Page 65 of The Way We Rot
“It’s the gun.”
Her breath stuttered, and I watched her decide what to do. Squirm away or push back?
She pushed back. Of course she fucking did.
But the gun wasn’t lubed, and the little lubrication from her pussy was on my tongue, so all it did was apply more pressure.
“Good little killer,” I told her, then moved the weapon away, placing it on her bowed spine. “Stay still, let me work. If you move, I’ll take this gun and shoot, and neither of us will get our pleasure.”
I squirted the lube onto my fingers — not enough — and pushed inside her ass. She clenched, fighting off the intrusion at first.
“Relax,” I demanded. “Let me in.”
“Don’t you want this to hurt?” she asked, her voice muffled, her head in the pillow, hair splayed out.
She was such an erotic sight, bent like that for me, one hand attached to the headboard, the other clawing at my sheets, her back bowed, my revolver resting on her spine, two shots down.
Four to go.
“I want to be able to get in at all,” I told her, then fucked her with my fingers. She got two straight away, stretching and scissoring, just enough until her muscles gave, until there was enough slickness that I wouldn’t give myself some sort of cock burn.
“Hold your cheeks apart,” I demanded, and my balls throbbed when she did without question. This power dynamic that rippled between us made me sick, insatiable. She fell into it with such ease when we fucked, open to whatever I desired to do to her. It wasn’t trust, but it was a mutual goal.
I lined up my cock, rested the unlubed head against her ass, picked up the gun and aimed it at her skull, before shoving in.
I went slow, slower than I wanted, groaning at how tight and unwelcoming she was.
“Fuck!” she cried, pain edging her voice.
“Is it too much?” I asked, like that would make me stop.
She took a second, her breathing heavy, the muscles on her back tensing. “No.” A beat. “More.” Another beat. “Make it hurt.”
I slammed the rest of the way in, my hips crashing against her ass, against the hand she used to hold herself open for me.
My cock stretched her ass, almost too far, red and angry, and I touched there, I rubbed along her rim where she wrapped around me. She called my name, begged with it, so I moved, drawing my cock in and out of her, slamming home each time, fucking her ravaged. When I pulled out, her ass tugged, the skin of her rim tight and red.
Grunting, one hand where we met, the other holding the gun to her head, I leaned forward and pressed it to her skull harder.
How would it feel to fuck her while she died? Would her muscles clench or would she relax? Tighter orlooser? I debated it as I pumped my hips and let every image wash over me. Her turning blue, her blood gushing from the wound, my cock driving in and out of her dying body…
“Do you think your body would go even tighter if I blew your brains out now?” I asked, my breath coming out in punches.
“Find out,” she breathed, turning her head to look at me, moving the barrel to her temple. Our gazes locked, the gun between us, connected with my cock in her ass, and I didn’t stop.
I fucked her and fucked her, but I needed more. If I was going to do this, I had to see her eyes. Without pulling out, I flipped her onto her back, pushed her legs up to her ears and rested on her thighs, my entire body crushing hers, bent like a pretzel.
It put our faces close, within kissing distance, our breaths mingling. With the gun still on her temple as her breath panted out.
Would I feel her last one? Could I consume it? Suck it into myself as she sprayed blood over my bed…
“Do it,” she whispered, her eyes violent, alive. “Iwant to know.”
“Penelope.” Her name fell from me without meaning to, and my balls drew up, every sensation homing in on my cock, shooting down my spine, through each capillary. “Shit.”
“Do it,” she urged again, her free hand coming up to cup my face. She ran her thumb under my eye, watching me as I fucked her in the ass, as she took it all. She groaned, breathing picking up. “I’m close.”
I pulled the trigger.
