Big Brother ch.1
Well i posted this story so far on Sausagefest, but since I'd said I'd do a Sickles fic on this board, I'll go ahead and post it here, if it's ok to do that? I assume many people here are also on there. Just looking for max exposure, hope I'm not being rude by cross posting, dunno the policy on that.
Anyway this is loosely based/set on Dethfam, with flashbacks to when Pickles had to live under the same roof as his bro.
Big Brother
"That slimy, fucking douche bag!" I took a breath and pretended not to notice everyone freakin' looking at me like they'd never heard me cussing before. "I do NOT want that faggot comin' over here, fuck's sake," I added and took a drink. I listened to Murderface tell me that I wasn't the only one who'd have to put up with their relatives coming over to bug the shit out of them, but really just to not piss the bastard off by seeming rude. I didn't know his story, or anyone else's, but I guaranfuckingtee that no one would have a better reason to dread a family reunion than me. Fucking no one. Even if one of those douche bags had parents that used to beat them, they'd still have nothing on me, because an abusive parent's not going be able to smack the shit out of their kid when they're grown. And even if they did, it's not like the kid, now fully grown, couldn't just give his old man a good punch in the gut for all those years of abuse.
I'm full grown, and I still can't fight back. And now, I have to face this evil fucker again. Again!
Still close to me, Murderface invited me to wet my lips with him at the bar, and I was glad to. Booze is the best medicine, and it made even a hairy slug like Murderface personable. Aw, I guess he's not a slug, per se, but, well I don't know. I was grateful for some company after hearing that terrible news either way.
The way over there, I was blessed with a fun filled flashback. Like staring at a nasty car crash on the side of the road, I remembered.
***
I was in my room, listening to Guns 'N Roses, counting the bits of pieces of money I had stashed under the bed. In a box right next to my weed. A stupid place to hide it, since Seth knew I kept my valuables under there, but since our parents had taken the locks from the doors, I was really only hiding my stuff from them. For the most part, thankfully, Seth stayed the Hell out of my weed. I never saw him smoke. I was making sure that day, like I do every day, that he hadn't taken any of my money, though.
Our parents were gone for the day. Golfing. Since they left I hid in my room, nervous as all Hell. I let myself smoke a nug, but just a small one, because I'd wanted to not be too fucked up when Seth came.
I dropped some coins when he burst in my room. Waiting for him always made me jumpy. "Whatcha saving up for?" he sneered and he just waltzed right up to my bed, like this was his room. He always came in my room like that, while he would get pissed as Hell if he saw me in his room. Then he sat down next to me and pulled the bills out of my hands.
"What the fuck?" I said and I reached for my money, but as usual, he held his hand just out of reach. I had to get up off my stomach and off the bed to try to get it. This was the oldest fucking trick in the bully's book, but damn did he love the old make-me-reach-for-it game, pulling his hand away whenever I got close. "Give it back!" I was forced to yell. I guess you'd tell me to just sit and wait him out, that there was no use making an ass out of myself by jumping around like a fucking monkey, because he'd give it back eventually. But you had to do shit like that with Seth. You'd have to humiliate yourself and give him your fucking throat before he'd relent. "I'll tell Mahm!"
"Then I'll tell her what else you have under your bed, jackass," Seth smirked and finally he tossed my money over my head. I had to stoop to pick up the bills that fluttered all over the place.
"You're always trying to threaten me with that," I growled as I put my money back in the shoe box.
"Do you want me to tell her, douche bag?" he snapped, and just as he reached out for me I threw the box under the bed and scrambled away from him. He caught me just when I got to the door. "Huh? Answer me!" He was holding me tightly around the shoulders and using his knee to force me still while I fought to get out of his arms. He missed my crotch, but it still hurt to get kneed in the thigh. He had me hard against the door when he practically ripped my hair out and shouted in my face to answer him. He just wanted to hear me say it.
"No!" To be honest, I really didn't care. At first I worried constantly that he'd tell on me, and I would even try to mollify him, try to basically bribe him to keep it secret, but then I realized that for one thing, it was fun for him to make a big deal out of it, scaring me into doing something for him. For another, I knew that he would tell our parents whenever it suited him; I could have no control over that at all. And you know what? I didn't care. I'd get in trouble, whatever, I'd just have to find a new hiding spot and limit my sessions to when I was at school or with a friend. Shit, it wasn't crack or anything, I could wait.
But I had to pretend that I was scared and that he had won. "I won't tell Mahm if you take my money, Jesus Christ. Let go, Seth, please."
He just pulled on my hair harder, yanking my head way back. He loved doing that, fucking with my hair, pulling it so hard I'd get tears in my eyes. I'm amazed I didn't go bald way back then. He'd give me shit for fixing up my hair, too, and he'd love to knock my brush out of my hand or try to hide my hairspray. I knew it was because he was jealous. Not that he seemed the type that would even grow his hair long, but he still hated me for it.
I could see his teeth sticking out of his mouth as he leered down into my face, and his breath was hot on my neck. He just kept pulling, but with my head anchored on the wall, it was like he was trying to pull it out. "Stop!" I said, but he only pulled harder, his hands tight fists. He also had a hand tight around my waist and the fingertips were digging into me. The worst part about these times when he would hurt me was that I could never predict what would happen next. He was just as capable of letting me go after a few seconds of torture as he was to draw it out for nearly an hour. And he would remember what hurt the most, what was the most uncomfortable, no matter how hard I'd try to not give anything away. "Geahh, you're hurting me!"
"Good," he snarled, and then slugged me in the gut. With his hand still gripping my hair, I couldn't move in reaction to the punch, just grunt with pain and squint my eyes.
"The fuck is your problem?" I breathed, my belly aching.
"You," he said, and he finally let go of my hair. I wasn't free though; he slapped me to the floor and walked up to me as I tried to get up.
"What did I do?" I asked with an arm over my face. I stopped trying to get up when he pushed his foot into my stomach.
"You were born," he sneered, pushing harder. Then he took his foot off and said, "Get up, faggot." He watched me as I stood up, and I can still see clearly to this day the look in his eyes. Something crazy and dangerous. He went to shut the door and then said as he came back, "Take your clothes off." He said this in a horribly lewd, cruel voice.
I just stood there, totally taken aback by what he said. His expression told me he was serious, and waiting. "What?" was all I could say.
"Goddamn it, Pickles, take your fucking clothes off before I do it for you!" he growled, and he came closer to me like he would.
"Fuck off, Jesus, you weirdo!" I said, backing away. "What are you, gay? I'm not getting naked in front 'a you!" I ran around the other side of the bed when he lunged for me. This was only in the hopes of slowing him down, but he climbed over it and grabbed my hair and used it to slam me on the bed. I screamed for him to stop and fought him hard as he punched me over and over and held my arms down.
"You'd better hold the fuck still," he snarled and slapped my face really hard. "Looks like I will have to do it myself," he said into my ear. I shivered from the feeling of his breath inside my ear, and then screeched, "Fuck!" when he bit it. He held on for a long time, too, before fighting with me over my shirt. I was so scared, so godamn scared. I didn't have any idea what the Hell was going on, I couldn't understand what he was thinking. And even though he was the one who stripped me, and I had fought him as hard as I could, I still felt so ashamed the entire time.
"What are you doing?" I yelled, and then he pressed his knee into my bare cock.
"You gotta stop fighting," he warned and he pressed his knee in really hard to make his point. "Stay still like a good little faggot."
By then I had tears running down my face, and I could barely breathe. "What the fuck are you doing, Seth?" I squeaked.
He leaned down and snarled in my face, "Shut up and relax." He pushed one finger up my asshole and I screamed, mostly from shock, and writhed. "Feel good?" he asked and actually pulled my body a fraction of an inch down the bed with just that finger. He had to push it forward and hit my prostate to do it, so I had given him that first cry of pleasure that he'd been waiting for. I was blushing madly and hating myself for feeling anything like that, and then he pressed it again, this time with two fingers.
"Stop it!" I screamed, and reached up to grab his sleeves, but he socked me across the face and pushed those fingers in deeper and wriggled them. Dammit, it felt fucking good but it hurt as well. I felt kinda like I was taking a shit, only in reverse. But the way he was fingering me makes me think now that he had done that before; he knew just how to press to make me feel really good, and how to make it hurt. I kept begging him to stop, but by this time I was panting from all the intense sensations.
"I knew you'd like that, you fucking queer," he snarled as he yanked his fingers out. I stared up at him with this horrified look on my face and then tried to make a break for it. As usual, he held me down, forcing me to struggle. God, I always felt so weak around him. "Turn around, get on your stomach," he said.
"No, fuck no," I stammered. This time I put everything I had into fighting him off when he tried to flip me over, and even managed to get off the bed. Once again, my hair got me in trouble. He didn't even have to get off the bed to grab it and thusly me, and pull me back up on the bed. I had to climb back up, it hurt so much. "Please, God, don't do this, Seth, don't fucking do this!" I hollered, but he shoved me onto my belly anyway and pressed my face down against the mattress.
"Come on, get that ass up," he barked, and he gave me a sharp, quick spank. I could have died from mortification. I tried to move onto my back, so he pushed me back down the way he wanted and slid his belt off and whipped me with it a few times. He gave me some lashes on my ass and lower back, and each one felt like a cut. "Do what I say, you fuck!" he yelled and he pulled my hips up.
I could hear him unzipping his fly and I tried to get off the bed. He whacked the belt across my back even harder than before and then held both sides of my hips between his hands. "Don't, please don't Seth! I will so tell Mahm!"
At this Seth put a hand around my throat and pulled me up. Into my ear he hissed, "Listen to me, you nasty little faggot. I am going to fucking rape you, understand? You can't stop me, and you're not going to tell anyone, ANYONE!" His hold on my throat was tight and choking. As he said these horrible things to me, I felt him press his dick into me, trying to get it inside. I was trying to close myself up to make it harder for him, but I was really just making it harder on myself. Another crunch on my ear and he said, "First of all, Mahm and Dad know you're a fucking stoner, so it will be your word against mine; who the fuck you think they'll believe? Shit, you are fucking tight!" He laughed at that and I felt his dick just barely inside. He was still gripping my throat as he forced it in. The entire process of getting his prick all the way inside took maybe only two minutes, but of course for me, it was like hours of straight up torture. He could have shoved a knife up my ass and there'd be no difference.
"Please!" I sobbed. I could see my whole world crashing down around my eyes. My brother was raping me. My fucking brother. The whole time I literally wished I were dead.
"And second of all, you douche," he continued as he began to really fuck me. He had slid his hand from my throat to my waist. "You tell anybody, if I hear anything, anything at all, I will fucking kill you." He jerked my head back by the hair and slammed his cock into me with an extra savage thrust. "Got it?"
He'd threaten to kill me all the time, but this time I believed him. I mean, he was saying this while fucking me in the ass; I couldn't put anything past him anymore. I struggled to answer as he kept slamming into me. I was keeping myself up by my hands, but my elbows were starting to buckle. "Why are you doing this?" I forced out.
Seth was by now moaning very softly. I could tell he was trying not to make any sounds, but he did, and they haunt me to this day. "Cuz you're a nasty little fairy, Pickles, and you fucking love it." He gave my hair a quick tug and then drug his fingernails down my bare back. The first moments were utter agony, and then he hit my prostate. It was a lightning bolt of a feeling, making me almost blind. O my God it was intensely good, and I cried out just from the pleasure. He hit it several times in a row, and my arms lost their strength, so there I was, on my face, my hands clutching the sheets, my dick hard as a rock.
"Ya, you like that, don't you?" Seth growled as he fucked me harder. He was still hitting my spot, but by this time he was fucking me so hard and fast it was extremely painful. "You're a total slut, you know that?" he sneered, his voice thick with pleasure and effort. He stopped trying to hide his feelings now, and poured them out in hearty moans and sighs. I was also making quite a bit of noise at this point, as well as crying hard. He even slapped his hand to my cock and squeezed it. "Go on and say it," he hissed. "Tell me!"
"I'm a slut," I sobbed. His hand on my cock only hurt, since he wasn't trying to jack me off. He was just squeezing it and I felt like he'd rip it off.
"A total slut!" he yelled.
"I'm a total slut," I said with a breaking voice.
"Ya, that's right," he said into my ear. "A real fucking slut, godamn faggot slut!" He bucked into me very hard and fast for a few more seconds and then pulled out quickly. Before I could even move, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face to his lap. "Suck it!" he yelled and shoved his cock into my mouth. This all happened so fast I didn't even have the time to resist, so I had his bulging cock halfway down my throat, and then a mouthful of come in my mouth a second later.
He pulled out and leaned back to pant heavily while I gagged and spit up all over my bed. He took a few seconds to catch his breath then hit me hard across the head. "How dare you spit my juice, fucker? I oughtta make you lick it back up."
I just leaned back away from him and curled my legs to my chest, crying. I didn't look at him as he got off my bed and zipped up his fly. When he leaned to my face, I cringed, so he yanked on my hair and hissed, "Next time you better swallow." I could hear him laughing all the way out the door, while I lay down on the bed and cried my eyes out.
***
"Whatchsha thinkin' about, Picklesch?"
I chugged my beer and looked at Murderface. "Nothin'."
Anyway this is loosely based/set on Dethfam, with flashbacks to when Pickles had to live under the same roof as his bro.
Big Brother
"That slimy, fucking douche bag!" I took a breath and pretended not to notice everyone freakin' looking at me like they'd never heard me cussing before. "I do NOT want that faggot comin' over here, fuck's sake," I added and took a drink. I listened to Murderface tell me that I wasn't the only one who'd have to put up with their relatives coming over to bug the shit out of them, but really just to not piss the bastard off by seeming rude. I didn't know his story, or anyone else's, but I guaranfuckingtee that no one would have a better reason to dread a family reunion than me. Fucking no one. Even if one of those douche bags had parents that used to beat them, they'd still have nothing on me, because an abusive parent's not going be able to smack the shit out of their kid when they're grown. And even if they did, it's not like the kid, now fully grown, couldn't just give his old man a good punch in the gut for all those years of abuse.
I'm full grown, and I still can't fight back. And now, I have to face this evil fucker again. Again!
Still close to me, Murderface invited me to wet my lips with him at the bar, and I was glad to. Booze is the best medicine, and it made even a hairy slug like Murderface personable. Aw, I guess he's not a slug, per se, but, well I don't know. I was grateful for some company after hearing that terrible news either way.
The way over there, I was blessed with a fun filled flashback. Like staring at a nasty car crash on the side of the road, I remembered.
***
I was in my room, listening to Guns 'N Roses, counting the bits of pieces of money I had stashed under the bed. In a box right next to my weed. A stupid place to hide it, since Seth knew I kept my valuables under there, but since our parents had taken the locks from the doors, I was really only hiding my stuff from them. For the most part, thankfully, Seth stayed the Hell out of my weed. I never saw him smoke. I was making sure that day, like I do every day, that he hadn't taken any of my money, though.
Our parents were gone for the day. Golfing. Since they left I hid in my room, nervous as all Hell. I let myself smoke a nug, but just a small one, because I'd wanted to not be too fucked up when Seth came.
I dropped some coins when he burst in my room. Waiting for him always made me jumpy. "Whatcha saving up for?" he sneered and he just waltzed right up to my bed, like this was his room. He always came in my room like that, while he would get pissed as Hell if he saw me in his room. Then he sat down next to me and pulled the bills out of my hands.
"What the fuck?" I said and I reached for my money, but as usual, he held his hand just out of reach. I had to get up off my stomach and off the bed to try to get it. This was the oldest fucking trick in the bully's book, but damn did he love the old make-me-reach-for-it game, pulling his hand away whenever I got close. "Give it back!" I was forced to yell. I guess you'd tell me to just sit and wait him out, that there was no use making an ass out of myself by jumping around like a fucking monkey, because he'd give it back eventually. But you had to do shit like that with Seth. You'd have to humiliate yourself and give him your fucking throat before he'd relent. "I'll tell Mahm!"
"Then I'll tell her what else you have under your bed, jackass," Seth smirked and finally he tossed my money over my head. I had to stoop to pick up the bills that fluttered all over the place.
"You're always trying to threaten me with that," I growled as I put my money back in the shoe box.
"Do you want me to tell her, douche bag?" he snapped, and just as he reached out for me I threw the box under the bed and scrambled away from him. He caught me just when I got to the door. "Huh? Answer me!" He was holding me tightly around the shoulders and using his knee to force me still while I fought to get out of his arms. He missed my crotch, but it still hurt to get kneed in the thigh. He had me hard against the door when he practically ripped my hair out and shouted in my face to answer him. He just wanted to hear me say it.
"No!" To be honest, I really didn't care. At first I worried constantly that he'd tell on me, and I would even try to mollify him, try to basically bribe him to keep it secret, but then I realized that for one thing, it was fun for him to make a big deal out of it, scaring me into doing something for him. For another, I knew that he would tell our parents whenever it suited him; I could have no control over that at all. And you know what? I didn't care. I'd get in trouble, whatever, I'd just have to find a new hiding spot and limit my sessions to when I was at school or with a friend. Shit, it wasn't crack or anything, I could wait.
But I had to pretend that I was scared and that he had won. "I won't tell Mahm if you take my money, Jesus Christ. Let go, Seth, please."
He just pulled on my hair harder, yanking my head way back. He loved doing that, fucking with my hair, pulling it so hard I'd get tears in my eyes. I'm amazed I didn't go bald way back then. He'd give me shit for fixing up my hair, too, and he'd love to knock my brush out of my hand or try to hide my hairspray. I knew it was because he was jealous. Not that he seemed the type that would even grow his hair long, but he still hated me for it.
I could see his teeth sticking out of his mouth as he leered down into my face, and his breath was hot on my neck. He just kept pulling, but with my head anchored on the wall, it was like he was trying to pull it out. "Stop!" I said, but he only pulled harder, his hands tight fists. He also had a hand tight around my waist and the fingertips were digging into me. The worst part about these times when he would hurt me was that I could never predict what would happen next. He was just as capable of letting me go after a few seconds of torture as he was to draw it out for nearly an hour. And he would remember what hurt the most, what was the most uncomfortable, no matter how hard I'd try to not give anything away. "Geahh, you're hurting me!"
"Good," he snarled, and then slugged me in the gut. With his hand still gripping my hair, I couldn't move in reaction to the punch, just grunt with pain and squint my eyes.
"The fuck is your problem?" I breathed, my belly aching.
"You," he said, and he finally let go of my hair. I wasn't free though; he slapped me to the floor and walked up to me as I tried to get up.
"What did I do?" I asked with an arm over my face. I stopped trying to get up when he pushed his foot into my stomach.
"You were born," he sneered, pushing harder. Then he took his foot off and said, "Get up, faggot." He watched me as I stood up, and I can still see clearly to this day the look in his eyes. Something crazy and dangerous. He went to shut the door and then said as he came back, "Take your clothes off." He said this in a horribly lewd, cruel voice.
I just stood there, totally taken aback by what he said. His expression told me he was serious, and waiting. "What?" was all I could say.
"Goddamn it, Pickles, take your fucking clothes off before I do it for you!" he growled, and he came closer to me like he would.
"Fuck off, Jesus, you weirdo!" I said, backing away. "What are you, gay? I'm not getting naked in front 'a you!" I ran around the other side of the bed when he lunged for me. This was only in the hopes of slowing him down, but he climbed over it and grabbed my hair and used it to slam me on the bed. I screamed for him to stop and fought him hard as he punched me over and over and held my arms down.
"You'd better hold the fuck still," he snarled and slapped my face really hard. "Looks like I will have to do it myself," he said into my ear. I shivered from the feeling of his breath inside my ear, and then screeched, "Fuck!" when he bit it. He held on for a long time, too, before fighting with me over my shirt. I was so scared, so godamn scared. I didn't have any idea what the Hell was going on, I couldn't understand what he was thinking. And even though he was the one who stripped me, and I had fought him as hard as I could, I still felt so ashamed the entire time.
"What are you doing?" I yelled, and then he pressed his knee into my bare cock.
"You gotta stop fighting," he warned and he pressed his knee in really hard to make his point. "Stay still like a good little faggot."
By then I had tears running down my face, and I could barely breathe. "What the fuck are you doing, Seth?" I squeaked.
He leaned down and snarled in my face, "Shut up and relax." He pushed one finger up my asshole and I screamed, mostly from shock, and writhed. "Feel good?" he asked and actually pulled my body a fraction of an inch down the bed with just that finger. He had to push it forward and hit my prostate to do it, so I had given him that first cry of pleasure that he'd been waiting for. I was blushing madly and hating myself for feeling anything like that, and then he pressed it again, this time with two fingers.
"Stop it!" I screamed, and reached up to grab his sleeves, but he socked me across the face and pushed those fingers in deeper and wriggled them. Dammit, it felt fucking good but it hurt as well. I felt kinda like I was taking a shit, only in reverse. But the way he was fingering me makes me think now that he had done that before; he knew just how to press to make me feel really good, and how to make it hurt. I kept begging him to stop, but by this time I was panting from all the intense sensations.
"I knew you'd like that, you fucking queer," he snarled as he yanked his fingers out. I stared up at him with this horrified look on my face and then tried to make a break for it. As usual, he held me down, forcing me to struggle. God, I always felt so weak around him. "Turn around, get on your stomach," he said.
"No, fuck no," I stammered. This time I put everything I had into fighting him off when he tried to flip me over, and even managed to get off the bed. Once again, my hair got me in trouble. He didn't even have to get off the bed to grab it and thusly me, and pull me back up on the bed. I had to climb back up, it hurt so much. "Please, God, don't do this, Seth, don't fucking do this!" I hollered, but he shoved me onto my belly anyway and pressed my face down against the mattress.
"Come on, get that ass up," he barked, and he gave me a sharp, quick spank. I could have died from mortification. I tried to move onto my back, so he pushed me back down the way he wanted and slid his belt off and whipped me with it a few times. He gave me some lashes on my ass and lower back, and each one felt like a cut. "Do what I say, you fuck!" he yelled and he pulled my hips up.
I could hear him unzipping his fly and I tried to get off the bed. He whacked the belt across my back even harder than before and then held both sides of my hips between his hands. "Don't, please don't Seth! I will so tell Mahm!"
At this Seth put a hand around my throat and pulled me up. Into my ear he hissed, "Listen to me, you nasty little faggot. I am going to fucking rape you, understand? You can't stop me, and you're not going to tell anyone, ANYONE!" His hold on my throat was tight and choking. As he said these horrible things to me, I felt him press his dick into me, trying to get it inside. I was trying to close myself up to make it harder for him, but I was really just making it harder on myself. Another crunch on my ear and he said, "First of all, Mahm and Dad know you're a fucking stoner, so it will be your word against mine; who the fuck you think they'll believe? Shit, you are fucking tight!" He laughed at that and I felt his dick just barely inside. He was still gripping my throat as he forced it in. The entire process of getting his prick all the way inside took maybe only two minutes, but of course for me, it was like hours of straight up torture. He could have shoved a knife up my ass and there'd be no difference.
"Please!" I sobbed. I could see my whole world crashing down around my eyes. My brother was raping me. My fucking brother. The whole time I literally wished I were dead.
"And second of all, you douche," he continued as he began to really fuck me. He had slid his hand from my throat to my waist. "You tell anybody, if I hear anything, anything at all, I will fucking kill you." He jerked my head back by the hair and slammed his cock into me with an extra savage thrust. "Got it?"
He'd threaten to kill me all the time, but this time I believed him. I mean, he was saying this while fucking me in the ass; I couldn't put anything past him anymore. I struggled to answer as he kept slamming into me. I was keeping myself up by my hands, but my elbows were starting to buckle. "Why are you doing this?" I forced out.
Seth was by now moaning very softly. I could tell he was trying not to make any sounds, but he did, and they haunt me to this day. "Cuz you're a nasty little fairy, Pickles, and you fucking love it." He gave my hair a quick tug and then drug his fingernails down my bare back. The first moments were utter agony, and then he hit my prostate. It was a lightning bolt of a feeling, making me almost blind. O my God it was intensely good, and I cried out just from the pleasure. He hit it several times in a row, and my arms lost their strength, so there I was, on my face, my hands clutching the sheets, my dick hard as a rock.
"Ya, you like that, don't you?" Seth growled as he fucked me harder. He was still hitting my spot, but by this time he was fucking me so hard and fast it was extremely painful. "You're a total slut, you know that?" he sneered, his voice thick with pleasure and effort. He stopped trying to hide his feelings now, and poured them out in hearty moans and sighs. I was also making quite a bit of noise at this point, as well as crying hard. He even slapped his hand to my cock and squeezed it. "Go on and say it," he hissed. "Tell me!"
"I'm a slut," I sobbed. His hand on my cock only hurt, since he wasn't trying to jack me off. He was just squeezing it and I felt like he'd rip it off.
"A total slut!" he yelled.
"I'm a total slut," I said with a breaking voice.
"Ya, that's right," he said into my ear. "A real fucking slut, godamn faggot slut!" He bucked into me very hard and fast for a few more seconds and then pulled out quickly. Before I could even move, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face to his lap. "Suck it!" he yelled and shoved his cock into my mouth. This all happened so fast I didn't even have the time to resist, so I had his bulging cock halfway down my throat, and then a mouthful of come in my mouth a second later.
He pulled out and leaned back to pant heavily while I gagged and spit up all over my bed. He took a few seconds to catch his breath then hit me hard across the head. "How dare you spit my juice, fucker? I oughtta make you lick it back up."
I just leaned back away from him and curled my legs to my chest, crying. I didn't look at him as he got off my bed and zipped up his fly. When he leaned to my face, I cringed, so he yanked on my hair and hissed, "Next time you better swallow." I could hear him laughing all the way out the door, while I lay down on the bed and cried my eyes out.
***
"Whatchsha thinkin' about, Picklesch?"
I chugged my beer and looked at Murderface. "Nothin'."