‘Close your eyes and tell me what you see.’
‘His hands.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘I can feel them on my skin.’
‘Go on.’
‘He started off with my feet, making it sound like a harmless massage I didn’t think too much about. His pinky was making its way in between every toe, making it even easier to do that once he applied some massage oil. Chamomile, was what I remembered seeing on the bottle.
Then, he moved his hands up my calves, using an appropriate amount of force to take away my aches. Doing the same for both sides, he continued upwards till he reached my thighs, applying even more force to work my muscles. When one of his hands went a little too far under my skirt, I opened my eyes to see him in that focused look, thinking perhaps he needed to get that far, and that was as far as he needed to go.
Once a tickle came to warn me about his closeness to my private part, I called out for him to stop. When he wasn’t listening to my cries, I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. All I could move was my fingertips, merely trembling after I put in all my energy to move them.
Both hands disappeared under my skirt and he pulled my panties off, letting me feel the desperation with that extra, weird level of sensitivity on my skin. I have no idea what was happening, but I can feel everything. He folded my skirt to my hips and then spread my legs apart, arms falling off the bed to the sides.
Still, I couldn’t move at all. He moved to my side and held up a white cloth near by nose, sending the chamomile scent right up my nose. His fingers then began to circle my clit and that initiated me to scream, only to realise nothing was coming out. Airy wails didn’t so much leave the windows, let alone be heard.
He was making me so wet I couldn’t fight against his advances for long. My mind was turning hazy and my body gave up resisting. When he put his fingers in, it felt so good and cold, something my body seemed to be dying for. It only took him a few minutes, which I kept track of on the clock in front of me, to make me orgasm the hardest in my life.
It was so sensitive down there I was ashamed of how much I wanted him to keep going. He didn’t play with me for too long though, and climbed on the bed between my legs. Knowing that I was at his mercy, the entry of his dick was expected. He was so much thicker down there, and I used the first bit of strength I recovered to moan. Why did I even do that?
He kept me high for as long as he fucked me, throwing dirty comments like how tight, wet, horny I was, asking if I would come back after that session, all to which I had no means to reply to. He raised my knees to my chest when he got more eager, probably ready to cum after having it his way.
The new position of my feet made him felt so much bigger and I blacked out every few seconds, listening to the audio feed from where our genitals touched. When he pulled out all of a sudden, I knew it was the end and he left my sight for a while to finish the job.
Shortly after he put my clothes back on, I fell asleep and woke up feeling all fresh and tidy, in under thirty minutes of nap. Still unable to make out what happened from the moment I smelled the scent of chamomile, it was only after a day did all the memories became clear.’
‘Did you confront him after you realised what he did to you?’
‘Yes. I went back to his place.’
‘And?’
‘And asked him for more.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘He is dead. In that place he raped me.’