Your cock is beautiful – 39

She rested against me and smiled up at me, knowingly.

“Yeah, it is good.” she said.

I knew that smile. The sight of it triggered a memory in me. It had been a few weeks ago… the night she’d gotten back from vacation. She’d somehow got me talking about myself, and smiled this… infuriating, unfamiliar smile.

“What?” I said blankly.

“Nothing.” she said, her expression not changing.

“What are you smiling at?” I asked.

She smiled wider and hid her eyes, pressing her face into my chest.

“What is it?” I asked, laughing.

“You care about me.” she said.

She raised her face and looked into my eyes again, still smiling.

“At least a little bit.” She said, “You care.”

I frowned, and sighed.

“Mia…”

Was she wrong? And… would it be wrong to admit that she was right?

“Mia… if I didn’t care about you… at all… I’d kick you out of bed as soon as you stopped twitching.” I said.

She giggled, and kissed my bare chest.

“I knew it.”

So that’s what the smile was, her seeing that I cared? Why, because I talked about myself? The memory flared into full clarity for a second. No, she didn’t smile when I’d talked about myself. She smiled when I stopped. When I got embarrassed. I guess she thought I wouldn’t be shy with her if I didn’t care about what she thought.

I closed my eyes, and sighed again. She kissed my cheek, and again laid her head against my chest.

For so long I hadn’t cared about people, I’d become kind of bad at understanding them. At least it felt that way. But with Mia, I was having to pay attention in a way I hadn’t bothered to for a long time. The gleam in her eye, the smile so slightly different from any others. I wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling. And this time I did.

It was hope. Just a simple hope that I would someday forgive her, that I could eventually look past what she’d done to me. Hope that, even if things wouldn’t ever be normal, they would at least be better. That maybe I wouldn’t always hate her.

“It’s time to go, sweetheart.” I said, patting her head.

“Aww…” she whined, “But I haven’t stopped twitching yet.”

I laughed, and she giggled with me.

I patted her head a little harder this time, a light, playful slap.

“Good night.” I said.

She huffed, but obeyed. She leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and let out another little huff of disappointment when I didn’t kiss her back. She then slipped out of bed.

I couldn’t stop myself from eying her naked body… her pert, round, well-whipped ass as she turned away from me.

“I hope Stella isn’t still awake.” she said, “That would be weird.”

“I doubt it.” I said, watching her get dressed “It’s been hours.”

“Mmm… you’ve been fucking me for hours…” she purred seductively.

I laughed again, and so did she.

“Goodnight, Sir.” she said with a slight sigh in her voice, “I love you.”

“I know.” I said, “Goodnight.”

She turned to leave, but slowly turned back.

“And… the watch.” she said, “It’s really OK? You like it?”

“It’s… fine.” I said, keeping my tone steady, “Thanks.”

“OK. Good. That’s good.” she said, “Night.”

“Night.”

She walked out, and closed the door behind her.

I sighed, and covered my eyes with my arm. It was always after she left that things got harder. That I really had to think about her, instead of just being with her.

I looked at the watch on my nightstand. Valentine’s Day.

Jesus. Like things weren’t weird enough.

“Forever Yours.” I sighed aloud.

I couldn’t get that hopeful smile out of my head. Could things ever really be better for us?

A memory suddenly came to me, dark and angry.

When I was thirteen years old, Mia somehow convinced some boys from school, none from my classes, just other random boys, to get together and to piss all over my backpack. Inside it too, all over my books, my homework, everything. I had it with me at lunch, I lost track of it, and then I found it, still wet and stinking of piss.

I threw it out and went to wash my hands. For the rest of the day I told teachers I’d forgotten it, and then I told my parents I left it on the bus. I didn’t tell Stella the truth, and I don’t think she even suspected.

Mia was good at that. Convincing other people to do the bullying for her. She was more than capable of tearing me apart with just her words, but when it came to the physical stuff she preferred to not get her hands dirty.

Of course she never admitted that it was her, but I could see it. I could see the glee in her smile. She’d asked me, “What happened to your backpack?”, “Oh did you get a new one?”, “What happened to the old one again?”.

I tried not to give her the satisfaction, but she knew that I was just avoiding the truth.

I always knew the boys that had done it, too. Not the exact amount, but usually the main culprits. The way they watched me, that same stupid glee in their smiles. Or the guilt. That was far more common.

A guy’d do something to me; trip me up, throw something on my shirt… piss on my books… and then a few days later I could see the guilt. Sometimes they’d even try to be my friends afterward, but I never let them.

I couldn’t blame them for it, really. After a while it became obvious that it was just what she did. She manipulated me. She smiled and winked, she made them feel special for a little while, then she just twisted it.

You know that boy Steven? Wouldn’t it be funny if…?

A few guys actually confirmed it. Came right out and said it. ‘I don’t know why we did that, Mia just… made us. It was all her idea.’

As a kid, my own twin sister took her side more than she took mine, and ultimately chose her over me. Left me completely alone. That should be a clue as to how she was, how seductive she could be.

I suffered in silence, too angry or ashamed to ever tell anyone. Like they’d even believe me. Like anyone would ever suspect Little Miss Straight A’s, pretty little Mia would just torture a boy for no reason.

And now… now I have her. Once again, months after it had started, I still had to shake my head at the craziness of it.

I owned her.