before turning so it was he who was under the shower. “Do you need to wash your hair? I know it’s harder because it’s a weave.”

“No, I did it yesterday,” I said, and it was true.

“Great. This shower can wait. It’s time to get dirtier, Becca,” he said as he motioned to the shower door. “Ladies first.”

I exited and waited for his lead. Jason took me by the hand and into the bedroom. “Lay on your side,” he ordered, and although I was confused, I did so. Jason curled my legs up, and, taking his cock in one hand, lifted my uppermost leg up with the other, pressing his cock in and then turning to lie so that we were spooning and fucking at the same time.

Jason moved his arm over my uppermost thigh and pressed his finger to the place our bodies met most intimately before stroking upwards to my pleasure nub, already exposing itself from its secret home and ready for Jason to work his own magic. He pressed down, his digit slick with our juices, and slid it gently back and forth, making me squirm with pleasure.

Jason didn’t stop, though, and I had to grab a pillow to stop myself from reaching up, shifting my legs so I was straddling Jason, and taking him. If I wanted Jason to remain control of the situation, I couldn’t interfere when he took charge. I’d already tested his authority in the shower, and although I was tempted to again, I loved the way that he was working my body, and I didn’t want to interfere with it.

I couldn’t stop my body from interfering, though, as I let out small involuntary gasps. Jason pressed his mouth onto my neck and sucked, hard enough that I knew I’d have to use concealer the next morning to cover the rough red welts he was forming beneath my yellowish brown skin. I felt my body start to buck and so did Jason. He took my thigh in one of his strong firm hands and as he continued to piston in and out of me, stopped my body from closing my legs involuntarily. It’d be fine if he was between me, but if my body did that now, it’d force his loins from mine and the moment would be ruined.

I exploded around Jason, my pleasure increased by the fact that finally, Jason had given me what I needed: an actual rough fucking, something as hard and as dirty as I’d imagined in my wildest fantasies.

Jason turned me over while he felt me climax, so I was on all fours and he was on his knees, behind me. Jason gave my ass a slap, hard. “How do you like that, bitch?” he growled. That’s when it hit me.

I knew he didn’t like that word, that he didn’t like calling me names, even jokingly. I knew that the way that Jason liked to have sex was closer to making love than to fucking. The fact he was fucking me this way, in a way that was supposed to be dominant and dirty and filthy, was because he wanted to make me happy. I’d already had my release, and now, I wanted Jason to have his, the kind that he deserved: the kind he wanted.

“Hey, baby?” I cooed.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered, trying to retain his hard demeanor, giving me a weak slap to the ass.

“Can we maybe do missionary, for a while?” I asked, innocently.

“Are you sure?” he asked, but I already was turning over. I pulled him in close, our chests touching, and pressed my mouth against his deeply.

Stroking his hair gently with just the tips of my fingers, their pads massaging his scalp gently, I whispered, “Yes, Jason, please.”

Jason’s thrusts became slower, and he didn’t have to act like the sex machine I knew he pretended to be for my pleasure. Although it was weird, I was the one that liked getting rammed as if I was a sex toy, whereas Jason had always wanted something more intimate and close, something tender and gentle. I wanted a release, he wanted a bonding experience, but there was no reason we couldn’t compromise, and do a damn good job at both.

I pulled Jason even closer to me, my hands reaching down from his hair to his firm, strong neck and then down to his shoulder blades, and I drew him into a hug. His arms, which he’d been using to stabilize himself, wrapped around my body the way my legs were wrapped around his waist. I only loosened my grip on him to kiss him gently on his cheeks, his neck, and finally, his mouth, before taking him in, close, once more.

I finally understood the appeal of this: why Jason enjoyed having something that involved the both of us showing our weaker, more vulnerable sides. Taking a dick was one thing, but giving a heart? That was another entirely.

When Jason finally released into me, the warmth was less intense than before, because I was just as hot as Jason, his body heating my own, and when he pulled out, I stayed in his arms, not bothering to get up and clean myself up like I usually did. I just wanted to stay inside the bubble of love formed by Jason’s arms.

“Hey, Jason?” I asked, turning over to face him from my position spooning him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he placed his hands on my waist again and pulled me closer.

“Yes, Becca dearest?” he asked, his normal voice back, as well as the boyish gleam in his eye.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a quick peck before looking away, hoping he wouldn’t think I was being too emotional.

“I know that you’ve wanted that for a while and—-” he started, before I cut him off.

“No, I mean, for everything. For being my boyfriend. For making me so happy. I love you, Jason, I really do,” I said, and he pulled me even tighter, into a hug and in his warm, pale arms, I felt like I had found my home. He pulled away to give me a kiss on my forehead, a kiss that was warm and sweet, like a freshly baked cookie, before he shut off the light, took me in his arms once more, and we fell asleep, to meet again in our dreams.

W
HAT WOKE US UP IN THE MORNING WASN’T THE USUAL TOP 40 PLAYLIST, but a radio interview, from someone whose voice I knew all too well.

Keanne.

“So, Keanne, there’s rumors of you cheating on Lana Minashian with a young co-ed from the Los Angeles area, do you care to comment on this recent scandal?” asked the DJ.

“Well, I, uh, you see, that wasn’t what it looked like,” said Keanne.

“We have pictures, from a flight attendant who will remain anonymous, of you and an unknown young woman canoodling on a private airplane, with Lana nowhere in sight. Do you care to make a comment now?” continued the DJ.

“No, well, see, that was a personal assistant I was interviewing, and I’m a busy man with a busy schedule, so I interviewed her on a trip to New York which might have been a bad idea in retrospect,” he said, and I didn’t need to watch on TV to know he was lying through his teeth.

“So you and the young woman are not in cahoots?” asked the DJ.

“No, that was staged by the woman, you see, she’d grabbed my hand and told the flight attendant to take a picture, and I thought it was a joke, but apparently, it’s being used to beseech my good name,” rambled Keanne. “But just know that the only woman for me is Lana Minashian, love you five-ever, boo! That’s right, even more than for-ever, five-ever. And nobody’s got shit on that. I’d love you four-million-ever if I could, honey!”

By this time, both Jason and I were wide awake and he was just holding my hand tightly. “Do you want me to turn it off?” he asked, and once I nodded my head slowly, he turned the radio off.

“Jason, what am I going to do?” I whispered.

“It’s going to be okay, I swear it is, Becca. I can call my parents and ask them for advice.”

“I can’t make you do that, Jason,”

“It’s really no trouble, Becca. I love you and I want to protect you, but I can’t exactly beat up Keanne. Whatever we do, it’s going to have to be legal,” he said. “At least nobody knows it’s you, right?”

That’s where Jason was wrong.

I took a cab to class and although there were a few whisperers in class, taking surreptitious glances at me, I chalked it up to usual drama and gossip. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard because once class ended, the camera phones came out, and there were tons of strangers I didn’t even know trying to get pictures of me. It had been the wrong way to wear tight yoga pants, the wrong day to skip putting on makeup.

In the hallway, I saw three girls whisper, and as I passed by, one of the girls pushed against me with her shoulder, which she jutted out on purpose.

“Uh, excuse me, do I know you?” I asked, turning to give her a glare.

“Uh, excuse me, do I know you?” she repeated, saying it in a high pitched voice and adding a giggle at the end. Her friends laughed and gave her a high five.

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” said one of the other girls, again, using a mocking tone. They continued to laugh.

“Whatever,” I said, walking away.

“Whatever!” shouted the girls together. They weren’t the only ones that laughed, and more camera phones came out. I’m sure somebody probably got a video of me arguing with the girls, but I wasn’t about to start Googling myself to find out everything that people were saying about me. It was a waste of my time and it wouldn’t serve a purpose. Who cared if random people on the Internet, who had never met me, were making judgments about me?