Story Writer

It’s not that he wonders how you ended in the same basement as him, but he wonders why such a pretty thing like you is still there smiling at him.

He wonders why you still haven’t asked who invited him to the party, or what’s his major, even if he studies at one of the fancy universities you all go to every day.

He wonders if you’ve recognized that he’s too dumb to even be there, that by the way he didn’t enter any of the conversations shitting renamed professors he has no idea what’s everyone talking about, or maybe that he hasn’t even finished high school.

He’s just there to sell overpriced weed to polish kids, and if he’s wearing a nice sweater to blend in, it’s because the asshole that visited his part-time job left it in a table, just like the garbage he was supposed to toss, and never went back to ask for it.

But you don’t make a single question, except a shy, can I have some?

He’s so bewildered by such a pretty thing like you still talking to him, a girl that looks like the kind that went on vacations to France every year with both her parents and that lives in one of those neighborhoods in which people had big green illuminated front yards, that he doesn’t doubt to pass you the joint.

You take it from his hand with the sweetest smile he has ever seen and smoke it with an easiness that makes it clear to him that it’s your first time trying something like that.

Well, he doubts any of those polish kids hasn’t tried at least weed once in their lives, after all, one even asked him if he had crystal before buying 5 grams and telling him you should bring some next time while giving him a crisp bill from the bunch he had inside his leather wallet, a wallet so expensive he hadn’t recognized the brand, nothing like the Levi’s one he’s been using ever since someone gifted it to him at his first job and that had a Ross’ tag inside.

He doesn’t try to make any conversation. He accepts the joint back when you hand it to him and inhales from it before putting one of his hands between his legs to calm his nerves. The drug hasn’t kicked quite yet, so his nervousness hasn’t diminished in the slightest.

‘’It’s boring upstairs, isn’t?’’ You comment. It’s obvious you’re trying to make some small conversation to fill the uncomfortable silence. He wished you didn’t, though. He’s there because he’s tired of listening to people rambling upstairs everywhere. They’re in the kitchen, making a mess with liquors he has never tried buying alone, in the backyard, laughing from how drunk they are, and in the living room, dancing to loud music with no lyrics.

He couldn’t even hide on the second floor because if a room wasn’t closed, there was people inside fucking.

The only decent place he found was this basement full of storage boxes, a giant freezer that interrupted the dead silence with its buzz and a pile of dust accumulating over old furniture.

Still, he nods with a shy grin, because he’s not as dumb to not know this is probably the only time a girl as pretty as you will talk to him this way, sitting right next to him in the last step of a narrow staircase.

‘’I don’t mean to sound rude, but you don’t seem like the kind of guy that comes to these places,’’ you continue, not minding that he’s still silent.

‘’Because I’m not an asshole?’’ he asks, mind a little too cloudy to stop him from spitting that.

When he realizes what he has just said he turns to see you with a terrified expression, but to his surprise you start to laugh so hard your eyes become smaller and it echoes in the empty room.

‘’Exactly,’’ you agree with him.

He grins then.

You’re so out of his league he has to pinch his hand to realize that yeah, this is really happening, and you’re there, laughing with him, not at him.

‘’I had something to do,’’ he looks down again, fidgeting with the end of his own sweater.

You inhale hard, looking around the room as if there was something you were searching for. Probably the words to get to the point.

‘’Sell weed, you mean,’’ you whisper, as if anyone could hear the illegal act he was doing.

He raises his head, trying to recognize from your face if you find his side hustle as inappropriate or if you’re looking for something from him.

‘’Yeah, want some more?’’ he says in a whisper too. There’s no acid in his words, he’s even saying it with humor, as if it was just a joke. Although, he realizes almost immediately that he would gladly give you some if you asked for it, if not everything he has.

You grin at his comment, finding this sudden liberty from him amusing. You have to admit, you find this side of him a little charming. You’ve been looking at him ever since you saw him in a group, nodding, obviously bored as fuck, at everything those guys in your class said. Those boys were real assholes, so seeing at someone so clearly tired of them despite the insane amount of money all their families had, impressed you a little. It felt as if he couldn’t care less about them, as if they were nothing in his mind.

Kind of refreshing.

if anyone asked you, you would say that, especially after how everyone was so obsessed with networking these days.

‘’Well, I’ll be damned,’’ you exclaim. ‘’I didn’t expect you to say it so freely.’’

‘’Nothing to be ashamed,’’ he giggles timidly, his face looking down trying to hide his own amusement.

You shake your head; that’s definitely the weed talking. He finishes the joint in his hand and tosses it to the floor without care. That minuscule white resting piece falls in slow-motion, flying from where you are sitting in the stairs to the darkness in the end of it.

You open your eyes surprised when he takes out from his crossbody a new one. It’s already rolled, which leaves you wondering, how many is he carrying inside that bag?

There’s something about him that just doesn’t match. With how much he moved his shoulders, it felt as if he didn’t find himself comfortable in his own clothes. His eyes kept looking around the entire house, as if he was learning something new in life. He, simply, couldn’t blend in the room to save his life, which made you more curious during the night.

It's just, he’s not from here, he’s not supposed to be here, and despite his vicuña sweater and his pretty face, you can immediately notice that.

When you found him in the kitchen, he was alone mixing for himself a rum with coke that made him frown at the taste. When you saw him go to the garden, the disgusted expression in his face after a girl throwed up in some flowers made you laugh. When you were about to go upstairs to search for your best friend, he had stopped you, warning you that there were people fucking everywhere, an act of kindness not many would’ve minded doing.

You see him lighting the joint, rotating it with experience as the flame burns bright. The orange glow stays on for a few seconds, and then, after he checks the tip with his eyes, unexpectedly, he gives it to you with a silly smile. A new act of kindness, you think, to give you the first drag.

It wasn’t in your mind to have a smoking session with this cute unknown guy, but you’re not even sure what your real intentions were when you decided to follow him downstairs. You don’t mind the actual context, though. You accept it with no words, gladly taking that first hit to satisfy him. You take a second, and a third, and just then you pass it to him.

You two smoke in silence, passing the weed to each other, breathing in the smoke that has no way of scaping the room because of how unventilated it is.

‘’We’re hotboxing this place,’’ you say after a while.

He dumbly nods and a snort escapes his mouth as if you just said the funniest thing in the world, and you laugh too, noticing after seconds of not stopping that you’re way too high.

The smoke is visible in both your eyes. It’s surrounding you, engulfing you, almost as if you were interrupting its space. You’re feeling more and more relaxed, and you don’t mind anymore that your uncovered shoulder is touching his clothed one. It feels comfortable, and when you turn your head to look at him, suddenly he looks very inviting, so much that your head goes to rest on it.

The vicuña is so fucking soft against your cheek that you melt.

He doesn’t become stiff or anything, if not, he crouches so you can accommodate closer.

His head falls against yours and he blinks slowly, as if time stops and seconds become larger. His senses become dizzy, yet something inside him jolts. His skin scorches and it reminds him that he’s getting high with a gorgeous girl beside him, and that, just as him, she’s getting way too high too. His eyes move to inspect you, to see if you’re as affected as him, but the way your eyes close and a frown appears between your eyebrows leaves clear that you’re way more fucked up than him.

And that lights something hotter inside him.

The way he desperately gets closer is clumsy, awkward, and the kiss is so stiff he would run away ashamed if he was on all his senses.

Your mouth opens to him uncertain and its stone-like as he tries to make the kiss less awkward. You inhale harder as he gives you a second to pause but quickly lose your air again when he pushes you to the wall behind you with a loud thud.

You’re still sitting but everything becomes an unmanageable situation as he pushes one of your knees higher so he can situate between your legs. It’s the most awful make out session you’ve ever had, and the worst part is you don’t even feel you’re part of it with how dizzy your head is.

Your elbow hits a step and you hiss against his lips because of the striking pain. Sadly, he doesn’t stop despite the way your hurting arm stretches to push his shoulder. Your hand weakly tries to put distance between your bodies but his hand, with a strange strength, grabs it and lifts it so you stop disrupting the moment.

Your whines come out as groggy as you can’t form the words to tell him how you feel. The aroma of the weed that made you giddy just minutes before makes you nauseous now, and your eyes can’t stay open to see his face. You’re slightly afraid of how he feels like a complete stranger again as you can’t distinguish him in the limp light.

It’s not nice, definitely not what you expected from him.

He pulls away only when he feels nauseous too.

His forehead falls to your chest, and you think of shoving him away from what it feels an opportunity to leave, but as he starts hyperventilating you can’t help but feel concerned. You struggle as you lift his face to see him. He looks really bad, as if he’s about to throw up, and you try to calm him at cradling his face and staring at him. His eyes stick together with a look of pain, and he starts taking air with an open mouth. You don’t know if he’s about to throw up over you or if he’s having a panic attack.

‘’Hey,’’ you then shake his shoulder. You start getting a little more conscious as the panic installs on you too. ‘’What’s going on? Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah,’’ he nods, gulping for air. ‘’It’s just— I’m not usually like this, I swear.’’

You have no reason to believe him. You don’t know him at all, and you doubt you’ll ever get closer to him again in life. Still, you nod, because your head is still spinning and you have no idea of what to say to that statement.

Holding onto a higher step you try to stand up. Your legs are wobbly, and you feel a rush of acid going up your throat as you raise from your position.

Before you can fully stand, he grabs your dress and pulls you down with force to your previous spot. Not only your arms stings now, but your ass cheeks that have impacted against the wood do too.

‘’I’m not like this,’’ he repeats. His face has changed. His eyes are blown out and his breath continues being uneven. However, his grip doesn’t falter for a single second. ‘’You have to believe me.’’

You’re terrified. The unharmful guy you thought you saw before is nowhere around.

His image has changed to something you don’t think you’ve seen before.

‘’Okay, I believe you,’’ you say, wanting to finish the interaction as soon as possible and go upstairs where there’s a bunch of people around. You don’t want to be alone with him a single minute more.

His eyes are dark and his mouth closes. He seems to have regained his stability, and that makes you shake of fear because you’re sure you’re about to be eaten alive.

Both your hands go up to find support in a step so you can impulse yourself up and run upstairs. You’re ready to bolt when his hands grip your waist and drags you down the last steps. He easily tows you like a mere object, making you cry of pain as your knees and legs get scratched in the process. You’re sure you have purple spots flourishing your skin, if not blood emerging.

You can’t move because of the excruciating pain that have your legs paralyzed. You can feel your skin down there throbbing, something you had never felt before.

The sting has you tearing and gripping wood as you try to regain some strength.

You can’t move your body but that doesn’t stop you from trying to step over the floor to regain some control over yourself.

Sadly, a scream escapes your mouth and your legs flatter as his hands lift your skirt until your skimpy underwear is showing. You’re ashamed as his hands open your cheeks and the film clothing piece gets stuck between your lips. Your hand moves to behind you to push him away but before you do it one of his fingers pulls the string teasingly to rub your clit with the fabric.

‘’Wait,’’ you try to call him with a hesitant voice. ‘’Stop, please, I’m sorry for bothering you.’’

Your words come out disorderly and you repeat them again as if that’s going to make him react.

You shut up only because one of his hands wraps around your throat as he bends down to press his chest against your back and his other hand clamps your waist like a handle. The uncovered skin of behind your thighs grazes the hard fabric of his jeans, and he pulls your body to hump you like a sex toy. Your hips sway trying to get away, but you can’t dodge what you feel is his forming erection.

He repeats the motion, fucking you with clothes on, colliding and scrapping your delicate skin with the scrappy material of his jeans.

You soon realize that the previous scenario was the best one you could’ve found yourself at as you hear a clint behind you produced by him undoing his belt.

Panic fills you as your senses continue spinning.

By the way his hips moved unsteadily you know that he’s not on all his senses either, but it’s way easier for him to control his own body than you can do with yours.

You believe you can still escape as a vertigo hits you and one of your hands against the hardwood of the expensive basement flakes and makes you lose your balance, making you almost crash your face against a step.

Somehow, he steadies you up with his hand around your throat, and you despise that you feel the impulse of thanking him, as if he wasn’t the one who put you in that position.

‘’Careful,’’ he murmurs in your ear. ‘’Your face is too pretty to be marked.’’ You whine at his weak voice. It sounds as if hurting yourself hurts him too, as if he was still full of sympathy in that moment.

A shook runs between your legs to your stomach and a tingling sensation installs on your lower abdomen.

You have no idea why it’s throbbing.

It’s maybe the unescapable situation and the way you have no option but to take him, but you feel slick pouring and wetting the softer fabric of his boxers, probably getting ready for what’s about to come.

The form of his hard cock is undeniable; you can feel its thickness and every edge as his underwear sticks and it nestles between your lips, making your walls clench at the idea of him splitting you open and ruining you forever.

When you looked at him with curiosity you didn’t think he would be so relevant in your life, yet he was about to make you never forget him.

‘’You came to me, don’t forget that,’’ he whispers on your ear as his hand goes to pull the last fabric separating you, that drenched piece of clothing that did nothing to protect you from feeling all of him.

His words make your skin prickle. You contain a cry, because you put yourself in that situation. He never dragged you there; you opened that door that said ‘’Do not enter’’ with red letters willingly, you closed it behind you, and you followed him downstairs. You remember his innocent eyes looking up at you surprised, and the way you thought he was adorable as he kept his confused eyes on you as you took the steps enough to sit beside him.

His cock bounces heavily as he pulls down his underwear and it shamelessly slaps your behind.

You drip so much you feel your wetness leak to the floor in a long line.

His hand is not around your neck anymore. You’re a lot tamer now too, so you guess, he has no reason to hold you with strength anymore.

Not that he ever did in first place.

His hand around your throat never pressed hard enough to hurt you. At most, when he saved you, he used it like an anchor to protect you. You stayed silent out of fear, but he was never aggressive with it.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he says, interrupting your wandering thoughts.

You don’t understand why he is apologizing as he helps you lift your hips and therefore your knees from the floor. You’re like a deer trying to give it first steps with your shaky legs not being able to support you on your own. You need his help to plant your feet over the floor just as you hold yourself with your hands set on a step at the same time.

You hear him kicking his jeans and he, standing behind you, helps you stay up with both hands holding your hips. He’s perfectly situated behind you, and you feel his cock poking at your entrance more sloppily than teasingly with its leaking head. It doesn’t feel like he’s doing it on purpose with the way he moves up and down his shaft just to be embraced with your folds.

Still, it feels like he’s relishing with it.

You hear him groan like he’s discovered something better than drugs. He continues with the oscillation, not stopping as something in his chest vibrates and his legs quiver of pleasure.

You bite your lips to not leave any filthy sound like his. His flesh might be massaging your clit and folds, but you keep yourself strong enough to not show the effect he has on you.

Everything crumbles when his finger pulls your underwear to the side and his head finally enters you.

You whine again, this time more like a moan than a cry, as your folds stretch to accept him.

You shake your head because no words come out of you. He’s way too big, which creates a scramble of meaningless words in your head as you can’t describe the humiliating relieve that has you crying and trembling as you become stuffed. You feel that tingle inside your lower abdomen intensifying as he slowly buries into you, a sting arriving as your lips open to take him inside. He’s so thick and you’re so tight, you’re slightly grateful that you were dripping as much as you did, because if you hadn’t, he would’ve probably teared you.

Air can’t enter your lungs when he bottoms out, staying still for long second so you can get used to him.

‘’It’ll be just a second, I promise,’’ he says as he leans on your back again. He’s holding you firmly so you don’t fall, and he can still do it when he removes one from its place thanks to the other dedicated to protecting you.

The one he decides can roam around goes to caress your abdomen with his palm. You don’t understand what he’s looking for until he presses that entire palm and pushes slightly harder his fingers in search of himself. You moan painfully as he accentuates his form in your guts.

It’s not painful per se, you’re sure it’s not supposed to hurt but the way he’s filled you to the brim already has you panting for air, so you don’t doubt that any kind of pressure there would make you equally as wrecked.

He seems to notice that you can’t take anything more apart from his cock, that you’re already on your limits of becoming a drunk mess, so he removes his hand from there and trails down softly, inspecting your skin with grazes, almost affectionally, as if he was looking for a way to make the experience less overwhelming to you and your already broken body.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he continues. His lips go to your shoulder and lay a kiss over your shoulder. He follows a path towards your spine and makes you shudder with merely those pecks over your skin. It’s soothing and arousing at the same time, causing your walls to flutter despite his pause at fucking you. His fingertips continue browsing, and then he exhales, his body falling a little more over you, relieved.  ‘’You’re not bleeding, so It’s okay, you’re okay, I haven’t hurt you.’’

That fucks the last sanity in your mind. Your eyes get wet again and your lower lip trembles, a rush of emotions striking you like a bolt.

Before you can talk, not that you have any idea of what you want to tell him, he slips out, leaving only the tip inside you, finding the right angle to then thrust.

It’s not brutal, not hard, not cruel. He doesn’t force you to take him. It’s like your body became familiar with him already in just those minutes, as if it adapted to take him and only him from that moment on.

You sniff, trying to not cry audibly. It’s fucked up, everything is. From the way his cock is still bullying your insides as he blurts apologies to the way your pussy clenches to not let him go.

You hear the loud squelch of your pussy dripping down and his balls slapping your clit. The wet sound echoes in the room and you have to contain the need to moan of pleasure.

It would be a blatant lie to say your body isn’t responding to his touch. It feels like you were made for him, holding him tight and accommodating your core to be the perfect place for him to be at. You recognize the veins he has, and the way it slightly curves up to stimulate a spot in you that has never been punched as precisely as he’s doing it right now.

His hands are unyielding, not letting you go for a second in fear of you falling. He’s making sure you’re being taken care of, that you’re held safely and that nothing hurts you.

However, he also notices that your legs are having a harder time staying up with each thrust he gives.

He stops his movement as you almost fall again.

‘’Would you like to lie down?’’

He sounds worried. Despite your need to finish as soon as possible, you turn to see him. You hate that he’s still gorgeous. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and all his face is flushed with sweat. His cheeks glow adorably, and you want to protest because how could someone look so good doing something so bad?

You only nod.

You’ve accepted your fate. You’ve already crossed the line. You’ve already been forced to cross it. Your arms tremble from the position you’ve been receiving him at, and you allow him to help you stand straight. He removes some hairs sticking to your face, then cradles your face, swiping off the black rests of eyeliner that are all messy after tearing up ever since your knees started to ache.

He looks at you with pity, like you’re a deer that was just hit by his car. You feel like that, ashamed for having stopped to receive the impact despite the bright lights blinding you.

His hands go down your neck, running over the expanse of it before they go further and find the straps of your dress. He looks at you nervously, as if asking for permission before he pull them and make your dress fall. It easily leaves you uncover. You weren’t wearing a bra, so in that moment you were standing only wearing your panties that were still on the side, leaving your bare cunt completely exposed.

His eyes roamed your body, not believing that such a pretty girl was naked in front of him. He felt undeserving, like what in the world could he have done to deserve such a gift?

As many things in his life, of course, he just takes what he wants without a word.

He takes his nice sweater off and lies it over the floor. He does the same with his shirt, creating a long enough space for you to lie over without having to touch the dirty floor directly.

You wait for him to finish the improvised nest of love before you accept his hand that guides you to sit over it to then push you until your back fall.

Your legs open without question. The skin over your knees that expand to make that position possible sting, and you whine because it takes you time to get used to the pain again. It’s not as bad as when you were kneeling, but it does hurt more than when you were standing. He notices that and to soothe the pain he leaves a few kisses around the overstretched skin as an apology.

Soon, he feels he’s done enough, and his palm goes to open your folds so he can penetrate you again.

The new position feels more intense. The curve of his cock is perfectly invading you, which causes him to choke on a groan as his eyes roll. Your hips jolt as he strikes in harder, surely lost in the intense pleasure your cunt is giving him. He opens his eyes to continue looking at you because it’s not only that; your tits shaking as he thrusts, your mouth falling open to softly moan and your drunk face that can’t be hidden anymore.

Before he felt great fucking you from behind, but the picture of you facing him as he takes everything you have is way better— Easier to get lost in.

His naked chest is as red as his face, glossing with the sweat that runs his skin and that also reaches you in little drops splashing you. You’re sweating too, but it’s nothing to the amount of moisture he’s exuding.

You can’t judge him though. If he’s making a mess over your skin with his sweat, you’re making a mess over his with your slick.

It’s almost disgusting how much of it it’s pouring out of you. With each thrust it amplifies the sound of both skins slapping and it smears on his bush apart from splashing over his entire pelvic. You feel dirty with the amount of fluids you’re getting covered with and covering him. You never believed when girls talked about messy sessions, but now you saw how, indeed, it is possible to have obscene pornographic sex.

The sounds both of you make are depraved. His grunts, whines, and your moans, all combined with the noise your connected parts do are straight out of a cheap porno.

It becomes wilder as he pushes your legs higher, until they almost touch your breast, and his upper body buries you under him as he drills into you deeper.

Your pussy is all relaxed now, slackly even, as it gaps when he pulls out and sucks him back. He’s been fucking you for too long. Your cunt is all slippery, yet clinging to him as you get closer to what you believe is an orgasm.

His mouth opens and his warm breathing blows directly at your face. You don’t mind, head spacing out too much to even find the temperature of it gross. Your mouth is open too, and your sight is all hazy to concentrate on anything that’s not your cunt being split open.

He plants his feet over the floor, raising his pelvis so he’s hovering you and his cock hits more profound than before. That’s what pushes you over an unknown hill of sensations. Your moans, the sloppy noise your cunt does, his grunts, everything becomes louder as his speed, force and precision increases.

He’s crushing you, ruining you, turning into dust any ounce of self-respect you had for yourself.

Because, how could you rejoice in something so sickening this much?

Your mind is all mushy. He sobs as his cock spurts inside you and doesn’t pull out. He plunges into you, not daring to leave a drop of his cum out of your womb. If possible, he wants to flood you, mark you so no one else dares to touch his new property.

Your mind, your body and your world shatters in white explosions in front of your eyes as your walls convulse and warm liquid gushes out of you directly to his stomach. He says nothing as you continue spamming under him, little rests of juices still wetting him. They're making a mess over his clothes under you, yet he can't care less about not having what to wear to leave the party like a normal person. You two are dripping, way too musky, and glowing from the post orgasm for anyone to not know what happened in that basement anyways.

Although you’re not sure of what version of the events your mind shows you to believe in.