tagNonConsent/ReluctanceOne Night Ch. 08

One Night Ch. 08

byTheDarkAngel13©

Part 8: Good Lover/Bad Lover (Sam's Very, Very Happy Birthday)

Started: Tuesday, September 18th, 2007

Finished: Sunday, October 21st, 2007

* ~ * ~ *


(February)

"Twenty's a big birthday, Sam..."

Jake sat across from me at a tiny table in the bakery down the street from his apartment. It was early February, a week before my birthday, and we were sharing one of those gigantic muffins—the kind with about a million calories.

"What was yours like, babe?" I asked, sipping my chocolate milk—I couldn't stand coffee products.

"Well," he said, feigning reminiscence, "I slept in... and I ate cake."

"Come on..."

"No, really. It's like, all my birthdays were like that. I'd sleep late if I could and had dinner with my family later. Sometimes my mom'd cook for me or bake a cake, but birthdays were never something special to me... 'til I met you," he said, grinning mischievously.

I grinned back, but said, "Birthdays were always celebrated in my family. But." I added, "I ain't looking forward to it. My aunt was talking to me the other day and she's like, 'You know, your life is one fourth over, Sam!' God, I wanted to die. I feel so old, Jake."

"Fuck, Sam," he said, laughing softly, "I'm a year older than you. How do you think I feel?"

"Touché."

"But hey, you made my birthday special, Sammie..." Here, he paused, letting us both recollect the wonderful fun ways I had made it special. "And I would like nothing more than to make your birthday un... for... gettable."

He smiled at me, sending a slow wave of lust over my body. He had a way of making me want him at the drop of a hat, the wink of an eye, and he was doing it right now. His eyes made their way down to my now heaving breasts and I saw that greedy, lustful glaze he always got when he felt he was in control of me fall over the soft, brown gaze and his lips parted slightly.

"Car, Jake?" I whispered.

"My place," he gasped, rising and putting a lid on his latte.

"Hard?"

"Fast and hard..."

We were out of the café in a heartbeat and scrambling into his car. Life had become that way lately: half the time we would lovingly, languidly, sweetly, magically make love like we had eternity to finish, and the other half we would randomly duck into dark places and bathrooms or his place and fuck fast, frantically and furiously like we had ten minutes to live. This was one of the "ten minutes to live" moments.

"Jake!" I screamed as he pounded me.

We had barely made it into his living room when desire completely overtook us. We collapsed on his sofa and started fucking. It was the kind that made us scream. His nails dug into my back, his tongue was sliding over my shoulder. Oh, his whimpers, his cries and calls. His hard-as-a-rock cock filling my weeping, throbbing pussy. It was over in a flash, but it was so intense.

"Fuck, Sam, fuck!" he hissed through gritted teeth as he came, filling my cunt with his hot, wet, creamy cum.

As I came, seconds later, he kissed me passionately, making it even sweeter.

We lay on his couch gasping and moaning for several minutes before I got up to go to the bathroom and clean up—we had actually fucked on our clothes and there were white streaks of cum on my black tank top. Jake had often lent me shirts when I needed them as we were close in size, so I would also scrounge up one of his band T's. When I came back in, I found Jake sitting on his sofa with my laptop—which he had apparently pulled out of my bag—open and on. It took me a moment to realize, though, that he was furiously masturbating.

"Jake!" I gasped.

He didn't even look up. I could tell by the look on his face that he was embarrassed to be caught in that state, especially after the climax I knew he'd just had, but that didn't stop his hands, which were stroking his throbbing cock like he had never gotten laid before.

I got closer and realized that he was masturbating to a story that was open on my desktop.

"Oh, holy shit!" I gasped, horrified beyond all comprehension.

I slammed the computer shut, sending it to sleep mode and jerked it away from him.

"I was almost to the end!" Jake cried as he came, though somewhat sloppily as I had screwed the moment up.

"You had no right to read that!" I said in something between a hiss and a squeal.

"I'm sorry," he said, obviously lying. "But it was so incredible!"

"I don't—It... it was?" I said, pausing, blinking.

"Hells yeah..."

He grinned up at me, his hands still gently stroking his softening member.

"You let me read your stories all the time, Sam," he said, putting it away, though his pants were now stained—I don't think he cared, though. "Why was that one different?"

Blushing and unable to meet his fixed brown gaze, I mumbled, "'Cause that one details a sexual encounter between us that involves pain and torture and... uh, handcuffs..."

"And I thought it was the hottest thing I had ever read," he sighed, leaning over to look up in my eyes. "You saw that, I came in like, three minutes!"

"Jake..." I whined.

"Come on! It was so furious... It was detailed so wonderfully I swear you were describing something we'd already done and I could still feel it... You're talented, Sam. I didn't know you, uh, wrote shit like that. Why didn't you ever show me before? I'd love to read it with you..."

"Jake," I said again, pleading. "I'm so embarrassed..."

"Don't be. You think I don't have fantasies about you? God, there are things I wanna do to you that'd make this look like choir practice."

I laughed. He grinned at me and reached a hand up to stroke my face.

"Is that really something you wanna do?" he asked softly.

I couldn't say it.

"Is it, Sam?"

Finally, I met his eye, blood pounding through my face. "Yes," I whispered. "I fantasize about it all the time, like when I get off... And sometimes, you get just a little forceful or violent when you're really horny or angry, and I like it so much... I want it so it hurts, Jake. But I never wanted to tell you how much I liked it because I didn't want to ruin the random thrill of it, understand?"

Jake sat there for a long time, looking up at me as he clearly pondered my words. Under my arm, my laptop clicked and whirred, shutting itself down after its three minutes' sleep time.

"I would love to give you your fantasy for your birthday, Sam," he finally whispered. "Would you like that?"

"Desperately," I whimpered, turning my face into his hand and kissing his palm. "But just the once."

"Well, for a while, anyway," he said, grinning again.

He extended his arms and embraced me, nuzzling my cheek. "I love you," he whispered. "So much. Truly, madly, deeply... Like the song."

I giggled.

"So, can I randomly pin you down and drag you to my bed on your birthday? I mean, do you want a full on rape fantasy or just some sort of sado-masochistic shit?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yes," I said, holding back laughter.

"Oh, a dirty, dirty girl you are, Sammie," he said, smirking. "I'll research online and learn some new tricks for you."

All I could do was moan softly as I crawled into his lap. Jake pulled me against him and I reached between us to stroke the once-again growing bulge in his jeans. He was hard for me and only me and it excited me beyond belief. With my other hand, I opened and turned on my laptop again, wanting to read the story with him, wanting now to share my gift with him. I knew I had a knack for writing what most called "erotic fiction" though it was more like printed porn. I liked mine hardcore, but I was good enough that the romance was always there.

With a wicked grin, I began reading the story aloud as Jake slid his hands between my legs and we started it all over again.

 

Over the next week, anticipation crawled repeatedly through my body like a hyper child on a McDonald's playground, wreaking havoc on my nerves and libido. Whenever I had spare time, I would sit back, close my eyes and let my imagination wander through the list of what Jake might have been planning for my birthday. It made my finger's tingle, my lips tremble, and my pussy get very, very wet. I knew I had had him so many times it was like breathing, but this was different. I assumed this was how he felt in the few minutes on his birthday between me telling him what I had planned and me carrying out what I had planned. Wild, childlike enthusiasm and anticipation. I knew I didn't deserve a lover like him, someone so loving, so sweet, so caring and just so damn wonderful, but I didn't plan on taking him for granted anytime soon.

"Sam," he whispered to me over the phone one night a couple days before my birthday, "you're a bad, bad girl and I am gonna make you pay."

He had been doing little things like that ever since our conversation at his place the previous Tuesday. The fact that I still lived mostly with my parents hindered our relationship only slightly. I had been masturbating since I was a tween, so I knew how to do bad things without getting caught and phone sex was a new one for me. I would lay in my bed after my family was asleep, my phone cradled against one ear, and fuck myself as he whispered bad, wonderful things to me. I suppose that warrants its own story, but one to be done later...

With a new way of getting me off quickly, Jake enthusiastically whispered those dirty suggestions about rape, torture and pain. All I had to do was close my eyes and I could easily imagine his long nails digging into my skin, the way it would feel as he bit me, how tightly he would bind me to the thin metal tubing at the head of his bed. I only hoped I didn't tear the headboard off or something; I was always such a clutz.

The week couldn't pass quickly enough, but by the time I went to bed on Monday night, I had almost wished I could live the time of expectancy over again.

Early on Tuesday morning, my cell rang from the bedside table where it rested after every one of Jake's goodnight calls he made to me on the nights I spent away from him—about two-thirds.

"Hello?" I sleepily mumbled.

"Happy birthday to you..." came Jake's sweet singsong voice.

I giggled, rolling over, and said, "Thank you, Jakie."

"How are you?" he asked, making a soft kissing sound into the receiver.

"Tired, actually," I replied, looking at my alarm clock. It was 7:48, much earlier than I usually rose. "To what to I owe the pleasure of this wakeup call?"

"The fact that I am sitting at the gate of your family's farm, wondering how I could forget that it stays locked all night."

With a soft squeal of surprise, I leapt from my warm bed and peeked out the large window opposite my TV. Sure enough, through the bamboo blinds I spotted the red Escort peeking through the arborvitaes and the sheet metal gates.

"Oh, my God," I mumbled.

At that exact moment, my door burst open and my mother stuck her head in.

"Your father just went to let the dogs out and he says there's a car at—hey, who are you talking to?" she barked.

"Jake," I sheepishly muttered.

"And where is Jake, might I ask?"

Wordlessly, I pointed out the window as Jake laughed childishly on the other end.

"Why the fuck is he at the gate?"

"You heard her," I said into the phone, turning it to speaker so my mom could hear the response.

"I was hoping I could take you out for breakfast. If she doesn't want me to, I can go..." he said, and I could tell he was embarrassed.

Mom sighed and shook her head, coming into the room to peek through the window; she was still in her red satin nightgown. Finally, she said, "Sam'll be out there in a second with the key."

"You heard her," I repeated, taking the phone back off speaker. "Gimme a second to put some pants on—"

"Come out in your PJs," said Jake, and I could tell he was grinning evilly. "You made me that time you brought breakfast."

"Fine," I sighed, closing the phone and ending the call.

As my mother left the room, lovingly grumbling about Jake and what a pain he had become, I slipped my barn shoes on and took off. I grabbed her gate key out of her purse in the hallway and bolted out the door. The front gate was about a hundred yards from the house, so I sprinted, feeling bad that Jake had been sitting there for at least ten minutes while his engine idled. Hastily I unlocked the gate and, as I was setting it into its rest, Jake sped through the opening as if he was going to leave me behind. I flipped him off and he stopped, laughing at me in the rearview mirror.

"You're such a fucker," I gasped, collapsing in the front seat, exhausted.

"Happy birthday, Sammie," he said, leaning across to kiss me. "I hope it's an incredible one."

"Thanks, darling," I whispered, wondering how stealing me from my parents at eight in the morning was going to fit into the rape fantasy plans. "Eight a.m.," I added, grinning. "That's early for you, bro."

"I know," he said, turning down the radio, which was tuned to the hit music station with an annoying hip-hop tune playing, "but it's for you..."

Naturally, all he had to do was say something like that and I just melted. It drove me crazy that he could do that, just turn me inside out with a word, a smile, a sigh.

Once inside, Jake said hi to my family. My mother and sister hugged him as usual and my dad shook his hand, asking about his job the way Dad always spoke to my male friends. Mom didn't have any plans to make me a specific kind of breakfast, and she didn't want to ruin what were apparently Jake's supposedly romantic plans, but I was her daughter and she didn't like the idea of not getting to have me the whole day. So a truce was called. I would be shared that morning by Jake and my family, he could have me for the afternoon, there would be a big family dinner that evening—to which Jake, who was now like a member of the family, was invited—and he could have me after that. I felt like the choicest toy in a daycare center.

What I found somewhat amusing was the fact that no one ever mentioned the fact that I was now spending nearly half my nights at Jake's apartment. My mother knew I was on the pill, so that wasn't a problem, but after the weekend of his birthday, which I had clearly spent with Jake since we were iced in, my mother pointedly avoided the subject of sex. It was a relief to me, but I also had a constant fear that she would, at some point, ask me directly and I honestly didn't think my poor heart could take that conversation.

But for the time being, I put that from my mind as we all went to our respective rooms to dress. Mom liked the idea of breakfast at the café in our small town and Jake, who was just glad to get off so easily, had no objections. He followed me to the end of the house where my room was and looked around. He hadn't been inside but once before when picking me up for a date and he was clearly interested in inspecting my private space.

I went into the closet and started digging for clothes as he went about as if my room were some sort of museum. I had dozens of posters, ticket stubs and other music memorabilia, as well as just about anything you could tack to a sheetrock wall: a t-shirt autographed by Pete Wentz; a dried bouquet of roses; a world map; wooden African masks; Chinese fans; trading cards; a Rebel flag bandana; buttons; Christmas garland; political bumper stickers; Mardi Gras beads; movie tickets; old birthday cards; drawings from people I knew, ranging from my sister and cousins to Jake and Will; some of my own drawings; song lyrics on sticky notes; and God only knows what else.

"Wow," he sighed, looking around.

"Have a seat, honey," I said emerging from the closet with an outfit. "I need a shower, but I'll just wet my hair instead."

"I love you with bedhead," he quickly said, seating himself in my cozy papasan chair. "But whatever..."

After I closed the bathroom door and hurriedly got ready, I could hear the out-of-tune plunkings of a guy who didn't know how to play a guitar picking one up and trying to play it.

"It needs to be tuned," I hollered through the door.

"No, that's just me."

I laughed as I stuck my head into the shower to wet my hair down. It only took seconds for me to dress, but makeup and hair were entirely different. I just half-ass-edly lined my eyes in black and swiped some mascara as I let my curls dry naturally, aided only by volumizing mousse and color-keeping conditioner. I emerged in fifteen minutes dressed in my plaid mini over black tights, my Chuck Taylors and my favorite Green Day hoodie.

"You look beautiful," Jake said, setting Floyd, my acoustic guitar, down behind him as he rose to hug me.

"Thanks," I whispered, looking up to kiss him.

"I forgot to give you your birthday kiss," he said, reading my mind.

"Can I have it now?"

"You can have... oh, a preview," he said, grinning.

He leaned in and our lips met and I felt so young and wild. His tongue dipped lightly into my mouth, swirling against mine and over my teeth. I was just getting into it when my door opened again.

"Oh shit!" gasped my sister, hiding her eyes. "I didn't think you two'd be doing it right now."

"Shut up, Lane," I said, embarrassment flooding my face in a wave of heat and color. "We were just kissing!"

"And how," she deadpanned.

"Shut up," I repeated, turning back into the bathroom to get my earrings.

"You know," I could hear my sister saying, "I could as easily have been Mom or Dad."

"A risk I was willing to take, Lane," Jake replied, laughing softly.

I rode with him and he followed my family in their silvery Chevy truck. Breakfast was only mildly embarrassing as my family was pretty adjusted to me and Jake being together. My sister, who adored Jake as a dear friend and a big brother, lovingly teased him still, but never so bad that I could hold it against her. After we ate, Jake asked my mother if she minded him taking me to a movie. She seemed frustrated that he was the one getting to spoil me and not her, but she didn't have any real complaints and we hopped in the Ford and took off. As much as I loved riding around with him in the Mustang, there was still some sweet, innocent, old-fashioned charm in riding in his tiny, crappy, filthy car. I adored the closeness I felt sitting in the seat beside him, dust collected on the dash and trash under my feet.

"So where're we going?" I asked, grinning as we sped through the small town back toward the city.

"Anywhere you wanna go," he said, smiling at me.

"Tijuana!" I yelled gleefully.

"Okay!" he hollered, flooring it. "How do we get there?"

"I dunno!"

"Alright!"

We carried on like that all the way back to town. He blared my favorite CD, Fall Out Boy's Infinity On High, and we sang at the top of our lungs, banging our heads, and laughing and giggling like kids. Sure, it was nine-thirty on a Tuesday morning, but we were young, happy and so fucking in love that nothing mattered. I was grateful to Jake for making me feel that way. I had always feared getting old and leaving my childhood behind without making some of those memories that most kids who attend public school have to treasure, but he made sure we made memories every day. The stupid things we should never have done, the hilarious things I'm thrilled we'd done, and the sweet things I could never had even hoped to do: Jake brought it all to me and set it in my lap.

We did really go see a movie. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie, actually. Yeah, it sucked royally, but we were both fans of the cartoon and live-action movies when we were very young, so we had a laugh. I felt like I was thirteen as we sat in the front row, holding hands. Occasionally, for no reason, Jake would lean over and give me a soft peck on the cheek. It was so sweet.

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