#timostories

[theconceptoftheriverflowing]

Lucky 33.

One hand squeezes the back of your neck. With enough pressure to keep you in place, but not hard enough to hurt you. “Don’t move”, he tells you in a low voice,  bringing his face next to your ear; so you stay put but tonight you feel slightly different. The room is crowded, filled with people you don’t know, perhaps a few acquaintances here and there but mostly strangers to you. Gustavo Silt, a classmate of Timmy back in LaGuardia, had an art exhibition over in 33rd street. A tool, really. “Is painting with a very modern twist. Is like a combination of Tintoretto and some Schiele squeezed in there. Plus, some Van Dyck. Hahaha, you wouldn’t understand, I know that for a fact. Just know this…it was made with love.”  You had rolled your eyes and he had sent a quick wink in your direction when Timmy wasn’t looking. The last two times you had encountered him, he had cornered you in some hallway, telling you how much he liked your sweater, “It’s Timmy’s actually.” you had answered, “Well, it looks way better on you.” , or what a beautiful smile you had. He wasn’t ugly or anything like it, so you enjoyed the flirting and even responded to it.  So he was a bit of a douche but who the fuck wasn’t? It was innocent in your eyes. Timothée was your boyfriend and you loved him so you didn’t really see him as a problem. Tim on the other hand, did. Hell, he saw everything and everyone as a problem, a threat. You remember that one time you guys went out to meet with Armie and Elizabeth over at Williamsburg for a couple of drinks, and just before going inside the bar a guy had smiled at you and you had smiled back. He had looked at you enraged. “ What the f—?! What was that?You’re fucking mine, don’t you fucking forget it, Y/N”. While grabbing you by the neck harshly forcing you to look at him. “ What the hell, Timothee! I didn’t do anything”-“You better not.” he had said, while letting go of your neck and pushing you inside the bar first. All smiles and jokes throughout the rest of the night, as if nothing had happened. You were sure Armie knew about this side of Timothée because you had catch him on more than one occasion looking at you in a way that could only be described as sympathy. Which in return only made you feel embarrassed and stupid, yet here you were.

Gustavo had made some inappropriate comment about the way your dress hugged your hips just right, motioning his hands in a shape of an hourglass, causing the other five people present to look at you. Put on the spot like that made you blushed uncontrollably and Timo had witnessed everything on his way back from the bar, standing on some corner, watching. You had approached Gustavo and had told him to stop, and his response had been, “Make me.” Jesus. You were about to make some snarky comment when suddenly Timmy appears next to you, eyeing the both of you, looking amused. “I’m sorry did I miss anything? Haha, I hope not! Please, do continue.”  He had said with a smile on his face, looking at you in that oh so familiar way. On the surface he looked fine, but you knew better. Tonight you were not about to deal with his fucking bullshit, however. But before you respond anything, Gustavo does “ Only that your girl here is fine as hell, man.” Timmy had smiled at him, more of a grin really, small wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “She is, she is, too bad she’s mine.” And then he had kiss you in front of everyone. Grabbing your face with both hands; possessive, controlling, opening up his mouth wide and pushing his tongue inside you. You had to push him away because it was really close to becoming a scene and frankly you felt embarrassed. When he finally separates from you he puts his hand on the back on your neck, on a tight grip. Which honestly, takes you by surprise. And when you try to bend down to untangled the bottom of your dress which had gotten caught on one of your heels he says “Don’t move”. You had looked at him, as if asking what was wrong and he had ignored you completely. During the rest of the night, whenever people approached the both of you, he would make it any which way possible to avoid letting you join the conversation. Not looking at you either. Hand still gripping the back of your neck, like a fucking dog. Suddenly The Cardigan’s I need some fine wine and you need to be nicer, pops into your head.

Sit, bad dog. Stay, bad dog. Down. Roll over.

Which only makes you angrier with each passing minute. After almost two hours of having been forced to remain in this position and tired of being humiliated in public like this, in front of all his friends, you had pulled away from him abruptly, causing him to lose his balance and drop his glass of champagne on the floor, shattered in a million pieces and smearing some of it on his pants. All the while looking at you stunned and in confusion. Now everyone’s eyes were on him. But you had not given two shits about it and instead had walked away, heading straight towards the elevator.  He can really go fucking himself. I'm done. You keep repeating in your head, like a mantra.  You press the button on the elevator so the the doors open and you go in. Fuck him, fuck this and fuck everything. You haven’t been this angry in so long that you’re afraid tears are gonna come out any minute. Yes, you’re one of those. You start shaking, hands bundled up into fists, hugging yourself tightly. Calm down, just calm down, Calm do— As the doors of the elevator begin to close, suddenly two pair of hands pry them open and there he is. His chest heaving up and down, trying to catch his breath, clearly he had ran to catch up to you, that must’ve been fun to watch. His tall scrawny figure standing right in the middle while still holding the elevator door’s open. Eyes on you, burning through you. His hair a fucking mess, all over his face, you can barely make out his eyes (but you know the intention behind them). Fucking lunatic, you think to yourself. If this were any other night, you would've been scared, apologetic and so on. Tonight however, something had been swelling up, growing inside you. The instinct to finally speak up. So whatever he had in store for you, you were more than sure, he was gonna get it right back.

You both lock eyes with each other and a tension starts to grow rapidly. The small space of the elevator, feels even smaller now. He finally goes in and the elevator doors closes. He turns around and presses a random number, 33. “Lucky 33.” he says. So the elevator starts to go up and then he turns to you again. Still no words have been said. But you both keep holding each other’s gaze, and if daring one another to do otherwise. He finally breaks the silence, “That little fucking show you put on tonight with that fucking asshole not only made me feel embarrassed but sorry for you. If you wanted to get fucked so badly all you had to do was ask. ” Your eyes widened, as you shake your head in disbelief, and the damn tears start to come out. “You know what Timmy? You can really go fuck yourself. What a sad little man you are!” His face is one for the books. A mix of bewilderment, anger, disapproval and finally arousal. Which only encourages  you to keep going. “How fucking insecure can you be despite being hollywood’s boyfriend right now. You cry like a little bitch whenever somebody dares to look at your girl. Which is you know, me. If anything you should be proud and honored to have somebody like me next to you, yet you keep putting me down, over and over, making me feel like shit. Because you enjoy it. How fucking cruel can you be? Who made you like this?”  Word after word coming out, and you’re unable to stop yourself. The more you talk, the closer he gets to you. Nodding, as if agreeing with you and saying shit like “ Oui, Oui. D’accord. Yep, you’re right. Oh, really? tell me more.” and you start backing up, unaware of your movements. Soon you end up in the corner of the elevator and while you talk and cry telling him how much he makes you sick, he lowers himself to keep at eye level with you, while putting both his hands on either side of you. “I don’t want to be with you anymore! I fucking hate you! ” You scream and  he nods again, “Oh, I know you do, I know you do…” He then turns his face on the opposite direction, to look at the floor indicator, mouthing the numbers passing by, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.. You can’t fucking believe this, incredulous to his behavior. You’re sure you’re about to kick the shit out of him.

“How much you wanna bet that I can make you cum before we even reached the 33rd floor?”, he says,  followed by that goddamn smirk. He’s so fucking sure of himself and you hate it. Contemplating various ways to actually kill him in this damn elevator. “You need fucking help, you know that? You’re not good in the head, Timmy. I really mean that. I don’t want anything from you. Now please move.” You bring your hands up to his chest and push him away but he only pushes you harder against the wall. Grabbing your face with both hands, kissing you hard and licking a tear that started to run down your cheek. Fuck, not again. “ Omg, fucking move away from me!” and then you’re slapping him hard on his face. One time, two times. On his face, his chest, shoulders, everywhere, all the while pushing him away and cursing at him, but the damn bastard is strong, towering over you, barely moving an inch. Everytime you slap him, pull his hair or try to scratch his face, he pushes into you even more, your ass press against the wall, almost painfully. “That’s it, keep going.” he says to you, with a huge smile on his face. He’s fucking hard as a rock, you feel his cock brushing against your pussy with every move you make, in turn making you extremely aroused and angry all at once. Damn him for having this effect on you. Suddenly he grabs both your hands, keeping them on a tight grip on his left hand, and pulling them over your head. With his right, he grabs you by the waist, lifting you up from the floor; your legs automatically wrap around his hips, pushing him impossibly closer.

“Ça suffit ., hmm?” [That’s enough]. He says to you. You try to calm down, trying to normalize your breathing. Your entire body covered in sweat from the movements made before, eyes swollen from the crying, hair all over your face now, too. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”, and you try, yet again to unleash from his grip, but to no avail. He shakes his head, No. “Jamais” [Never]. He brings his face close to yours, eyes fixated on you, never breaking contact. “You hate me?”  he says in a soft voice. But you don’t respond, instead you look away. You just passed the 14th floor. He then grinds against your pussy, making you open your legs further, a small moan escapes your lips, and then he has your full attention. “Fucking answer me. Do you hate me?” So you nod. And he does the same, mimicking your movement “You do? You hate me. Let’s see how much you hate me.” By now you’re close to dripping, pussy all wet, press against his cock, and you hate yourself for it.  He lets go of the grip in your hands, and instead of going right back to slapping him, you put both your hands on his hair, bringing his face close to yours. Holding up his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he brings his free hand up to his mouth, licking the palm, a small string of saliva hanging from his lips, and then bringing it right back down between your legs. In a swift move he had pulled the sim of your panties aside and had put two fingers up inside your cunt. Without warning he starts fingering you, almost like a punishment. The unexpected assault had made you start screaming and whimpering, and he had buried his face in your neck, leaving a deep purple mark there.The force of his fingers going in and out of you, had made your body start to tremble, afraid of falling down. But he had adjusted the hold he had on your waist and you knew you were not going anywhere.

“Oh fuck, Oh my god.” You knew you were close, and he knew it too, which is why he suddenly stops. Only to have his fingers replaces by  his throbbing cock, who finds your entrance rather quickly, pushing his entire length all at once, filling you completely. You can’t help but scream in pain, but he doesn’t give a fuck, he sets up a pace. He then starts fucking you hard and quick against the wall,  grabbing your face with one hand, licking a side of it, turning it right back to his and kissing you hard. More tears start to come out while he’s fucking you and you don’t know why. The sound of flesh on flesh, of his harsh pounding into you, of your hips meeting his each time, fill up the entire elevator. You moan into his mouth, he silences you in a hungry kiss and he moans into your neck, while you pull his hair holding him in place. If he keeps this up for another minute, you know for a fact you’ll come undone. Instead he stops, his cock slipping out in the process and setting you back down on the floor. Your knees buckle a bit on your landing but his hands hold you steady, at the same time turning you around. “ Don’t fucking move.” He says to you for the third time tonight, except this time is exactly right. 

When you turn your head a bit, to catch a glimpse of his intentions, you see him lifting up your skirt all the way up, settling between your legs on the floor, exposing your backside completely. Appreciating the shape of your ass and legs, focusing in on your pussy, which is red and wet from the fucking. “So fucking beautiful.” he says more to himself than anything.  He slaps your ass with both hands, and you can’t help but jump and hiss in response. He bites his lips at your reaction, as if trying not to laugh and then his mouth is on you.  Jesus fucking christ, his mouth! Everywhere! Licking your lips and your clit with skill, making you wetter each time. Opening up his mouth wide, pulling his tongue out, fucking you with it, all the while burying his face on your pussy from behind, adding his fingers into the mix.  He pushes your legs further apart, opening them wide and you grab hold of his hair, pushing his face closer to your core, While his fingers fuck your pussy, his mouth moves to your asshole and licks you there too, simultaneously moaning words and phrases in french, telling you how much he loves your pussy and the way it tastes, how responsive you are to him and how fucking good it feels to be inside you. Your legs start to shake uncontrollably and your mouth opens, letting out loud gasps, and moans, trying to catch your breath, but it seems almost impossible now. His mouth separates from you in a loud wet sound, fingers still fucking you.

“ What’s the matter you want to cum?”. You nod, frantically. “ Yes, I know you want to cum, I can feel your pussy squeezing the fuck out of my fingers. Cum for me.” And he slaps your ass again, “Cum for me, show me.” and then you cum. Screaming and grabbing his hair painfully. Wave after wave hitting you, leaving you blindsided. While you cum, he strokes himself faster and faster,  his eyes never leaving you,  his mouth still on you drinking up all you have to offer. Soon enough he cums too, following up your orgasm.  Afterwards, you feel him stand up behind you, arms on his hips, waiting for you to recompose yourself. You put your panties back on, and pull your skirt down. Slowly turning around, unable to look him in the eye. “So.” he says “ What where you saying again?” but just then the door opens and is the 33rd floor. “Ha! Why did I tell ya? I’m good at this.”

Fucking bastard.

[theconceptoftheriverflowing]

El Espejo [The Mirror].

There’s faint music playing in the background. We know about nostalgia/ Enough to keep in its place. You try to decipher what it is. Is it Destruction Unit?, you wonder. Or perhaps some Rabelais?  But how can you hear both Destruction Unit and Rebelais, one thing is not like the other. Hmm, Black Marble would be so nice right now though, or perhaps some Drab Majesty. Simultaneous thoughts keep popping into your head as you struggle to remain sober, well no not sober, you’re way past that now but at least pull yourself together so the next second you’re not climbing walls, but who are you kidding? You’re fucking shitfaced, inside the bathroom at the Hammer’s residence no less. “Don’t make a fucking scene, Y/N. And please, easy on the liquor, remember what happened last time.” Timo had said to you before heading out. Last time you got drunk it was at his grandma’s house. She had made dinner and had invited the both of you. That old lady could fucking drink! First it was the whisky, then some bourbon, follow by some gin. At the end you were so out of it, Timo had to carried you all the way home, fucking heated, cursing all the way. “ What the fuck is wrong with you?! If you can’t handle your liquor why the fuck you kept drinking in the first place? Now look at you.” You had apologize profusely and he had told you to remain silent. Today, was different. It was his night, and he didn’t want any fuck ups. And you wanted to make him happy, so what could possibly go wrong?

Armie and Elizabeth had decided to throw an Oscar’s after party, at their home, regardless of who would’ve won or lose. It was a small crowd really, apart from the Hammers, Luca was here, as well as James, Nicole, Pauline, André, Marc, Timothée and myself. So it was a very intimate gathering, and honestly so full of love. We were all celebrating the movie, how wonderful it was for them to have found each other and being able to produce something so beautiful as CMBYN.  The win for Ivory, and all the other nominations for all of them. Tim’s win at the Spirit Awards, the shirtless face timing with Armie, his speech and that goddamn shirt. Things you’ve heard a million times before, but still were able to strike a chord in you, in a beautiful way. And you got along splendidly with the Chalamets. Nicole and Marc were extremely sweet and polite, telling you stories on how Tim, one time as a toddler, started running naked down the streets of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon back in France and how Pauline had follow suit and it ended up being a mess. Ultimately a beautiful memory of their summers spent there.  At some point of the night, Pauline had pull you aside and had told you, almost in a whisper: “We love you so much and you make my brother so happy. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in-law.” Then she pulled you into a hug, knocking the air out of you a bit, but you had welcomed it and it was genuine.

Right now though, you were hiding.  You had seen the look on his face when you laughed out loud, perhaps too loud, about a joke his dad had said, regarding that one time he had been an obnoxious little shit when he didn’t get that A+ he expected when making that infamous “Statistics” video. You knew he died of embarrassment each time it was mentioned, so for him to see you laughing about it, and therefore AT him, it was a problem. Everybody had laughed , him included, but he was looking at you now, madden. Eyes scolding you, in judgement. “Because is you.”, he had said once. “ Don’t you dare judge me, I won’t allow it.”. The words  resonating like an echo in your head, so you had excused yourself, and had left to go the bathroom, or anywhere for that matter. Away from him. You were wasted, in a good mood, really,  slightly lightheaded and definitely not looking for a fight, but you knew better. He would always come a knocking. Always.

Of all the rooms in the house, you chose the one on the second floor,  located on the far left, down the hall. It was, to say the least, one of the most interesting rooms in the house.  Once you enter you see that it’s a bathroom and when you look at it you’ve realized where you ended up. This bathroom had a name: Le Mirage, they have called it. Only they would name a fucking bathroom. Elizabeth had said that Armie pretty much made it to his own liking. A huge window overlooking the backyard, and holy fucking shit a bunch of mirrors. EVERYWHERE. On the walls, on the ceiling, even inside the shower. You’ve never actually seen it, and honestly, in your drunken stupor you hadn’t realize where you were heading. You just happen to stumble into it. “What can I say, I like to look.”, Armie had said once at dinner, winking at Elizabeth. She had laughed…now you get it. Seeing yourself in ten different mirrors at the same time, from different angles, made you feel in the middle of a fucking Fun House. Suddenly, you stop and really look at yourself. You’re wearing a short black dress. Strappy, not flashy but tight. It accentuates every curve of your body nicely. Paired with black stockings and your black Doc Martens’. Tim knows you’re not a big fan of heels, and he’s ok with that. You turn around, and look at your back, which is exposed right now thanks to the dress, you look at your legs,  your shoulders, your arms, really looking at yourself and you’re just…happy. Really happy to be here, and having this moment with yourself, being in this room, in this place. Intoxication taking a hold of you, making you shameless and content. The music plays in the background and is something you recognize immediately; Bad Love by White Lies. You smile. Did Timo put this? So you start to sway and dance to the music while looking at yourself in the mirror. Bet it was Armie. You’re so into the moment you don’t even realize the sound of footsteps down the hall, growing closer each passing minute.

You start singing:

I was waiting in the back-seat of the car When I knew I’d given up Down one of the back-streets by the park So sick of the taste of blood

…

If I’m guilty of anything It’s loving you too much Honey, sometimes love Means getting a little rough This is not bad love

You don’t hear when the door clicks open nor when it closes or the person who enters through it. With eyes closed you keep singing and swaying to the music. The room is dark, illuminated only by a dim blueish light that changes color every three seconds, located somewhere in the room, you don’t even know where, don’t care either. Your dancing figure looks like a shadowed spectrum around the room; a vision, really.

The song continues:

And I won’t ask your God for mercy My spirit is low, my soul is dirty

If I’m guilty of anything It’s loving you too much Honey, sometimes love Means getting a little rough This is not bad love This is not bad love

When you open your eyes, you notice a figure standing behind you and as you open your mouth to scream, unable to make out who or what it is a hand goes flying towards your mouth covering it completely, blocking any sound coming out of it and another one on your waist,  pushing you against them and towards the sink, holding you steady and in place. “Shhh, quiet, is me.”  Timmy. Your eyes open in surprise, then a calmness washes over you, follow by a slight panic wondering how long he’s been standing there watching you. His hand uncovers your mouth, but he doesn’t move from you, if anything he pushes himself forward, more into you, putting both his hands on either side of you, like a trap. You look at each other in mirror. He seems…amused. Is he? Is he angry? The truth is, the second you left he had excused himself 5 minutes later and had followed you. Luca had stop him for a brief second along the way, making a joke about that time in Crema he fell off his bike and Armie had recorded the entire thing. They laughed and he had said to Luca. “ I’m so sorry Luca, but I really need to go the bathroom. Would you excuse me, for a minute?’-“Si! Si! I’ll see you in a few.” So when he went back to look for you, you were nowhere to be found. And this was a big fucking house, where the fuck could you’ve gone? Bad Love had came up, a request for you he had made at the very beginning of the party, a surprise. He did saw you going upstairs, so up he went. Suddenly a faint singing is heard from one of the rooms. A smirk. Found you.

He was not expecting you to be in this room, he was not expecting you to be singing and dancing and looking the way you were the moment he laid eyes on you. You were swaying, slowly, very slowly, to the rhythm of the music. He had managed to take a spot on the wall behind you, unnoticed. Watching your every move. You were emphasizing each word being said, by a sudden movement of your hands, or your hips, your hair. At one point you had put your hands on your breasts, trailing them down slowly over your stomach, almost between your legs. “Fuck”, he had mumbled under his breath. His eyes fixated on you.  In the middle of your dancing your skirt had rode up a bit, giving him a view. You hadn’t even noticed. He was hard as a rock, and he wanted you. He wanted you now.

Now he was behind you, pushing your ass impossibly closer to him. He was so hard, oh god. Both hands on either side of you. Each movement, making your skirt ride up just a tiny bit more. Your breathing changes and a small moan threatens to escape your lips, but you hold back. He puts his mouth next to your ear and says , “You know, watching you earlier, dancing like that, made me wonder of who were you thinking about the whole time. Because I know what I was thinking about.” He tells you in the mirror. You start blushing. He manages to make you blush, why why? Goddamn him.  And he notices, even in this poorly lit room. “Are we blushing?” You shake your head: No.  “No?” His eyes are dark pools right about now. There’s a slight change in his voice,  thicker, lower. You know what’s gonna happen next. You crave it. Like a drug.

You’re so wet, too. And his dick grinding against your ass behind you is not helping one bit. Suddenly he pulls the bottom of your dress up, finally exposing your ass through the stockings.  He starts caressing it as if its the most delicate thing in this world, only to be followed by a loud and hard slap on your right cheek. Even with the fabric from the stockings in between, it stings like hell. You let out a loud gasp and your hands grab his in an attempt to stop him or to not stop him? You don’t even know what you’re doing. He pushes them away, pulling down your stockings in one swift move, ripping them in the process.  You cry in frustration. “ Timothée! They were expensive!”

“J'en ai rien à cirer" [I don’t give a fuck], he says. He slaps your ass again. “Fuck!” you cry out. You look at him, his eyes focused on what he’s doing and your reactions in the mirror. Smirking and biting his lips while doing so. What a bastard. Each time you get hit, your breasts threaten to slip out your dress, so he pulls down your dress, entirely, leaving it to rest rest comically in a corner of the room. Now your breasts are exposed and he immediately takes one in his mouth. Sucking and licking hard, while slapping your ass at the same time. You’re so fucking wet and you’re overwhelmed, but you can’t move, and it hurts and Oh God.

Everytime you complain about the pain, it makes him harder.  He gives the same attention to your other breast.  You arch your back, granting him more access to them.  He lifts up, finding your mouth and kisses you. Hungry, desperately. His tongue inside you, possessive. He slaps your ass again, and again, and again. And you moan in pain, (a smack) and you moan in pleasure, (again) in frustration, (again) and you’re teary eyed. Bruises are starting to form. You try again to move his hands away, but he pulls both your arms behind your back with anger,  keeping them there in some sort of lock, preventing you from moving. He positions himself behind you, grabbing you by the waist and pressing you against him hard. It fucking hurts, your ass bruised from the previous assault. He stops the punishment for moment, his hand warm and red from the smacking,  finding your core. You couldn’t be more wet, you’re dripping, is almost embarrassing. “Putain.” [Fuck] he says. He starts rubbing your clit, immediately setting a pace. His hot breath on your ear, his hair a tangled mess, his sweat and yours combined. “Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?” he tells you, voice heavy with arousal. You’re about ready to cum, but he stops and turns you around roughly. Leaving you out of breath. “No, you don’t get to cum. Not yet.” He takes a step a back, orders you to move forwards, and when you do, he looks at you with such pride. Smiling the entire time. No doubt proud about the marks he has left on your body.  “Mine. All Mine.” He says to himself, more than anything. You feel very exposed, and for some reason bring your hands up to your breasts to cover them. He realizes what you’re doing and pushes them away. Then steps right in front of you, bringing his face close to yours. He sticks his tongue out and licks your lips, and then grabs you by the neck. “ Let’s see what you’re good for. Get on your fucking knees.” He literally shoves you on to the floor. You grab hold of the sink to keep you from falling. He stands right in front of you, tall as ever. Quite intimidating, really. You feel so small next to him, but you live for this.

He then starts to rub his crotch all over your face, demanding your eyes on him. Grabbing your face with both hands, forcing you too look up. When you do, you see the reflection in the mirror above , of him having you cornered, on your knees and him rubbing himself all over you. You get even wetter. “ You want it?” he asks you. Signaling with his eyes the growing bulge in his pants. No doubt in pain, for all this time without the proper friction it deserves. You nod, frantically. “Use your words.” he says, as he starts to unbuckle his pants. The sound of his belt triggers something in you, something primal and you really can’t wait any longer. “ Yes, yes, I want it, please let me have it.” He grins. “Such a good girl. Open your mouth. Tongue out.” He finally takes off his pants, freeing his throbbing cock in the process and you can’t help but moan and the mere sight. The first time you laid eyes on it, you were more that surprised. You knew it would be big, but the thickness had surprised you. It was big and thick and it hurt a lot at times, but fuck, it felt amazing. He starts teasing you, slipping the head of his cock in your mouth a bit, not giving you a chance to close your mouth on it, and then taking it out. You bring your hands up but he pushes them away. “No. Keep your fucking hands where they are. I just want your mouth right now and you will give it to me.” You nod. Without warning, he pushes his entire length inside your mouth, making you gag.

He lets out a loud moan. He thrusts into you again, and this time you’re a bit more ready. He grabs your face with both hands, one palm on either side of you and then he’s face fucking you. Spit dripping everywhere, eyes tearing up, makeup and hair a mess. The sounds of you sucking and gagging on his dick are loud and messy. “Merde! Don’t fucking move.That’s it, That’s it. Oh fuck.” he moans, his breath coming in gasps. He looks at you and himself in the mirror. Fucking beautiful.  He says. His movements are so rough that with each thrust into your mouth your knees are scraping the floor, only increasing your arousal, dying to have him inside you. Suddenly, he stops, pulls himself from your mouth, grabs you by your neck, pulling you up and turning you around. Your eyes meet in the mirror. His chest going up and down, out of breath, you’re exactly the same way. He then tells you, in the softest tone, “ Open your legs, let me see you.” So, you do. He positions himself behind you, stroking himself a few times, bringing his face to yours. Kissing you. Your hand moves backwards, grabbing his hair, in a tight grip. You feel the tip of his cock, rubbing your clit, playing with your entrance.  You close your eyes, the sensation being too much to handle at the moment. Just when you feel the pressure of him entering you, he pulls out. You grunt in frustration. Pushing yourself against him, looking for that desperate friction, but he’s taking his sweet time with you. He even grabs his dick and starts slapping it obscenely against your clit, creating wet sounds while biting your neck, hard. You moan and you beg. “ Oh my god, please please.”- “Please what, Y/N, tell me. Please what?” You look at him in the mirror and tell him in a plead,  “Please fuck me.” And then he’s in you. 

As soon as he enters you, you both moan simultaneously, almost synchronized. There had been times where he would had started slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, but not tonight, not now. Soon he’s pounding into you, and you can’t help but scream like a blithering idiot with each thrust. Filling you up completely. One of his hands is on your neck, chocking you, cutting the air a bit, the other one around your waist, in a kind of embrace, keeping you in place while cupping one of your breasts. He’s pumping into you so hard and fast that you breasts are bouncing up and down, almost painfully. The sound of his hips meeting you halfway, flesh to flesh, every time he enters you is like music to your ears. Not to mention how much it hurts, all over, but you rather die than not have him at all. He’s so fucking hard, and you’re so fucking wet. Suddenly he takes the hand around your neck and puts it in your forehead, forcing you to look up, in the mirror above. “Look at yourself. Fucking look.” You watch as he pounds into you restlessly, setting up an impossible pace, entering you over and over again. Everywhere you look, there you are, getting fucked. You pussy grips him like a vice, and you know you’re close. His hand goes down your stomach, and right on to your clit, rubbing it frantically. Oh God. Omg. You get tighter. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He slows down, almost pulling out, putting his head down, watching himself move in and out of you. So slow. Is torture. “If you want something, you know what to do.” And then he’s fucking you hard again. Flesh on flesh, wet sounds, you’re moaning pretty loud, shamelessly, and so is he. “Fuck, I’m close” he says. 

There’s music playing in the background, faint noises of people laughing,  talking, many things happening  at once, but the only thing that matters is this moment right here. “Please let me cum, please let me cum, please can I cu—.” but before you finish your sentence, you’re coming undone. You cum hard, his hands all over you, on your breasts, ass, pussy, touching you, kissing you, licking and sucking, leaving marks. Wave after wave, you even lose your balance, but he’s keeping you in place. Not slowing down his pace, he announces that he’s cummin as well. Without warning he pulls out of you, pushes you down to your knees and puts his cock in your mouth. This time he lets you use your hands, and you lick, suck, and stroke desperately for him to get the release he deserves. “You want my cum?” he asks. “Yes.” He pulls his dick out of your mouth, stroking himself, harder and faster with each second. He’s close. “Such a good girl.”

Your hair is a tangled fucking mess. Your breasts are swollen, with marks everywhere, as well as your neck. Your ass is covered in purple bruises. Lips puffy and red, just as down below. Your mascara a mess everywhere. “You’re so beautiful like this.” He says fascinated. “Now. Open.” You open your mouth, followed by his cock. You take it in your mouth and you feel it pulsating, he’s close.  You look up as he closes his eyes and throws his head back, breathing in gasps. You deep throat his entire length, and almost immediately, he cums. His eyes closed, mouth partly open, body trembling, after load and load of cum shoots into the back of your throat. You swallow every single drop. Drinking him, all of him. Your hands travel up to his stomach, touching, caressing…appreciating. After he finishes, he looks at you. His cock still in your mouth, still half hard. You keep sucking it, gently, eyes locked on his the entire time. His mouth suddenly in a straight line. “Get the fuck up.” He tells you. You get up. Here we fucking go. All fun and games, over. He bends down to pick up your dress and throws it at you. “Get fucking dressed. Also, no more drinking, I think you’ve had more than enough and I don’t want to deal with your drunk ass later. I actually want to have a good time. D’accord?” You stand there naked, with the dress in your hands, the lamp throwing different shades of color around the room, almost comical. You looking like a small feeble creature, the way he always manages to make you feel, useless and insignificant. Suddenly you feel embarrassed. “Y-yes.” You manage to let out. “Good. Also, your fucking neck looks like shit right now, please cover it with whatever makeup you can find, my parents are here for christ sake!” So he leaves you bruises all over your body and now is YOUR FAULT?! You don’t even have the energy, so you ignore him. “Yes, Timmy.” He dresses up quickly, turning on the faucet, splashing some water in his face, and combing his hair a bit before heading out. No trace on him of having been fucking you for the past hour. You on the other hand…

When he leaves, you text Elizabeth:

Umm, 

I need help.

.

[theconceptoftheriverflowing]

One’s and Two’s

It’s 2:55am and he hasn’t returned yet. “I’ll be back soon”  he had said, with a huge grin on that fucking face; fast forward to six hours later, and still no sign of him. Surely a trip to the supermarket can’t really take this long. Of course not. No text or call either. If you were the one pulling this fucking stunt, you would’ve had your ass handed to you. But when he does it is acceptable? Well fuck that. Is Friday, where can he possibly be? I mean, El Local is open, and so is Club 77.  Is he there? La Respuesta is also open but is Drag Queens night and he doesn’t tolerate that shit. You pick up the phone and call him, but no answer. “Jodio cabron”-[Fucking asshole] you say under your breath. You text him after:

Timo, you said you’ll be back soon and is been almost 6 fucking hours. I’ve been extremely patient. Is almost 3am and we both need to wake up early. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

Just as you’re about to call him again the phone vibrates. A text:

I didn’t realize I had to give you explanations

You look at it in disbelief. The nerve on him.  You hate it when you call him and he doesn’t answer but you send one text and get a response in a millisecond. The mental image of him screening your call in the middle of some fucking club/house/tittty bar, wherever the fuck he is, with god knows who and then responding with a petty message like this one infuriates you beyond believe. These are the moments when you wonder why in the hell are you dating him in the first place.

We were supposed to have fucking dinner! That’s why you went out in the first place! We barely see each other… Why are you always like this?

Another text:

We’ll talk about this when I get there.

“We’ll talk about this when I get there”, you read out loud. “Omg, this guy is fucking unbelievable.” Three months of barely spending anytime together, you would think that the minute you see each other, clothes would be flying everywhere and he would’ve had you pinned down to the bed, hands on your neck, holding you steady as his whole body weight presses against you, all the while making you scream bloody murder but no; instead he goes to the Supermarket to grab some parmesan or whatever the fuck he was gonna do and when you ask where he is, he responds with that fucking bullshit of him not owning you explanations. As if two years of dating somebody don’t mean absolutely nothing. “ Remember that I don’t own you shit and I do as I please” he said once. “I can say the same for myself” you had answered, only to be follow by his laugh and him responding “That’s where you’re wrong.”

You start pacing back and forth in your apartment finally admitting to yourself that this person is a huge problem in your life and honestly, you deserve better. Too bad you’re way too deep in this shit already.  Suddenly, you hear a loud thud against your front door, followed by a laugh and the jingling of keys. You look at your watch, is 3:00 am. The door opens and there he is. He takes hold of the table right next to the entrance to keep him from falling down. His hair a tangled mess of curls around his face, wet and sticky in some places. Some strands of hair sticking on his forehead. His eyes searching around the room until finally settling in what he wants: you. He reeks of sweat, alcohol and weed. He’s fucking drunk, high and most definitely horny. Fuck. The room falls completely silent, suddenly is a little hard to breath. You stand there, unable to move or say anything.

He slowly starts walking towards you, eyes never leaving yours and you instinctively start to move backwards, but his left hand shoots forwards and in a second, grabs you by your waist pressing you against his body. He grabs both your hands in one of his , and pulls them behind your back, keeping them there, all the while backing you into a corner of the living room. Now your hands are pinned behind your back, press against the wall and him. Fuck. Fuck. This is not at all how you wanted this to turn out.

He’s inches away from your face, and his eyes are burning a hole through you now. You can’t bare to look at him, is overwhelming. And you hate the fact that he always manages to make you feel like this; so small, feeble and goddamn submissive.

“Look at me” he demands, almost a yell. You look at him.  His eyes are glassy, red and filled with anger. He then starts mimicking your voice in a full blown mockery of the text conversation you had earlier. “Timo! You said you be back soon and it’s been almost six hours!!” You can’t believe this, and something starts to swell inside you. You know that feeling well. He’s hurting you. You try your best to hold back your tears and slap the fuck outta of him as you struggle to break his grip but to no avail. He continues, “ We were supposed to have dinner. We barely see each other, b l a  b l a  b l a”  You can’t help it, you start to cry. He stops. Watching you intently, as you cry harder. You look at him, looking for some sort of empathy from his part but there’s none. If anything he seems annoyed, his mouth on a straight line. “Grow up” he says.

A hand comes up and lands in a loud crack across his face, knocking him off balance for a second, breaking the grip he had on you. His hand goes to his face, eyes wide, watching you in disbelief. Your hand, you’ve realized you have slapped him. Somehow you had manage break his grip and you had slapped him. You feel the sting in your own hand, and you look down on it as if had a life of its own. You’ve never done something like this. He starts rubbing his cheek as a smirk starts forming on his face. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” He’s enjoying all of this. You’re enraged. Pissed off that he doesn’t take you seriously and doesn’t give two flying fucks about your feelings.

You lift your hand to slap him again, unable to stop yourself, but he catches it halfway, only to have it pinned down behind your back (yet again), your free hand goes straight to his hair, pulling it hard. He lets out a small grunt, sounding almost like a moan, full on grinning now. He’s fucking enjoying this.  “Je t'aime comme ça.” [I love you like this] he says to you, in a whisper, as he takes your other hand and also pins it behind your back. Nowhere to go. Not this time. Using his body weight, he pushes you against the wall. You recognize that familiar feeling, you want him, and you want him desperately. Damn him, He starts rubbing the front of his pants against your core. He’s hard. “You want to talk now or later?” he asks. Talk about what? You don’t want to talk now, you can’t talk now. You shake your head and he ignores it completely. “Hmm? Yes?  You want to talk now? Ok, let’s talk. But first, let me see what you got for me.” He takes his other hand and very very slowly, reaches down between your legs. You’re dripping. “Fucking soaked. Lovely, really.” He pushes your panties aside and starts touching you, the inside on your lips, slipping one finger in and quickly pulling it out, never touching your clit, but you need it. He brings his hand to his mouth and licks it clean, eyes always on you. “So fucking good.” and brings it back down between your legs, finally rubbing your clit, touching all of you, hard and fast and so wet.

Your face contracts as your mouth opens, breath coming in gasps, eyes close and you moan, loud. He looks at you fascinated, never slowing down his pace. Your body slowly starts to tremble you can’t help to close your legs on his hand. “Uh uh, OPEN.” and he smacks your ass, leaving a mark there. You open your legs, but apparently not quick enough. He grunts in annoyance, breaking the grip on your hands, to pry open you legs and settling between them. You lose your balance a little, and he puts both his hands on your legs, opening them even further. “Like this.” He says, you feel his hot breath on your pussy and you’re about ready to lose it. He licks you once, with the flat on his tongue and you jump in response. His eyes always on yours. “ Look at me and don’t you dare look away.” You nod frantically and then his mouth is on you. He eats you out with a hunger you’ve never seen before. Opening his mouth wide, sucking and licking you in all the right places.  Holy fucking shit, what he’s doing to you. You hands look for something to grip, first your breasts, then your own legs and finally settling on his hair closing them on fists and bringing your core even closer to his face. You’re basically suffocating him but he’s enjoying every single minute of this. Tugging hard on his hair, painfully. He moans in response, opening his mouth even wider and fucking you with his tongue, with great skill.

You let out a loud gasp, breaking out into sweat, screaming and whimpering; a fucking mess. Your eyes never leaving his, his never leaving yours. He adds two fingers into the mix, while rubbing your clit at the same time. Your legs start to tremble uncontrollably, you’re about to come undone,  he grips your thighs even harder keeping you in place. In a brief second you close your eyes and you feel his teeth sink into your inner thigh. You scream in pain. “I said, eyes on me.” You nod in response, unable to let out a single word other than a moan, a cry, or a plead.

His mouth is on you again, he adds a third finger in, pumping in and out. Fast, hard, wet. The only sound filling the room is the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you, the sucking of his lips on your  throbbing clit, his moans and yours. You finally speak. “ P-please please…” trying desperately to catch your breath. “Please what?” he asks, fucking you harder. “Please can I cum, can I cum? Please”. “ Well, that depends.” he says. You’re about to cry, you’re needy, you desperately need to cum and he’s torturing you. Never slowing down his pace, he asks you

“Say you need me. Say you want to cum. I want to hear it, loud and clear.” Oh god. Tears streaming down your face. You look at him, with such need in your face that it translate into your voice when you say “ I need you. I need you. Please let me cum.” He grins against your pussy as he tells you to cum. You melt into his hands and he licks and finger fucks you even harder. drinking you fully. Wave after wave, and you’re crashing. You’re also crying, tears and more tears streaming down your face. You have to close you eyes. This time he doesn’t punish you, instead watches in awe. “Such a good girl”, you hear him say. You look down on him as he places a very gentle kiss on the same spot he had bitten before…

So this is what it means to be utterly and completely mindfucked. A slave of his existence and at times, a prisoner of your own.

[theconceptoftheriverflowing]

Well, are you?

“What the fuck was that?!” he yells at me, while quickly grabbing me harshly by my wrist, holding it against my thigh and keeping it there. His knuckles turning white. It fucking hurts. “Get your fucking hands off me Ti—“ but he cuts me off squeezing even harder, making me yelp in response. “Fuck! You’re fucking hurting me!” I try desperately to unleash from his grip, but he’s simply not having it. 

He looks enraged; curls all over his face now, eyes turning slightly dark and his mouth partly open, smirking a little. “Jesus christ! He’s Michael’s friend! He was at the premiere last night. What is wrong with you?! Let go off me!” He looks fucking crazy. “You’re not going anywhere.” He says in a whisper. He quickly glances at the cab driver, oblivious to what’s happening in the back as he pulls me into his lap, my skirt riding up almost all the way to my waist by the sudden movement, as he proceeds to put his hand between my legs. He squeezes there too, I let out a small gasp but then his mouth is on mine. I  try to pull away, overwhelmed by all this but he holds me against him and kisses me harder. 

This is not a nice, soft kiss, this is rough, a violation and I can’t breath. He takes my bottom lip, and bites down, hard. The taste of copper rummaging through my mouth, my blood. I groan in response, in pain, trying to break his grasp, but he’s just. not. having. it. He then licks my lip, in such a gentle way, that is almost romantic.  Despite all this, my body can’t help but respond to him, the way is was, well, wire to do. He’s hard already, too. I feel his dick, pushing agains’t my ass. His fingers run along the sims of my panties, obscenely rubbing over the fabric, finding them damp. He chuckles: ��Look at you, fucking wet for me already.”  He whispers against my mouth. His eyes never leaving mine. I can’t help to let out a small moan, which he reads as an encouragement to proceed further. He then pushes two fingers inside of me. I jump at the sudden intrusion. His fingers start pumping in and out in of me, fast and hard, setting a pace. “Oh fuck” I moan, as he pumps even harder. Thank god the music in the cab is loud enough to isolate the sounds that both Tim and I are making. “You wanna get fucked don’t you?” he says to me, adding a third finger into the mix. “Y-yes” I respond, almost pleading. Just then, the cab stops and we arrive at our destination.

 He pushes me away, as if disgusted by the mere sight of me, leaving me in a haze, disoriented and incredibly flustered. It hurts everywhere. “Thank you so much, sir! Have a good night.” He says to the cab driver with a huge smile, as if absolutely nothing had happened. Am I fucking crazy? He then slides off his seat, stepping outside and holding the door open for me. “ Let’s go, Y/N. NOW” A command. I hesitate, I always do. Afraid of what exactly? Of what’s gonna happen next? But I know what happens next, this has happened many times already. 

He loses his temper, like a switch, and then takes it all out on me. We’ve been dating for two years now, and though at first it was all peaches and cream (literally), 3 months into the relationship he starts screaming at me outside Flushing Ave because the night before I didn’t put his favorite Mug on the barstool. Or that other time where we went to a party and I got caught in a conversation with Armie, which to his belief, lasted a tad too long and told me: “ What? Now you want to fuck my friends? You know he’s fucking married, right?”. Or even that other time, when we went to Hell’s Kitchen because there was a dinner party at this parent’s apt, and he caught me getting out of the bathroom and asking what the fuck took me so long. I was there 5 minutes. And it ended, that way it almost (well, always) ended. Him fucking me in every corner, room, window, bed, sofa, literally, anything that can hold us both, until he has me begging him to cum, to speak, even breath. There’ve been times where I’ve cried and repeated everything he had wanted me to say, like a fool; times where he had me begging like a pathetic little girl, demanding full submission from my part. If I wanted to get off, I had to work for it.