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I insert two fingers into my cunt, finding the sweet spot, working it alongside my clit. My head falls back again against my headrest, my breathing picks up and my chest moves rapidly the faster I go.
A moan escapes me, as I continue to picture the guys with me, cumming inside and on me. My walls clamp around my two fingers as I continue to rub my g-spot. My legs tingle in anticipation.
Fuck yes, this feels so good.
My orgasm erupts on my fingers, my walls clamping around my fingers as my thumb frantically works my clit through it. Tingles run from my toes to my pussy. My body feels electrified. I buck my hips as I continue to work myself through my release.
Once it starts to subside, I remove my fingers, and an aftershock comes over me, my pussy clenches as it continues to spasm. Slowly, I remove my hand from my leggings, my fingers glisten and my face feels flushed. My breathing is heavy as I realize I have nothing to clean myself with.
Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I suck my cum off. My tongue lapping them, getting every last salty drop. As I withdraw them, I wipe the remaining saliva on my pants. Focusing back to outside, it’s gotten darker out. The sun sets fast and early inthe winter. No chance anyone saw my performance here in the school parking lot.
Before I can start my car, my phone buzzes on my passenger seat. I pick it up, it’s from an unknown number,
Good Girl, Banksy.
28
LANDON
I’m at my desk working on my midterm project. The table light is the only thing brightening my space as I’ve kept my curtains closed. This piece has to represent something that haunts us when we sleep at night and frightens us during the day. It’s like someone told them this is exactly what is happening to me right now and made it into a project.
My professor claims confronting it is a therapeutic technique, not only an art assignment. It has many layers, and she wants to see us dig deep inside ourselves and expose each layer in our work.
My charcoal pencil works vigorously on the page, after a few lines I drop it and smudge some of it with my fingers, turning it into shading. I am barely thinking with the piece, allowing my hands and pencil to take over.
The art is naturally flowing out of me. Not critically analyzing anything in it. If a line isn’t perfect, then that's how it should be. If the professor wants us to display our souls on paper, our nightmares and fears, then that is exactly what she will get from me. I’ve spent hours on this already, only half way done with aweek to go. I’m not worried. When it’s done, I’ll know. My pencil will drop and my hands will fall back. And that is when I’ll know.
The door slams, catching my attention. Looking at my phone, it’s time for a break anyway, I have been at this desk for hours. Another door slams inside the house, but it sounds like it’s coming from downstairs. What the fuck?
Pushing my chair back, I stand up, and brush my hands off on my pants, and go downstairs to look around.
Through the window I can see Hudson’s car, so he is home. In the kitchen, there’s still no sign of my brother. As I turn to leave, a light under the basement door catches my attention. Opening the door, I head down the stairs, I haven’t been back down since she left.
As I reach the bottom, I see Hudson sitting on the edge of the mattress with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“Dude, what’s going on?” I question him. He doesn’t respond, so I go sit next to him. What is happening with my brother?
We sit in silence in this dingy, cold basement. The chain is still attached to the floor, the sheet and pillow are still on the bed. The bucket is gone. We dumped that into the trash immediately after getting home from her place.
“How do you do it?” Hudson breaks the silence, still resting his head in his hands.
Confused by his question, “What do you mean, do what?”
He sighs. “The only way I can cum anymore is if I picture myself coming all over her tits.”
Ah, Banks.
Before I can answer, he continues, “Am I like dad? Getting off on the torture?” His voice is full of emotion. How long has he been beating himself up for this and not talking about it?
“You and me are nothing like father. I mean nothing. She’s in my head too, man. Knowing you were hooking up with chicksafter, I was so jealous. Wondering how the fuck can you move on so quickly, why can’t I?” He looks up at me, shocked by my confession that so closely matches his own.
“I haven’t fucked anyone since that chick you tossed off my cock. Blowjobs only. My eyes have to be closed though and coming on Banksy’s tits is on repeat in my head. It’s the only way it works.”
I laugh at that, it’s nice hearing I’m not the only one fucked. “Dude, I tried to fuck a chick in the bathroom the first game back, at Graves. You know I told you about the blonde. What I left out was, she demanded I look at her and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t finish.”
Before I can finish the sentence, Hudson laughs, “Dude, you faked it?”
“Yeah, I fucking faked it. Never in my life did I think those words would come out of my mouth.”
