Losers: Part I

Those early morning workouts with Jason soon became a routine. He’d meet me outside my house, luckily before my mom was awake, and we’d jog together through the park and to the gym. It was clear he wasn’t used to the early hour, and some days he arrived looking half asleep. But he was there every morning regardless, bleary-eyed until the jog woke him up.

I thought a confrontation with Alex was inevitable after what happened. But he didn’t come to the gym at all for the rest of the week. Either he was going at a different time or had stopped coming altogether. Either way, I wasn’t complaining. I was glad to no longer feel the heaviness of his gaze following me around.

It was nice to have a dedicated gym partner. Jason pushed himself hard, and he clearly knew his stuff. Having him there, matching my enthusiasm and challenging me with a little friendly competition, had me feeling eager to roll out of bed in the morning.

It was easy to forget he was there to protect me. The entire idea of needing protection was strange. The boys knew better than me what Reagan was capable of, but I still cringed at the idea of asking them for rides around town when I could simply walk. I was usually able to borrow my mom’s car for my midmorning coffee runs, but on Thursday, she had gone to visit a friend.

I didn’t think I could get through the rest of the day without my espresso. A brewed cup of coffee from our kitchen wasn’t going to cut it. But I still winced when I pulled out my phone, trying to decide who to ask.

I’d always been independent. I’d gotten my driver’s license as soon as I was legally allowed to, and before I got the BMW, I’d been driving around my mom’s old Jetta. No longer having to rely on my parents or boyfriend for rides had been a relief. I never had to ask for permission or wait around for anyone else.

So texting the group chat, Hey, can I get a quick ride to the coffee shop? felt like going back in time. I hated to ask. Besides, this surely had to be annoying to them. I was supposed to be paying them, not getting chauffeured around.

But it had been their idea in the first place.

I can. Manson was the first one to text me back. Give me fifteen minutes, I’ll be over.

I immediately hurried into the bathroom to touch up my makeup. It took several minutes of obsessive preening before I recognized the jittery feeling in my stomach as nervous excitement, like that sensation of anxiety before a first date. But Manson was just picking me up for coffee. It was nothing serious, nothing to get all worked up over.

I put down my mascara, staring at my reflection. I looked different than I had a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure how or why. It was like my face had relaxed, as if I’d been holding tension there and hadn’t even known it.

It was relaxing to finally be getting fucked right; that was for sure. No one else I’d been with had ever satisfied me like these men did. It was more than merely their casual dominance, their filthy words.

They made my life exciting. I never knew what to expect. I no longer knew if I was facing a regular day or if one of them would call, text, or come by and pick me up for a debauched adventure. It took my mind off work and buried all my petty day-to-day stressors.

I enjoyed spending time with them far more than I’d ever thought I would. I liked being in their company, conversing with them, learning from them. And they seemed to genuinely enjoy being around me too — except maybe Lucas, but he was impossible to get a read on.

My cell buzzed, and I picked it up, frowning when I saw a notification from Danielle. It was a Facebook invite to a party at her house this weekend, with nearly a hundred people on the invite list.

A few weeks ago, I would have RSVPed without hesitation. I’d always been a party girl; I loved going out. I loved the laughter and antics of being in a big group of people, all looking to have a good time. Even now, as I shoved my phone into my bag without responding to the invite, I feared I was missing out on something important.

But I wasn’t sure if there was a place for me at parties like that anymore. If I had to go there and lie to make people accept me, why bother?

I passed my sister on the stairs as I was coming down, and she said, “Hey, your boyfriend is outside. Or…” She wrinkled her nose. “One of them is.”

Manson had texted me he’d be arriving soon, but I remained frozen on the stairs, staring at Steph. “Why do you think he’s my boyfriend?”

She cocked her hip and made a face — God, I could swear I used to do the exact same move. It was so weird to see your own sibling turn into a miniature version of yourself. “Um, let’s see…you’re always coming home with hickeys, so obviously you’re seeing someone. Also, Mary Volkov told me you’re dating her brother, so…” She shrugged. “I don’t know why Mom ever fell for your whole They’re just my mechanics! story. You’re losing your touch, sis. You have to be sneakier.”

She walked away, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I’m sure she knew all about being sneaky; I’d done everything in secret when I was a teenager. At the time, it had felt fun, risky, like stealing freedom I wasn’t supposed to have.

But having to sneak around as a twenty-two-year-old woman was tiring.

I met Manson at the curb, sliding into the front seat of his Mustang and giving him a kiss on the cheek. It felt natural to do; I hadn’t even thought about it. But he still looked at me in surprise as he put the car into gear.

“What’s that look for?” I said, taking my mirror out of my bag and preening more in an attempt to hide the blush that tinted my cheeks.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he said, chuckling as we pulled out of my neighborhood.

“You should see me after I have my caffeine,” I said, turning up his music. “I’ll really be in a great mood then.”

I recognized the song as one he’d played the night we went to the lookout, and I found myself humming along as we drove. He parked outside the coffee shop instead of going through the drive-through, explaining, “The engine is too loud and they can never hear me order over the speaker.”

We ordered and took our coffees to go; a white mocha latte for me, a regular mocha latte for him, and six shots of espresso over ice.

“For Lucas,” he explained. “Black as his heart is.”

He took the long way home, driving us through the back roads that wound past farms and fields. He avoided the dirt roads, however, unlike Vincent. But I couldn’t imagine the Mustang would do very well bumping along the rutted dirt.

“Did I take you away from work?” I said as we cruised along at an easy speed. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling out his window, relaxed as he kept his eyes on the road. Another summer storm was rolling in today, the thick gray clouds blocking the sun but not its heat. There was electricity in the air, and lightning flashed in the distant clouds.

“I needed a break anyway,” he said. “Your new engine should be arriving soon. At the end of next week, or possibly the week after. Lucas and I just have to get it installed after that.”

I bounced in my seat. “Yes! Oh my God, finally, my baby is almost home.” I didn’t say anything about the pang of uncertainty that knowledge caused in me. Getting my car back was the entire point of all this, wasn’t it?

Manson turned, pulling off onto a little winding road that led back into the trees. I noticed a sign saying the road was closed, and weeds were growing through the cracked asphalt.

“This is near the old bridge, isn’t it?” I said. Right on cue, I spotted the bridge ahead through the trees. It was built entirely of wood — an old covered bridge that led over Wickeston Creek. It was narrow, only wide enough for one car to drive over at a time, but it certainly wasn’t safe for cars to drive on anymore. A chain with a dangling Caution – Do Not Enter sign was strung across the bridge, preventing us from going any further.

“They say it’s haunted,” Manson said, nodding toward the bridge as he parked and turned off the engine. Birds chirped in the trees, the breeze rustling the leaves as we sat in the shade.

“I heard that rumor,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Ashley and I came out here one Halloween with a Ouija board and tried to make contact. Nothing happened, but I definitely don’t recommend coming out here after dark. It’s creepy.”

He smiled. “Did you really? You’re full of surprises, Jess.”

He’d pushed open his door to let the breeze flow through the cab, leaning back in his seat as he sipped his coffee. His hands and arms were blackened with grease stains from work, and he smelled like motor oil and rubber. He was wearing black coveralls, but the top half was unzipped and pushed down so only his undershirt covered his chest.

He looked so damn good I practically salivated.

“So my car is almost done,” I said. “What about my bill?”

His eyes brightened, a crooked smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “You’ve made good progress with your payments. But you still have a long way to go.”

That smile turned me on even more. “Do I? Damn, I guess I should start trying harder, then.”

The leather creaked as I leaned toward him. His lips parted slightly, his eyes caressing down my body as if his gaze alone could peel away my clothes.

“I was looking at your list again the other day,” I said. I trailed my fingers down his arm, watching a smattering of goosebumps break out over his skin. I absolutely loved knowing when I had an effect on people. These men, as dominant and overwhelming as they were, had little weaknesses I was slowly beginning to figure out.

Manson liked a challenge, but I knew what he liked even more.

“Worship,” I said softly, my lips leaving the word like a caress near his ear. “You like it, don’t you? To have someone on their knees for you, worshiping you, pleasuring you, savoring…” My fingers had trailed down to his hand, and he caught my wrist, using it to jerk me even closer.

“I do like that,” he said, his voice having darkened to a growl that made my spine tingle. “An angel should worship her God.”

“Tell me how to worship you,” I said, so close I could kiss him, but I didn’t dare. I waited for permission, for instruction, ignoring the inner voice that wanted so badly to remain in control.

He set aside his coffee and caressed his hand over my face. “Strip for me. I want to see that beautiful body.”

Getting out of the car, I watched his face as I walked around to the front of the vehicle. I faced him, the wooden bridge behind me, as I pulled my shirt over my head. Every movement was slow, sensual, and I revealed every inch of skin like it was a present to be unwrapped. He watched me through the windshield, his fist resting against his mouth, his gaze heavy. My nipples hardened as I took off my bra and the breeze swept over me. I slipped my shoes off, then reached under my skirt to pull my panties down and then dangle them from my finger.

He got out of the car, tension in every step he took toward me. Like he was trying to hold back, as if part of him wanted to rush at me and grab me.

“Bend over the hood,” he said. “And pull your skirt up.”

I obeyed, my eyes lingering on him as I pulled the skirt up over my ass and bent down on the hood. The metal was still warm as I laid my bare tits against it. He stood behind me and squeezed my ass with both hands.

“Worship means letting me use you as I please,” he said. One moment, his touch was soft; the next, it was tight and rough. “If I want you to suffer for me, you suffer. If I want you to endure pain, you endure it. If I want you to pleasure me, touch me, offer your body up for me…then you do it.”

“Yes, Master.” The title felt strange on my tongue, frightening and nerve-wracking, but somehow so right. He paused, his breathing going still for a moment. Then he laughed softly, the sound sending goosebumps prickling over my back.

“I’m going to hurt you,” he said, leaning over my back as he spoke to me, the palm of his hand rubbing over my ass. “And you’re going to thank me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Ooh, it made me tingly every time. I gulped and then shifted my position so my legs were spread a little wider.

“You’re learning to be such a good girl,” he said. His hand stroked over my thigh, then snapped back, and his palm smacked against my ass with enough force to make me gasp.

“Thank you, Master…” He pulled his hand back again and landed another sharp smack on my cheek. I groaned, forcing out the words, “Thank you.”

He kept going, spanking me until my skin was hot and stinging. I kept my legs spread, my skirt pulled up, but before long, I’d begun to shake. Every biting impact fed my arousal a little more, and my pussy was wet after a dozen smacks. He kept going, pausing only to say, “It’s beautiful when you suffer for me. When you endure because you know it pleases me. You’re doing well, angel.”

The praise fueled me. The next dozen swats made me cry out, and I whimpered, waiting for the next smack to land. It was humiliating in exactly the way I craved, making me feel small and blissfully overtaken.

“Does that hurt?” he said sweetly, rubbing his hand over my stinging skin. His palm was so warm, even warmer than my own burning flesh.

“It hurts…but I like how it hurts.” I arched my back, pushing my ass back against his hand. I gave a desperate moan as I did it, anticipating the sting, but wanting it so badly. “Please…may I have another, Master?”

He laughed, and I thought he sounded so fucking sexy that I squirmed. He spanked me again, right on the curve between my ass and my thigh, and my cry of pain quickly dissolved into a moan of pleasure.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he said, dragging his nails down my skin and leaving burning scratches behind. “Such a good little slut for me. So wet from your spanking…” Two fingers slid into my pussy, and I bowed my head at how good it felt.

He pumped his fingers inside me, continuing to spank me with his free hand. My pleasure was growing, my core swiftly heating as my breath came faster. “Oooh, that’s going to make me come…please…please, let me come…”

“I’m going to bring you right to the edge,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Then I’m going to stop, and you’re going to get on your knees. You’re not allowed to come yet.”

I wanted it so badly I could have cried.

“Don’t stop…” My voice was heavy with need. “Please…please…”

He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to my lips. “Open,” he said. “Use your tongue and get me clean, filthy girl.”

I did as he ordered, cleaning my arousal off his fingers as my pussy throbbed with the want for more. He wrapped my long hair around his fist and pulled me up, gripping it as he guided me to my knees. “You know I like you desperate…waiting…needing more. Needing me.”

“I need you,” I whispered the words as I gazed up at him, nuzzling my face into his groin. I could feel his hard length through the cloth, and I closed my mouth over the bulge as if I could tear through the fabric to get to him. “Let me worship your cock, Master. Please.”

He zipped his jumpsuit down further, leaning back against the Mustang’s grill as I massaged my hand over him, over the black fabric of his briefs between us. He pulled them down, and I leaned close, taking him in my hand and spitting on the head of his cock. I used my saliva to make my hand slick, stroking him slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure.

“Squeeze a little more,” he said, his voice husky. “That’s it, just like that…”

I kept my face close, inhaling his musky scent before I took him into my mouth. I bobbed my head on him, savoring him, humming as the taste of him filled my head. I was so turned on that any whisper of a breeze over my skin felt overstimulating, my every nerve so sensitive. Manson still held my hair, guiding my head, his hold tightening when he groaned.

“Fuck, Jess…your mouth feels so fucking good.”

I loved to watch the pleasure on his face. His half-lidded eyes, his jaw clenching and then relaxing as he leaned his head back. Framed by the Mustang’s shining chrome and bright paint, he looked unbearably sexy, too good to keep my hands off of. While my mouth pleased his cock, my hands moved over his thighs, my nails leaving teasing scratches on his skin.

After several minutes, he hissed softly and tightened his hold, pulling my mouth off him. I strained toward him, wanting the taste of him in my mouth, but he gave my head a little shake and said, “On your hands and knees, now. Get your face against the ground.”

I obeyed, moving into position. I lay my cheek down against the rough old asphalt, keeping my ass up and my knees slightly spread. I felt so exposed out here — the sounds of nature all around me. Occasionally, I’d hear a car pass on the road and I’d hold my breath, certain that at any moment, I’d hear someone shout that they could see us. But the fear of getting caught was part of the thrill.

“So beautiful,” Manson said, pushing my skirt out of the way. He buried his face against me, licking up my dripping arousal, his tongue probing my pussy, my ass. I gasped at the stimulation, groaning as I pushed back against him. I was so close to my orgasm I was shaking, but he stopped before I could plunge over the edge.

“You want to be owned so badly, don’t you?” he said, his voice a murmur. I couldn’t be sure if he was truly seeking an answer, or if he was merely talking to himself. “You want someone to take control, you need it. You don’t want any more frustrating choices, you don’t want to have to think about being judged or rejected. You just want to be a beautiful toy we use as we please.”

There was a click, and I turned my head slightly so I could look up at him. He’d flipped open his knife, the shining blade catching the knife. I remembered the feeling of him slicing open my skin, how much it had excited me to see my own blood welling up.

I felt drunk on the scene he was setting for me — the pain, the edging pleasure, the surety that in that moment, I was entirely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to me, and I savored that feeling of merely being there to serve.

He knew what I wanted, the cravings I feared.

The blade traced lightly over the swell of my ass, taunting me.

“Do you want me to mark you, angel?” he said, ravenous desire in his words. “Do you want to bleed for me?”

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that not only did I want that but I trusted him to do it. “Yes, Master. Mark me, please.”

He made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a snarl. The blade tapped against my ass and he gripped my hip, holding me in place. Slowly, carefully, he cut into my skin. His pupils dilated; his expression completely transfixed as I whimpered softly at the sting.

I was submitting all control to him, but he looked in awe of me. As if I was something to be revered, my endurance admired, my service treasured.

There was no other feeling like that.

“Beautiful.” His tongue stroked over the cut before he kissed my skin, whispering his praise, “Such a good girl, you look so fucking sexy…” He began to rub my clit, and I almost sobbed from ecstasy. I wanted more. I craved him to be inside me.

As if he could sense it, the head of his cock nudged against my pussy as he coated himself in my arousal. He plunged into me, immediately setting a hard pace as he pulled back my hips, jerking me onto him with every thrust. His hips slapping against my skin reignited the burn from being spanked, and I relished it, moaning with abandon.

A knot was tightening inside me, spurred on by every brutal thrust of his cock. I whimpered, the words shaking. “Please, may I come, Master? Please let me…please…”

Could I stop myself if he said no? Could I possibly hold back? The thought of even having to try was too much, but luckily, I didn’t have to.

“Come for me, angel,” he said, his cock punishing me, driving me relentlessly toward my peak. “Come on my cock.”

His words shattered me into pieces. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. I could barely even manage to move. Pleasure washed over me in a suffocating wave, and when I finally rose back to the surface on the other side, I was gasping.

“God, you feel like heaven.” Manson’s voice was tight, breathless. “I don’t want a single fucking day to go by that you don’t have one of us filling you up. You should always feel us inside you, dripping down your thighs, every hole aching…”

“All I’m good for is your pleasure,” I babbled, relishing how his breath came faster. “Use me whenever you want. Keep me sore, please. I don’t want to forget what it feels like ever, ever, ah —”

His fingers dug into me, his hips giving one last thrust against me before he buried his face in my neck as he came inside me. He held me so tight, so close. Even after he’d pumped me full, he kept his cock inside me, sinking back so I could rest against him, holding me up even though his body was trembling.

“You’re fucking perfect, angel. So perfect you’ll make me lose my goddamn mind.”