“I don’t even like Halloween.”
I was lying. I love Halloween. It’s one of my favorite holidays. She should’ve known that.
“It doesn’t matter. My boss is throwing the party. I have to go. So that means you have to go with me.”
She did that thing with her eyes where she made herself look like an anime character. It’s like you could hear the sound effects when she blinked. I hated it when she did that because it’s one of the few things she could do that would upset our dynamic.
“Please,” she added, as she looped her arms around me and pulled me close.
“Fine,” I replied, dotting a kiss right on her forehead. “But let’s make this quick,” I added.
I stomped my way into the thrift store, letting her now I still wasn’t happy about this situation. We’d been on the brink of breaking up for weeks. We could both sense it. Our circumstances were changing, our goals were shifting, and our lives were becoming too divergent.
And she had no idea what kind of costume I’d want to wear.
“You could go as a 70s pimp,” she suggested, holding up a tacky suit.
My expression told her “No.”
I paced around the store and pretended to look interested in some of the clothes I saw, but I knew this was a waste of time.
I looked up and she was gone. I looked front, back, left, and then saw her in the corner checking out a vintage jumpsuit. I watched her from a distance. She was graceful, delicate. She looked like a blade of grass bending in a breeze.
She looked back and caught me staring. Her face bloomed. I couldn’t help but smile.
I walked over to her, my hands instinctively fell to her hips like they belonged there. I curled over her, kissed her cheek.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
She started toward the exit, her body peeled off of mine. My hand clamped on her wrist, hard. I stopped her mid-step.
“What?”
“Come here.”
I tugged her toward the fitting room.
“Are you crazy?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Shhhh. That guy won’t know.”
I gestured toward the guy behind the counter. He was sharply dressed, reading the newspaper, and occasionally looked up as a new customer entered or exited the shop.
She stared at him, waiting for him to look up. But he just licked his thumb and turned the page.
She looked up at me, then ducked into the fitting room. I followed her, and latched the flimsy door shut behind me.
It was stunning to me how pragmatic she could be about sex. She pulled her dress off in a swift motion and hung it on a hook. She unsnapped her bra, rolled her panties down her legs, and then gestured to my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
I grabbed her, scooped her into my arms, and kissed her mouth. We made out like teenagers behind the school before gym class. Her hands unlatched my buckle, opened my jeans, stripped them off my body. My hands spread over her ass, squeezed hard, and lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I pressed her into the mirror.
She was barely five feet tall. She weighed about ninety pounds. She sat in my palms, her shoulders on the glass, grinding her hips up into me while we kissed. My cock was thick, swollen, and throbbing. I pressed it to her wet pussy, ready to stab it in.
“Wait,” I said.
“What is it?”
“Not like this.”
She got a confused look as I put her down and turned her to face the mirror. She stuck her ass out like the good girl she was, arching her back like the slut I trained her to be.
I smiled at her, slapped her ass, and then grabbed her wrist. I put her hand on one of the clothes hooks above the mirror.
“Grab onto these,” I instructed.
She grabbed a hook in each hand.
I clamped my strong hands around her hips, lifted her up, and impaled my long cock into her tiny little body. I fucked her hard and fast, using her like a fleshlight while she watched herself getting railed in that full-length mirror.
She saw my thickness disappearing inside her. She saw me pounding and ravaging into her. She saw her body shaking and trembling and breaking with every thrust of my powerful hips.
She kept muttering “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck” as I wrecked her insides.
I gouged my fingers into her skin. I wanted to leave marks. I was fucking her like it was the last time, but I wanted her to be mine forever.
She made a high-pitched gasping sound whenever she came. She wasn’t vocal, she wasn’t performative or expressive. But her body would clench up, her pussy would clamp and pulse, her toes would curl, and her legs would flex and shake. It was like she had muscle spasms everywhere at once.
I saw her eyes pinch shut. Her throat went tight. Her body quaked. She released one last “oh fuck,” before her body melted in my hands.
She let go of the hooks.
The sudden shift in weight made me lose my grip.
I dropped her. She stumbled onto a ratty little ottoman.
But bless her heart, she immediately turned back to face me. She reached out, grabbed my glistening, sloppy cock, and took it into her mouth. She gripped the base of my shaft, just the way I liked it, and frantically sucked my cock until I came down her throat.
I stumbled back and pulled up my jeans, all red-faced and sweaty.
She carefully put on her panties, then her bra, then her dress. Her hair was a dark, tangled mess, and her eye makeup was smeared down her cheeks.
“Do I look okay?”
She was asking a rhetorical question, but the real answer was both yes and no. I loved the way she looked when she was freshly fucked rotten. But she was a perfectionist, and being out in public in this state was against her values.
I just smiled at her, opened my arms, and then held her for a moment before we left the store. My car was a block away and we abandoned the rest of our plans for the day. Instead, I took her back to my apartment, drew her a bubble bath and burned candles. We held each other for the rest of the night and pretended like everything was fine.
