players

(este cuento en español)

He's young and whipsmart and it doesn't matter, I will get the better of him. Why does he inspire this much violence and greed in me. And is it all he's good for.
Are you worthy? I want to ask him. What are your intentions? I’m dying to but I don't because I am here to be selfish and he is here to get laid and so what if he worships me. I want him to. Waves of lust and self-loathing obscure my vision. I stand over him, miserable. Don’t let him see.
Come here, he says. You can look but you can't touch, I say, gyrating above him on the bed. Are you hot for me baby? I prod between his legs with the tip of my foot. He's got that turgid expression in his eyes. The look of the pervert, transfixed. Parts of him swell visibly. Lips, nipples, cock. Turn around, he says huskily.
I make sure he gets the best possible view from every angle. His hand snakes up my thigh. Didn't you hear what I said? I hiss, suddenly awash in pure hatred. It subsides. His fingers rove to his crotch. We stare at each other, deadlocked. His eyes are flat, glazed over with hostility and desire.
When he lunges I jump away but he's too quick. We wrestle, he pins me down. Kisses me very tenderly as I wait for a chance to free myself. He looks at me, his prisoner.
Where were you last night? he begins. He should know better than to expose himself this much. Don’t do this to yourself, I want to warn him but don’t. He won’t rest until I take him seriously. Don’t fall for it.
None of your business, I say, sure of my power. Did you let him fuck you? Stop it, I say, not unkindly. I can take the high road after all.
You did. I know you did. You slut, he says, writhing. For a minute I really can't tell if his suffering is genuine or not and my heart melts for him a little. He kisses me gently again and it’s bewildering. It goes so much against his swagger, his vanity, his fierce tattoos. Don’t let this boy matter. I bite down on his lips.
Bitch, he whispers.
Fuck you, I say wrenching an arm free and smacking his face the way he likes it. His breath catches. His eyelids lower for a second over his big green irises. His cock gets huge.
Tell me what he did to you, he says close to my neck, making my hairs stand on end.
He didn't do anything I pant, brimming with longing and pity. I am being wicked. I squelch the thought quickly.
Tell me, he says blindly. Did you open your legs for him? He is dogging his little fantasy, a crystal ball inside which I am rolling away from him, his tiny fuck doll, his angel pin-up, the queen of his dreams. Giddily I inhale the scent of his flushed excitable skin. When will I stop wanting this boy. Squash that thought too.
Tell me, he breathes, and I surrender and he bears down on me ravenously, cuts my breath off in my mouth, rides me so very hard. I am delirious with fear and need and delight. He comes too soon as usual. Afterwards I still want him just as much. Everything is under control. Hold that thought.