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I smiled. “I can’t promise no sass. But...I’ll try to be good.”
“Sliding into your old ways so soon?” he chuckled. “It’s been two minutes and now you’ll only try to be good?”
“Being good is hard for a bad girl,” I said. I traced my fingers up his chest, wondering what it would look like without his shirt. “But you know...it may help me be good...if you fucked me.”
His calm expression was rattled by his surprise. I was used to boys falling head over heels for me, scrambling for the opportunity to sleep with me. But as his surprise subsided, Manson just smiled slowly, as if I’d said something silly. He squeezed my cheeks and gave my face a shake.
“Oh, Jess. I can’t make it that easy for you, now can I? That’s no fun. I like watching you struggle.”
I pouted, wiggling on his lap so I could grind up against him. “Of course it would be fun! Just a quickie-”
“No, angel.” His voice was firm. “Not yet. When I fuck you - if I do - it won’t be some quick fuck on a couch. I’ll make you scream.”
I could usually roll my eyes at boys’ promises of overwhelming sexual prowess, but from Manson - I believed him. I didn’t dare doubt what he was capable of, and I wanted him even more. The desire was going to drive me crazy. How could I possibly manage to rejoin the party after this and behave normally?
I wasn’t used to not getting what I wanted. My voice became a whine. “Please, Master. Come on.” I moved my hips in a slow, smooth circle, and felt his dick twitch against me. Ha! How could he possibly resist that? But instead of unclasping my bra, Manson reached around and gripped my hair. The painful tug made me still instantly, hissing at the pain.
“When I say no,” his voice was low, a warning. “It means no. Understand?”
“Yes, Master,” my response was quick. As horny as it had made me, I did not want to get bent over and spanked again.
“You’re going to be patient for me,” he said, holding my head in such a way that I couldn’t look away from his gaze. “You’re going to suffer through that wet pussy of yours and wait. And every time I order you to do something, it’ll feel a little worse. You’ll just have to take it.”
My insides were quivering in anticipation. The very fact that he dared to deny me...the balls on this guy were monstrous. He stood up suddenly, dragging me with him, holding me close against his chest with his hand still tangled in my hair. Looking up at him like that made me quiver, yet somehow, in total disregard for self-preservation, I whimpered, “That’s not fair.”
He tweaked up an eyebrow, and said slowly. “Not fair? Not fair, angel?”
I gulped. Oh, regret, regret, instant regret! “Well...I mean...you...you can’t just…”
“I can’t just what?” His grip on the back of my hair tightened, tugging me down, forcing me back to my knees as he leaned over. “I can do whatever I want, angel. I can make you suffer all night and never give you release. I can spank you again just because I like hearing you scream - and you do sound so pretty when you scream.”
My ass burned as it pressed against my folded legs. I didn’t want another spanking when my skin was already so angry. “I’ll call my safety word then,” I whimpered. I didn’t expect him to find that as funny as he did.
“Your safety word means that this stops, angel. That’s what it’s for. It’s not a way to get what you want, it’s a way to keep you safe.”
But I didn’t want it to stop! I wanted to get off, desperately. I wanted to get him out of his pants and into mine. I squirmed unhappily, “You’re so mean.”
He grinned, and kissed my forehead. “Oh, angel. You have no idea.”
Part III - The Clowns
I’d known it would be torture. But god, I wasn’t prepared for just how awful it was to be horny with no hope of relief.
I kept the pout on my face as I followed Manson around the party. Walking felt so awkward - between my stinging butt and overwhelming arousal, and still without the comfort of panties, I was in constant fear that someone was going to get a peak under my skirt. I’d just had to wear a short skirt to the party, but of course, I hadn’t planned on losing my underwear and my pride that night. Despite my discomfort, I stuck close to Manson and tried my best to be obedient - at first.
I’d warned him that being a good girl was very, very hard.
I wanted him to feel the same torture I was. How could he stand to wait? It had turned him on to spank me, and I could see that same pleasure on his face every time he gave me an order. But that meant that even more intense than his desire for sex, was his desire to make me suffer, to make me desperate, to keep me denied. That was terrifying.
I did try to be good. But my humiliating tasks kept me wet, and the longer it went on, the more my frustration grew. I began to plot a desperate escape to the bathroom, where I could rub one out quickly and maybe he wouldn’t notice.
It was approaching midnight. Kegs had been brought out, people were getting thrown in the pool and shedding their costumes in the water. Manson and I were easily the most sober people there, not that anyone seemed to care. Manson kept spotting people he knew, stopping for conversations, laughing and joking. He seemed to know everyone - even the people that hadn’t gone to our high school. Not only that, but they all seemed to really like him. People’s faces lit up when they saw him, they spoke faster when they answered him. Seeing their enthusiasm actually made me feel proud. I was the one at his side, I was the one getting drinks for his friends.
But I was also the one squirming with horniness, my ass still red and stinging, as I desperately tried to resist the urge to grind up against Manson’s leg like a dog.
I’d felt proud when I dated Kyle - I’d basked in people’s envy, drinking in their jealousy. Kyle and I had been each other’s status symbols - although we were pretty shitty ones. It was the only thing I really had to hold onto from high school and that...that was pretty lame.
Unlike Manson, who apparently had not only friendships but adoration. I always remembered him as being alone, and maybe he was alone before he’d gotten expelled. But that had changed. A lot had changed.
Someone convinced the drunk DJ to play a creepy, haunting track to set the mood, so instead of upbeat dance music the yard was suddenly filled with the slow pull of violin strings and a thumping drum. The cool air had grown absolutely chilly, and I wrapped my arms around myself as Manson stood talking about computer operating systems and Java-something with a bespectacled couple. Glancing around, hoping to find somewhere close by I could go to warm up, I noticed another group had just arrived to the party.
My heart plummeted into my stomach. Cold dread shot through my veins. Without realizing it, I squished myself tightly against Manson’s side.
“What’s up?” he said, glancing back in the way I was staring. “What’s wrong-”
“Clowns,” I hissed. “There’s fucking clowns.”
Three men were walking across the yard from the side gate, beers in hand, laughing and shoving one another. They wore matching black jumpsuits, their hair was buzzed short, and all three wore horrible, pasty white face paint. Black shapes had been filled in around their eyes, and their lips had been exaggerated into horrible jagged grins with black paint.
