Underestimated Part 11

"Drew I have to. You told me not to come."

"I still don't want you to come yet. Keep rubbing it," he demanded. He took his thumb and pulled my right lip out, exposing me more.

My head dropped, my eyes closed, and I moaned. I was spent and couldn't control it a second longer. Drew didn't say anything as I rubbed my shuddering c.l.i.toris, coming down from my long awaited high.

When I opened my eyes to look at him, he was wearing that stupid smirk, and I knew that he was glad that I messed up.

"You didn't listen, Morgan," he spoke.

"I tried," I pleaded my case.

"I don't think that you did. I think that you wanted me to spank you."

I shook my head back and forth, but if I was being honest with myself my c.l.i.t had already started to throb again at the thought of being bent over his lap.

"Bend over in front of me," he demanded.

I slid down the front of the sofa and bent in front of him. He rubbed my bottom and then spread me further open with his hands. He slapped my right b.u.t.t cheek and then rubbed away the sting. He did this several times, all while keeping my cheeks as open as he could with one hand. His feet went between my legs moving them further away from each other.

"Bring your hands back and open yourself for me,"

he requested.

What the h.e.l.l?

I did as I was told and spread my a.s.s cheeks with my hands. He ran his fingers up my wet folds and to my a.n.u.s. I wanted to moan, but didn't dare. I didn't know if I was allowed to do that.

"You want my finger in here, don't you?" he asked as he traced my entrance.

f.u.c.k no...

"Yes," I answered with the answer that I knew he wanted.

I heard him laugh a little. "Tell me what you want."

Oh G.o.d.

"I want you to put your finger in my a.s.s," I replied, with my eyes already tightly closed, waiting for the intrusion.

"Relax your muscles," he demanded as I felt his finger trying to gain access.

How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to do that? You have your stupid finger in there.

I lay there totally exposed and under Drew's control, thrusting his finger in and out of my r.e.c.t.u.m. It wasn't bad after a bit, and I was just waiting for it to be over. He moved his erect p.e.n.i.s to my c.l.i.t and began pushing and circling, causing a building deep in my core to initiate. I moaned and pressed myself back toward him, wanting more compression on my swollen essence.

"Don't come," he whispered to my hair.

What the f.u.c.k?

Thank G.o.d he had other plans for me, and eased up.

"Are you ready to have your p.u.s.s.y f.u.c.ked?"

Do I have a choice?

"Yes," I again said what I knew I was supposed to say.

"Tell me."

Really dude? Your hang-ups are starting to give me whiplash.

"I want you to f.u.c.k my p.u.s.s.y, Drew."

"Go to your bed and spread your legs."

I couldn't help but moan a little when he withdrew his finger from my a.n.u.s. I did what I was told and lay across my bed, spread eagle as I watched him undress. My heart had started to pound out of my chest at the antic.i.p.ation. I was trying to talk myself calm, reminding myself that it couldn't hurt any worse than the imposition on my b.u.t.t.

He walked toward me and grabbed both my legs, pulling me closer to the edge.

"You ready for my d.i.c.k to be in your p.u.s.s.y?" he asked, not looking at me, but only my wide-open s.e.x.

"Yes," I answered in a deep breath.

I screamed and backed up at least a foot when he wasn't gentle at all. I felt the give and the pain that came with the forced diffusion that was almost excruciating. He didn't care and pulled my legs back toward him. He didn't have to tell me not to come. I didn't want to come. I just wanted him to hurry up and spew out so that he would get off of me and leave my room. He took no compa.s.sion whatsoever as he pounded in and out of me. Finally, when I could tell that he was getting close I started to relax. He pulled me up and to the floor, and I knew that I was expected to take him in my mouth.

I didn't try to keep my mouth shut. I didn't turn away, and I didn't try to take him in the back of my throat.

I knew what I was supposed to do and I parted my lips, awaiting his flow. He must have lost the drive because he didn't come right away, and pushed me back to the bed.

He entered me again, thrusting frantically in and out of me and did the same thing when he was ready. I dropped to my knees and took his essence into my mouth as he rubbed it around my lips and tongue with the head of his d.i.c.k.

"Go clean up," he demanded.

I went to the bathroom and dropped to the floor and cried. I knew he would see it on camera the next day, but I couldn't help it. I felt so violated and used. Once I had regained my composure and cleaned up the blood I went back to my bed, ready to sleep and be rid of him until the next time.

He was in my bed, and I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn't want him there. He patted the other side of the bed, and I got in. I stayed on the far side of the king size bed, and he never touched me. We slept in the same bed, worlds apart. He did wake me early before leaving for work and made me have s.e.x with him again. He again did the same thing, as he seemed to always do. As soon as he was close, he pulled himself to his knees and released in my mouth. Once again, I wasn't allowed to come.

Chapter 6.

"Riley!"

I didn't realize that Dawson was not on the bed with me anymore. Nor did I comprehend that I was touching myself or crying.

I sat up in one frantic motion. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at me with an expression of revulsion.

"Are you okay?"

"What did I say?" I asked, but wasn't sure I wanted to know. I was more humiliated than I may have been in my life.

"It doesn't matter," he tried.

"It does matter, Dawson. Please tell me what I said."

He ran his fingers through his short hair, and I had to coax him again to tell me.

"You wanted me to spank you. You wanted me to stick my finger in your a.s.s, and you said you needed me to f.u.c.k your p.u.s.s.y," he told me the things that I would say to Drew, unable to look at me while he did.

"I warned you. I told you I was f.u.c.ked up," I knew that he was seconds away from storming out of my house and my life, which was fine by me. I should have known a normal relationship wasn't plausible for me.

"Why, Ry?"

I rolled over and lay back down, facing away from him. "You're off the hook, Dawson. You can go."

I was surprised when I felt him snuggle up to me and wrap me in his arms. He kissed my hair.

"I don't want to be off the hook. You invited me to spend the night."

I smiled, not used to the affection, but relished being in his arms. He never tried to finish what I had started and we fell asleep in each other's arms. I woke at the beginning of a nightmare, glad that I roused before I said anything else that would make him think I was crazy, not that I wasn't. I slid out of bed and walked out to the kitchen and onto the deck.

I didn't hear him walk behind me because I had left the door open. I am not sure what I was thinking at the time or even if I was thinking. As soon as he spoke, asking me if I was okay, I jumped, startled. I turned to look at him and could only see his black silhouette in the night. I covered my face with my arm as he stepped closer to me.

"Ry?" he quietly said, stopping in his tracks.

I moved my arm and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized where I was or who he was.

"I'm sorry, Dawson," I spoke.

He held me in his arms, and I wanted to cry.

n.o.body had ever held me. n.o.body had ever cared. I didn't know how to be with someone who cared.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you?" he asked, rubbing my back in a comforting fashion.

I couldn't tell him anything. I couldn't tell him how I was raised in the poorest parts of West Virginia by two parents that should have never had kids. I couldn't tell him that my dad had sold me to a rich twisted s.e.x pervert. I could never tell him anything about my past.

"Let's go back to bed," I said, pulling away from him, taking his hand to follow me.

He pulled me close to him and I lay in his arms. I felt soothed and calm nestled close to his chest. I had never laid in Drew's arms like that. If he did spend the night in my bed, it was because he was planning on taking care of his sick needs again before morning. I had never stayed in his bed at all and only had s.e.x in his bed a handful of times.

The dream that I had woken from earlier in the night returned. I was back in the trailer, and it was once again winter. My mom was working the nightshift at the truck stop. My dad was, of course, at the bar. I was fifteen and Justin was three. I told him to sit on the couch and not move while I went out to get wood. He decided that he was going to help and opened the wood burner door with his bare hand. I dropped the armful of wood and ran into the house toward his terrifying screams. The skin on his hand was dripping off onto the floor. I didn't know what to do. We didn't have a phone, and the only place I knew to go was about a half a mile down the road to my Grandma Joyce's. I was afraid to go there too. She was sick, and my dad warned me to leave her alone and not bug her.

I picked him up and ran his little hand under cold water. He screamed to the top of his lungs. The only kind of salve that I could find was Vaseline that I had found beside my parent's bed. I rubbed the greasy ointment on his hand and wrapped the burn with a torn white sheet. I didn't know much, but I knew enough to know that he needed to go to the doctor.

I was sitting on the couch when both my parents came home together, drunk. I was rocking him back and forth as he slept in my arms sucking in short puffs of air from all the crying.

"I thought you had to work," I scolded my mother. I was there taking care of her kid while she was out getting drunk.

"What happened to him?" she asked, ignoring my statement.

"He touched the wood burner," I said.

"Stupid kid," my dad said and grabbed the container of Vaseline from the stand. "We might need this," he said, pulling my mom back toward their room, laughing.

"He needs to go to the doctor," I yelled.

"I'm sure he's fine. I'll look at it tomorrow," my mother said without a care one about her son hurting at all.

I carried Justin to bed with me and held his little body close as he whimpered the entire night.

Dawson sat up in bed. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry, Justin," I called over and over.

"Riley," Dawson said, softly, four times before I hysterically sat up in bed.

"Shhhh," he said, pulling me back into his arms.

"You're okay, you're right here with me," he whispered to my hair. He pulled me tight, wishing I would tell him what I had lived through, or anything that told him why I was like I was.

"Who's Justin?" he asked, kissing the back of my head.

"My little brother," I answered, sadly with a heavy heart.

"Where is he?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"How old is Justin," Dawson asked, trying to keep me talking.

"He was only five the last time that I saw him, but he is twelve now."

"Why haven't you been able to see him?"

"Children services took him away," I replied, gloomily.

"In West Virginia?"

I sat up and looked at him.

"I didn't say anything about West Virginia," I demanded.

"You said it in your sleep. Come here. I am not your enemy, Ry."

I lay back down, and was glad that he stopped with the questions.