Until now.
If this is his revenge, I deserve every bit of it.
* * *
Daniel
She is stunning in the throes of orgasm. She arches and cries out, her pussy clenching my cock with desperate contractions, milking my cum inside her. I give her every bit of it, holding nothing back. Is this how she looked the first times I claimed her? I curse the drug that gave me the experience, but wiped it from my mind.
In the end we are panting with sated lust, our bodies covered in mutual sweat. This is what I dreamed of for such a long time. Perhaps not as wild, but this connection. This togetherness. I kiss her and kiss her again, feel her soft against me as orgasm leaves her limp with satiety.
This is romance as I have craved. This is the physical manifestation of what we’ve always shared. No matter what, she and I have never truly been apart.
“That was incredible,” I say, cupping her face as my cock slides slowly from her sex, leaving my cum to slide from that tight little slit.
Her face crumples, and she bursts into tears.
I don’t know what to do. No part of my transformation has enabled me to deal with an upset woman.
“Why are you crying?”
She’s never cried before. Does she regret it, now she knows who I am? Is she ashamed that I have seen this desperate wanton side of her? Or have I gone too far? Hurt her in a way she did not enjoy?
She curls up and sobs, great wailing sounds that make me feel confused pity.
“What is it, Briarlee? What is it? Tell me,” I cajole her gently. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she cries. “Noooooooo.” It’s drawn out in a long, pained wail and I’m not sure I believe her, or understand what’s going on. I start to check her over, make sure I didn’t inadvertently harm her in my passionate lust. Her pussy is puffy and swollen, covered in a sheen of my cum and her juices, but there’s nothing that should be causing her to cry like this. No bruising, no tears.
She keeps crying as I look her over, sobbing to herself in the most heart-wrenching way. Her breasts are fine. Her bottom is fine. Her legs, her knees, I even check her toes, which makes her giggle in her tears and then return to crying even harder.
“What is it, Briar? Tell me…”
It is impossible to get sense out of an incoherent woman. It takes her what feels like a horribly long time for her to calm down enough to scream in my face.
“It’s my fault!”
I’m confused. “What’s your fault?”
“I did this to you. I got you hurt!”
“What do you mean?”
“You were picking me up! Because I was drunk! If I’d called my dad to come and get me like I was supposed to, you never would have been on that road with me. And we’d never have had that accident. So it’s my fault.”
She’s going a long way back into our shared history, reliving what happened all those years ago. I wonder how much she’s thought about it since it happened. I used to think about it almost every day. Since I started treating myself, I’ve hardly thought about it at all. I’ve been too busy lusting for her, having her, using her, enjoying her. Maybe I should have talked to her before now, but we’ve hardly had a chance to talk amid all the fucking.
“You were the one not driving drunk,” I remind her. “That was the other asshole. And I’m fine now, sweetheart. Look at me. I’m better than fine.”
“You’re a sexual maniac. You’re a beast. You’re a monster!”
“So you don’t like what we’ve been doing.”
“I do!” she cries. “That’s what’s so wrong about it. I don’t deserve this! I don’t deserve you! I don’t deserve anything,” she sobs. “I knew… all these years I knew you wanted me and I… I just used you. I never did anything for you. I never…”
Her speech is halting and comes between gasps and it’s only just barely coherent. I have to catch the threads of her thoughts, weave them together.
“It’s my fault,” she gasps. “My. Fault.”
* * *
Briarlee
I know I’m not making any sense. This is fifteen years of guilt pouring out all at once, catharsis by orgasm.
He doesn’t understand it. Sometimes I think he forgets everything he lost that day. Until that accident, he was a track star. He was on the honor roll. He could have been anything. Done anything. And then I had to go out and get drunk with Brandon Storesby and I called Daniel instead of my dad and he came to save me, just like he’d done every time I needed him since we were kids. But that time, he got hurt. Bad. And I’ve never forgiven myself for it. Never will forgive myself for it either. Now, I don’t know if I can forgive him for this.