Erotica by William Crimson
- I’ve had much time to just live since my last post. I’ve discovered some things about myself. First, I’m an erotic writer. For some reason, this is the niche I agreed to before coming into this world. So, if this is my gift, then I need to share it. In truth, I really love the mystery and beauty of our eroticism. And here’s the second thing. I think what really got to me is that I felt like my writing was about the sex rather than the people. Hopefully, this new story will start a new way of thinking about the stories I tell — a new reason to write. I don’t necessarily want to solve the mystery of sex, but maybe explore it in a new chapter of writing. I hope you enjoy it.
She was on the back of the pickup track. To be precise, she was on the lowered tailgate, leaning back on her elbows and her skinny legs were spread wide open. Her head was bent forward, backed up as she was against a crate, a table saw and some boxes. The thrusting between her legs made her knobby elbows slip, made her fingers spread and or try to grip the corrugated truck bed. She couldn’t get any purchase.
She looked up at Jake, her eyes staring with shock. Each thrust shook her. Each thrust curled her youthful voice upward like a confused question mark. She worse a purple sleeveless top. Her nipples poked underneath it. Her jean mini-skirt hadn’t needed to be moved or rucked up. Her white underwear hung from her left ankle, lifted like the other one, with red tennis shoes. She bit her lips but the next powerful thrust parted them.
She acted like she wanted to escape, like she was fighting him. But she didn’t try to close her legs. The heel of her hands slipped on the corrugated truck bed when she tried to push away. Every now and then she grunted as she tried to scoot back, tried to sit up, glancing at the cock going in and out of her, then at his eyes, his expression, before her own eyes began glaze, before her cries, in time with the thrusts, rose until she’d slip back down to the edge of the tailgate, the V of her abdomen falling against his flat pelvis. She’d arch, eyes rolling, fists beating the tail gate. She’d bite her lip. She’d gaze upward at the sky, blue with a smattering of clouds, as if she were losing herself somewhere in them and above herself.
Jake was a big man and a big cock. He was ten years older. He liked Jessy, liked that she looked younger than she was, liked that she was skinny as a rail, that she looked illegal. He was wearing tanned carpenter pants and a jacket. He was sweating, His large hands, calloused, held the girl tight. His thumbs pressed pressed into her at either side of her belly button.
They were off the side of a state route, almost like they’d stop for a flat tire. Whatever had happened, had happened quick. There was only one car that passed by while he was fucking the girl, slowed, watched what was being done, then shot by them with a squeal of tires. The powerful thrusts didn’t stop. Neither did her cries.
She stiffened. She shouted with frustration. She was staring straight up at the sky, twisting, trying to grab at anything, beating the truck bed, a tear dampening the dark brown wisps at her temple. Her eyes suddenly widened with surprise, she inhaled like she’d been prodded with a live wire, she rose up, arching, off the truck bed once. Twice. Then hiccupped and bowed like dying animal, head thrown back, eyes white, fingers spread, stiffly and helplessly jolting on the cock hooked upward inside her
Jake lost his balance. He half leaned, half fell forward, one arm curling under the small of her back, the sharp coil of her small spine, the other over her shoulder.
“Look at me!” he shouted. “God damn it, look at me!”
She made the effort, shuddering, shaking, her breath come to a stop, looking at him, his gaze inches from hers. She looked like she was in pain as she quivered on the cock in her center. Another jolt, and then another shook her before her gaze faded into a kind of beaten exhaustion. He thrust hard, purposefully, quickening.
“Look at me,” he snarled again. “Don’t turn away. I want you looking right in eyes when I dod this.”
She did, expectantly, maybe even submissively he would have said, before he violently shook, and she along with him, a second time.
He held her like that, dead still, riding the pleasure until it was through and done.
When he straightened and pulled out, a gush of semen slipped out of her, matting the short, shaved fur of her pussy. He tucked his cock in his pants and zipped. “Get up,” he said.
She did, slowly, warily, never taking his eyes from him. She lifted her left ankle and pulled off her underwear, then squatted. Semen dampened the dirt under her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“No you don’t!”
A dribble of semen and piss streaked her thigh before she could stop it. “Jesus, Jake!” She shouted. He grabbed her by the elbow and half threw her into the pickup’s cab. “What about my underwear.”
“You don’t need it. What the fuck do you need it for now?”
He slammed shut the driver side door, cranked the engine, and pulled into the road.
“Don’t prove a fucking thing,” she muttered, voice shaking, like she was afraid to talk.
“You liked it.”
“Doesn’t mean I fucking liked it, Jake.”
“You fucking liked it, girl. You fucking liked filled with a big cock.”
“It’s not like that.”
Jake slapped the steering wheel with his fist. “Yeah!” he shouted. “It is fucking like that.”
“No!” she screamed. “I hated it. I hate you. I fucking hate you!”
He knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. His eyes bulged. He swiped at the corner of one eye before violently gripping the steering wheel again, glaring at the road ahead as if she didn’t exist.
“You came in me,” she almost whispered.
“Yeah, guess that’s gonna’ be a little awkward with you hatin’ me now. Maybe you should’ve decided that before there was a piece of me inside you.”
“Doesn’t mean you fucking own me now.”
“Well, it kinda’ does, actually.”
“No!” she snarled. “It doesn’t!”
“You could’ve stopped it. Me.”
“Really? No, you fucking ra‒”
“Don’t you say it, Jessy!” he roared. “Don’t you fucking say it.”
“You didn’t say no. Not once. You looked me right in the eye. I told you: look me right in the eye! You’re no fucking better than me, Jessy.” His voice heaved with emotion. “You’re no better than me. You wanted it just like I did. Is it so bad I want to own you? I get so fucking tired of the bullshit. I’m done with the bullshit, Jessy.”
The girl shook, but her posture had changed. She pressed her thighs together and shuddered. “I’m fucking soaked,” she half laughed, half cried. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I hope you got some armor all.” She opened her thighs. The faded blue vinyl of the seat was glistening and slick with the flood of moisture spilling from between her thighs.
“You smell better than the fucking armor all.”
She slid across the bench seat, half on the side of her hip, bare knees pressed and sliding together. She forced his gaze away from the road, forced his lips against hers, forced him to hit the breaks and drive onto gravelly berm. She kissed him hard, fingers pressing into his cheeks. Their lips parted. She licked hers. “Keep driving,” she said. She sucked at her lower lip before kissing his neck, the space between his collar bones, then lower, then the head of his cock. Jake pulled back into the road. His lips parted.