Degradation(52)

"Hmmm, maybe it wasn't about all that. It was a change up. Someone  treating me nicely, like I was a nice, normal girl," she tried to  explain.

"Nice, normal girls don't fuck baseball players in the backs of bars," he pointed out.

"Maybe they do. He thought one did," she whispered.

Well this is new.

"If that's what you want, then you better call your baseball player. I  don't want a nice, normal girl. I want a girl who likes to be knocked  down and dragged around. A girl who wants to be smacked around and  called a whore. I want a girl who will let me fuck other girls, and then  get so turned on by that fact, that she'll blow me while we're driving  down a highway doing seventy-five," Jameson snapped.

True story.

"Sounds like a pretty hot girl," she commented.

"Hottest girl I know."

She was kissing him, suddenly, her tongue pressing against his lips. He  grabbed her by the head and leaned forward, kissing her back. It felt  like it had been a long time since he had tasted her mouth. He missed  it. She gasped against him and her fingers flew to his shirt. She got  about half of his buttons undone, and then she just ripped the shirt  open before moving onto his belt buckle.

Three days was a long time.

"Fuck anyone else while you were gone? Engineers? Fast food workers?  Doctors?" he asked while she yanked his pants down his legs.

"Not that I can think of, but ask me later, something might come back  while you're nailing me to the mattress," she replied casually. He  grabbed her hair and dragged her back up his length.

"You better not think of anyone else but me," he growled. He could practically feel her eye roll.

"Shut up and fuck me."

He thought maybe she'd want to go slow. Not that Tate had ever been a  slow kind of girl, but she had been really upset the last time he'd seen  her. They hadn't had sex in four days. Three days ago he told her he  would never want her as anything more than a fuck buddy. She hadn't  spoken to him again until that night, and even then, she had spent most  of the night with Sanders.

But if her actions were anything to go by, she was fired up and ready to  go, even more so than normal. She was either making up for lost time,  or punishing herself. Or him. Somebody was getting hurt.

She yanked all of their clothes off, her nails scratching sensitive  skin. She went down on him, no-holds-barred, just immediately deep  throated him. He thought she was going to make him come that way, but  then she was moving again. Crawling on top of him, pulling him forward,  wrapping her legs around his waist. They moved together, hips pushing at  each other, and she got louder, pressing her forehead to his while her  nails dug in to the back of his neck.

"I want you to do it," Tate panted. He was gripping her hips so hard, he knew there would be bruises.

"I think I am," Jameson managed to chuckle.

"Hit me," she breathed. He glared at her.

"No," he replied. She laughed.

"You're denying me?" she asked.

"Cause I don't think you really want it."         

     



 

"Oh, I want it."

"You're punishing yourself. I don't want to hurt you," he told her. She shook her head.

"You can't hurt me. I want to be punished. Please," she begged.

"You're angry at me. I'm not doing something just so you can hold it against me later," he snapped.

"I'm not her."

He was suddenly very angry.

"Don't fucking talk about her," he swore, halting his movements, leaving her impaled on his length.

"Oh, that makes you angry? You talk about every other girl you fuck. Why  don't you talk about her? She must have been pretty special to you,  Kane," she said in an evil voice, rotating her hips against his. "Pretty  special. An amazing fuck, you said. Was she tight like me? Did she get  wet like me?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Tate," he warned.

"Two years, she must have been pretty amazing. Do you want to pour hot  candle wax on me? Whip me? Paddle me?" Tate asked, letting her head drop  back.

God, this woman. If my dick gets any harder, it's gonna kill one of us.

"I want to scar you," he groaned.

"Hit me."

"No."

"This is what I want, Jameson. I want you to do whatever you want. I  want to be able to do whatever I want. I'm not her. Just let go," she  urged.

"I can't," he whispered. She smirked down at him, her hips slowing their movements.

"Fine. If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will," she snapped. He glared again.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snapped back. She shook her head.

"Make me. Ang likes to play, and I trust him. Maybe he'll do it," she taunted.

"Stupid bitch, you better shut the fuck up," Jameson growled.

"I'm sure there are lots of guys out there who would do it for me. Some  random guy, in a hotel room somewhere. I'll pretend to be that nice,  normal girl. Let some guy think he picked up a sweet girl, and then I'll  let him fuck me. Fuck me hard; harder than this, harder than you," she  told him.

He slapped her across the face, and the response was instantaneous. She  cried out and her pussy clamped down so hard on his dick, he almost came  right then and there. Holy shit. He moved fast, slammed her down onto  the mattress and then got up onto his knees, holding her hips up while  he pumped in to her.

"Goddammit, Tate. Not every fucking thing is about you. I didn't want to  fucking do that, you stupid fucking whore. Fucking bitch," he swore,  slamming against her hips as hard as he could. She was shrieking.

"God, it was so good, please say it was so good, it was so good, so  good," she panted. He slapped her again and it drove her wild, caused  her to trash and buck underneath him.

It drives me wild.

"Fucking hell, Tate. I'm going to fuck you every night from now on, for  as long as I can. Cunt. Whore. Fuck. Why are you so fucking good to me?"  he moaned, grabbing one of her legs and resting it against his  shoulder. He grabbed her hand, placed it at her wet core, forced her  fingers in and around herself. She was like his marionette, his own  personal fuck doll.

"Because ..., you're the devil. You need someone to be with. I want to be that person," she gasped.

"Goddamn, do you let everyone treat you like such a slut?" he said,  feeling the sweat pour down his body. He grabbed her ankle, held her leg  out away from her body so he could get even deeper inside of her. He  wanted to reach places no one had ever been before; places no one else  would ever reach again. She suddenly laughed, a low, dark sound.

"You like to think you're the only one, don't you? That you're the only one who fucks me good," she replied.

"I know I am."

"Then why am I thinking about a baseball player right now?"

He slapped her across the face, hard, and then grabbed her neck. She  started coming, crying out and dragging her nails down his chest. He  wasn't far behind her, pumping everything he had in to her before  collapsing on top of her chest.

It was a couple minutes before his brain could function again, wrap  around what they had just done. He knew he should check on her, make  sure she was okay, that what they had just done was actually okay. He  pushed himself up over her, but instead of saying kind words, he grabbed  her wrists instead, pinned them above her head. Her eyelids fluttered  open and she stared up at him. She looked almost stoned. Satisfied.  Glowing. Happy.

"Were you really thinking of him?" he demanded. She chuckled.

"Jameson, when you fuck me ..., nothing else exists but you," she breathed. He leaned down, baring his fangs against her neck.

"Good," he whispered. She let out a groan.

"That was so good, Jameson. That is officially, without a doubt, the best sex I've ever had," she said with a laugh.         

     



 

"Better than Angier fucking you in a filthy alley?" he asked. She laughed harder.

"Stupid man. I lied. You were always the best sex I ever had, I just didn't want to admit it," she laughed.

"I knew it."

He kissed her then. A long, slow kiss. He stretched out on top of her,  inside of her. Ran his hands from her head to her thighs, and back up  again. She breathed in to his mouth, moaned his name, scratched her  nails down his back. He started to get hard again, and he backed away.  Rolled her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up. A couple minutes later,  he laid down flat, pulled her on top of him. Then pushed her off, made  her fuck herself for a little while before diving back inside of her.

It was slow, and it was almost sweet, but he liked it. Just being secure  in the knowledge that it would be okay to let go and do whatever he  wanted, made it easily the second best sex either of them had ever had.



*



Angier Hollingsworth was not in love with Tatum O'Shea, but he did feel a  certain kind of possessiveness; he had always thought it was just  friendship. Even when she started fucking Satan and stopped fucking Ang,  he hadn't thought much about it. Men had come and gone from Tate's  life, but Ang had always been a constant.