DAMAGED - A Bad Boy Romance (61 page)

In a quick move, I turned around, giving him a view of my ass while sharing my tits and face with the whole neighborhood. I made sure to moan with each wave of pleasure, allowing myself to be more vocally expressive than I would have perhaps been had I been even by myself.

I couldn’t fake it — you couldn’t fake anything with Maurice. I had to believe it. And so I did.

“God dammit, you fuckhead,” I cursed him. “Shove your cock inside of me like a fucking man!”

I slapped him on his balls and grabbed them, lifting them up off the ground.

“You want to see my asshole while you fuck me?” I asked, turning around and looking at him like a whore. I spread my cheeks for him, so he could see my asshole as clear as the afternoon sun.

He pushed me off of him, and held me down with one hand. He didn’t go for my ass, but kept at my cunt, pushing inside of me and holding onto my lower back with his large, firm hands.

“Oh FUCK, Maurice!” I yelled, eliciting a slam of a window nearby.

I looked over at him, and saw him grinning, in all of his pride. He loved this whole experience. Fucking me raw in front of this place, and watching me beg for more. I spread my cheeks for him so he could get a clear look at both my asshole, as well as the way that my eyes begged him for more.

My hands dug into the asphalt below my body. I was getting torn up by the concrete, but I didn’t care. My legs would heal. What was important right now was being present, and vulnerable; that was the only way to get through this whole thing.

“Fuckin’ swallow it,” he commanded, backing off, and laying down so I could get on top of him with my mouth.

I didn’t hesitate. One hand was massaging his testicles, and jerking him off fiercely.

He shot his load all over my cheek, and I wrapped my lips around the head of his dick pulling him closer into me so I could suck what sperm remained inside of him out into my mouth.

I could feel him relax and grow less tense. All of the power left his body, and I was there to pick up the mess.

I turned around, so he could see me sucking on his cock as it grew more flaccid. His eyes were closed, though, but I knew that didn’t matter. When he opened them, I wanted him to see that I was worshiping him. I wanted him to know that I was totally committed to the cause, and unquestioningly committed to him.

Sure enough, he opened his eyes, and I was there to smile at him. The cock in my mouth was already limp enough to let fall to his abdomen, but I wasn’t finished quite yet.

While he was staring at me, I made sure to raise a finger up toward my cheek so I could wipe the cum from my cheek off and place it decidedly on my outstretched tongue. I sucked my finger clean and then proceeded to lick up any and all of the escaped sperm that had not ended up in my mouth on its way toward my cheek.

As my tongue trailed along Maurice’s abdomen, he looked at me with and expression that I can only describe as wonder.

That’s how you do it, folks
, I thought, while slurping the last bit of cum up from his abs.

“Big load,” I grinned, swallowing obviously so that he knew it was all gone.

I gave him a raised eyebrow and a deep sigh. At that point, I could have probably stopped, but I wanted him to be the one that pushed me away, so I went after his cock once more. Some men, you can continue to suck them off, and they will get hard again; Maurice is not one of those men. Once he is spent, there is no more joy to be had with that man’s cock until a fair amount of time has passed. Often times, Maurice will go a week or two between fucking someone, sometimes as long as a month. When you’re busy taking over the world, you don’t really have time to screw around as much as you might like.

I brought his cock toward my mouth and sucked him firmly, taking more than a bit of pleasure in feeling him shrink up and push me away in his sensitive state. I licked my lips and looked up at him.

“Later,” he muttered, obviously thinking that I was more of a sex-driven animal than a human being.

Personally, I couldn’t tell much of a difference between the two, but the look of disdain in his eyes made it clear to me that he had a very particular idea of how things were going between the two of us. I had serviced him, and I would now go and service him financially. We had an unspoken agreement.

He got up and the two of us got our clothes together once more.

A kid from one of the neighborhood houses threw a tomato at us, which splattered harmlessly against the wall, though some of the seeds did manage to spray on Maurice’s clothes.

He shook his head. “Fucking kids.”

Things were going to be ok — all I had to do was track down army boy, and get the bag.

In my heart of hearts, I thought Maurice was a total prick, but I also knew that he would make my life miserable if I fucked him over, so I knew what I had to do.

Before he could walk away, I hit him up for some cash. I guess I was still riding high on that wave of courage.

“I’m going to need some funds,” I said, looking at him like I meant business.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he replied, looking at me with a sidelong glance. He sighed, as though letting me know that he wasn’t happy about it, but that he would comply.

I smiled.

“You know I like you, though,” he said, reaching his hand out to stroke the hair behind my left ear.

I waited until he had forked over whatever cash was in his pocket before replying. He handed me four hundred dollars in large bills. With that money, I would be able to find a place to stay for a couple of weeks, maybe crashing with a friend or something of the sort. I had a friend in mind, while I looked over the bills, and back to the man whose temperament had changed so drastically due to subtle cues in emotional manipulation.

“If you liked me, you wouldn’t lose your shit and slap me like that.”

He laughed bitterly and walked away.

“If you don’t come up with the goods inside of the next week, you’ll have to deal with a lot more than that.”

“Burn in hell,” I called out,

Though he was walking away, I swore I heard him say, “Already there.”

When dealing with a man who has a chip on their shoulder that size, a person should always be wary. He was an unstable fucker, with a vision, which was exactly why he was so dangerous. Most of the time, people who were unstable had a sense of disorientation and confusion about them and were no real threat to society. The way Maurice operated was to take that anger that most commonly would have been internalized and to focus it on the world around him. His world-view had been constructed and calcified. The hardening process gave him a vision of a society where leaders were put in their rightful place, and the working class was free to be as they wished — essentially controlling the means of production themselves. He was a Marxist who had turned to black hat anarchism as a matter of course, a means to an end.

Initially, I had been persuaded by his charisma and his vision. I think we all were, but when the stakes are high, and people aren’t sure if things are going to pan out how they hoped, people tend to show you their true colors.

Turns out Maurice was an abusive, scared son-of-a-bitch. While initially, I thought he was someone who I could count on to right the wrongs that so many of us felt on a sub-conscious level, regarding our society, and how the political and social system was organized, I was beginning to realize that I may have been wrong.

Nobody treats me like that
, I said to myself, as Maurice walked away.

The truth was that far too many people had treated me that way over the course of my life. All of them had been men of similar character to Maurice. I had a bad habit of being seduced early by rhetoric and visions, only to find the ugly truth about a person when times got rough. Fortunately, the experience had given me a keen insight into both who I was as a person, as well as how to deal with men of that caliber. The unfortunate reality of the situation was that my experience hadn’t apparently done me enough good to be able to successfully discriminate against dealing with the same types of men over, and over again.

“You think you’d get it right, eventually,” I said, while I walked out of the alleyway in the opposite direction as Maurice.

I didn’t have a plan immediately, but once I checked my surroundings, I found that a dear friend of mine didn’t live too far away. Her name was Angela, and she was both a tech guru and a hemp fiend.

I had to level my head, which was why I went over to her place initially; that and I didn’t have too many other places that were safe to go. Her other interests ended up being crucial to my current predicament, but all I could think about at the moment was finding a place to relax and clear my head. Dealing with Maurice had been emotionally taxing in a severe way, and I could barely function now that the adrenaline had left my body.

With a long sigh, I made my way the remaining four blocks to her flat.

Angela didn’t have a doorbell.

“I hate the sound,” she told me once. “Here I am busy doing something, and someone from the outside world has something to do that demand of my time. Honestly, Its a pain in the as that the rest of the world might have to deal with, but I don’t.”

To a certain extent, she was right, except it was kind of a pain in the ass when you were a part of the rest of the world that wanted her attention.

I knocked, and then waited a solid ten minutes for her to get around to answering.

Angela wasn’t a flake, and when she came to the door, she opened it like I was an old friend she had been expecting. I never failed to feel welcomed when I was in Angela’s presence, no matter how long it had been since the two of us had spent time together; that was one of the primary reasons why I enjoyed spending time with her so much.

She was like a second home to me, and now that my primary home was no longer a viable place to rest, I was hoping she would actually be a first home to me.

I didn’t waste any time in letting her know exactly how much of a burden I was hoping to be on her; that was how you did things with Angela. Never beat around the bush.

“I’m in a bad way right now,” I started off, “and I might need a place to crash for a couple of weeks.”

“Good to see you too, hun,” she replied, blinking and staring at me with an obvious unspoken question on her lips.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I have a bit of cash to help pay for rent for the time that I’m going to be spending with you.”

She seemed to relax a bit once she knew that the most she was going to be put out from having me around was a bit of solitude. I knew well enough not to bother her when she didn’t want to be bothered, but you can't avoid all contact when you're crashing at someone's place.

Angela and I had the type of relationship where we didn’t want to step on each other’s toes, and if I treated her well, and respected myself, everything would end up just fine; that was what was so beautiful about our relationship. Co-dependency was not a part of it, even if we came to one another for favors every now and then.

To say that Angela came to me for favors is honestly a bit of an overstatement. She was a recluse, and by her nature, a very independent woman. There was very little that Angela needed from other humans unless of course you count emotional presence. Angela was notoriously manic and had an intensity about her character that was not normal. I personally wouldn’t have had it any other way. I loved Angela with all of my heart, and if she wanted to spout some of her genius in my direction while I was around — which inevitably, she would — I was more than happy to accommodate that process.

As a matter of course, immediately after she invited me in, she offered to smoke me out.

To call Angela a frequent marijuana user would be a gross understatement. There was very little that Angela did on a casual basis. She was the type of woman who if she did anything at all, she completely integrated it within her lifestyle; this level of intensity was actually one of the reasons that Angela believed that she never held any long standing relationships.

“I can’t be bothered to deal with fickle people,” she would say. “Honestly, it just bums me out. A guy will pretend to be interested in me, and then within a matter of weeks, it turns out that he has no sack at all. You’d think that there would be someone out there who would be interested in hooking up with me — and there are, but they just aren’t interested in me as a complete person, and that is a total turn off.”

Conversations about her dating other people inevitably ended up with a bit of cuddling, and some more marijuana. When she was feeling amorous, she wasn’t exactly someone who you would call productive. Her proclivities toward the sensual seemed to overtake her body, and she would put all of her projects on hold until the feeling passed through her. In a sense, she was vulnerable to the type of romantic possession one might attribute to a Don Quixote or some other fabled romantic knight. I would say that it was brutal if it weren’t so damned endearing.

“So,” she said, “why the hell did you show up this time? I know you only come over here when you’re in trouble, so what the fuck happened to your house? Are you still fucking that guy? How’s your dad?”

The questions were an immediate onslaught, as she was in a hyper-manic state of being at the moment. I was absolutely fine with her current temperament, as I wasn’t really feeling cuddly at the moment.

We shared a few bowls, and she actually talked to me rapidly for longer than usual, though I was able to share the basics about what had transpired earlier that day. I covered a few of the other questions she had for me in short answers, but they weren’t short for any lack of transparency on my part.