He Hesitated

He hesitated. He knew that what he was doing was risky, but he was gambling on being right about his hunch. He completely tuned out her words as he practiced the next few motions in his head. She prattled on and on about God knows what, oblivious to his machinations. He finally came to when a glob of her spit collided with his cheek.

"Shut up," he let slip from his lips softly.

"Excuse me?" she replied.

She stopped and gawked, her puffy lips spread in a deliberate show of disdain. The background music playing in her head came to a screeching halt, and an alarming silence took hold.

"Shut up," repeated louder, both with his volume and his eye contact.

He continued before she could complain again.

"Shut the fuck up."

She took a slow, uneasy step back before he spoke again.

"I don't care."

He took an earth shattering step forward as he continued, or at least that's how it felt for her.

"I don't give a fuck about what you think about any of this."

To be fair, she couldn't remember what she was talking about before this, but she had a thousand things racing through her head to say right now. None of them made it out of her mind and into her mouth before he interrupted.

"I can't keep pretending like anyone alive on Earth would have any reason to give a single solitary iota of a shit about your meaningless opinions."

Her facial expression practically imploded in confusion, twisting up in bunches like she'd just been told that her coupon had been declined.

"You think your giant breasts give you an excuse to go on and on about whatever trivial bullshit your little monkey brain thinks of?"

A breath of a response started to emanate from her, but she flinched at the next delivery of his explosive rant.

"You think you're special because of your stupid fucking purple hair?"

She reached a dainty finger across her hair. Surely that wasn't a good enough reason for her to be treated like this. Was this a sick joke? Did he really mean the verbal assault that he continued to let loose?

"You think anyone wants to take you seriously when you look like a goddamn anime character?"

He wasn't wrong, that had definitely been an inspiration for her look, but she felt like she was still entitled to be taken seriously, right? Or did he have a point?

"Girls with bodies like yours aren't professional intellectuals, you're professional cock suckers."

She started to blush. She wouldn't call herself a professional, but her mind started flooding with questions of shame and regret. Did she only get attention because she tried so hard to get it?

"Now get on your knees and do your fucking job."

Her lips finally closed into a tight seal. He wasn't a bad looking guy by any means, but she just knew him as an acquaintance. She knew she shouldn't. It wouldn't have been outside of the realm of possibilities had he asked a little nicer.

Continuing her streak of passivisity, he acted first. His hands felt like they were ten feet wide when they gripped her shoulders and pushed down. She wasn't mentally strong enough to resist, and she half-consciously allowed her knees to buckle.

"Hey, what are you-" She started to form a response when she felt it hit her face, warm and hard.

She hadn't even noticed his zipper go down or his boxers split open. She jerked her head back, only to find a brick wall of a hand stopping her backwards egress. His fingers reached deep under her long, dyed hair and gripped right at the base. This was the first thing that pierced her exterior and connected with her true self. She was officially aroused.

He was good friends with her ex, the one she thought she would marry. They had only met in passing before. Little did she know that her ex told his friend everything. The man gripping her hair knew all the bottled up emotions that only came out in private. He knew that she wanted to be used like a toy and hung up to dry, just like this. She never expected anyone to act on these impulses, and she still hadn't made the connection yet, but a switch flipped inside her when he grabbed her hair.

He pushed his tip against her lips, which she coyly kept closed. She knew it was going to happen but she still didn't want to reveal her inner passion: to be used and abused freely.

Hair pulling had been the first step for her and her supposed fiance to get rougher in the bedroom, but he never did it right. The fiance pulled too far from the base, too softly, too hard, not at the right times. Her betrothed certainly never ordered her around or forced her to do anything against her wishes, but that's exactly what she craved in the hour past midnight when she filled herself with toys, imagining being severely roughhoused.

His confidence grew. He was sure she would've stopped him by now if he was wrong.

"Suck," he stated, as if she had committed sacrilege by refusing to.

She turned her head back and forth as his flesh dragged across her face, spreading preliminary fluids.

"Suck my cock, whore," he commanded, his words hitting her harder than his hands ever could.

She opened up for a brief second, just long enough for him to thrust forward and enter her. His hands grasped the sides of her face, clasping her in place.

This man looming over her knew. He was counting on it. He wanted something different and he was hoping she did too. Maybe he should've ran this plan by someone else first, but it was too late now. He longed for this rush, the feeling of complete power. He pretended like it was for her sake too, but it was all selfish. He was sick of using pictures of her, he wanted the real thing.

Self-actualization is the highest step on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Google defines self-actualization as "the realization or fulfillment of one's talents and potentialities, especially considered as a drive or need present in everyone." She fulfilled her potential when she closed her eyes and let her tongue work up and down him. She savored the flavor, the smell, the mouth feel. All of it was exactly the same as the times before. His physical specimen was not particularly unique by any means, but it was her first time having something inside her that shouldn't be. This wasn't a quickie before bed or a Valentine's Day gift. This was different.

He let out a deep, guttural groan as she started to embrace the situation. His grip loosened. She started to bob up and down, twisting her head and using her spare hands to grab at his backside and rub the parts of his length that her mouth couldn't reach. She didn't know how to take him deep, but he certainly didn't mind. Her lipstick stained as her lips crossed the threshold of his tip over and over.

"That's a good girl..." his voice softened, rewarding her.

She could taste the chemical taste of her smeared lipstick, reminding her of the taboo nature of this encounter. She quickened her pace after hearing his gentle words, encouraged to earn more.

"Fuck, I'm... you're..." he trailed off, but she knew what he meant.

She braced herself and was ready when his juices flowed into her mouth. She kept them in her mouth for a moment, savoring the liquid trophy before consuming it and entering his essence into her belly. She moaned into his body, completely overtaken by the scenario.

He zipped his pants back up as she wiped her mouth clean.

"Are you going to call the police?" he asked, knowing her response.

"No," she muttered at a hundredth of the volume she had before.

"You have my number," he left her with as he walked away.

She smiled.