And you close your eyes and writhe in faux-pleasure as he invade the most hidden part of your body. You count backwards from one hundred, wondering on which number he'll stop. He'll pull back only to push right back in. Harder.
You shut your eyes and bite your lips in pain and he sees that as an invitation to push harder and rougher. You can't hear his pants and moans and curses because you're busy listening to the grit of the bed. You are not interested in his sounds of pleasure because you're never really feeling it yourself.
You just wish it'll end soon.
You wish he'll finish with you faster.
He'll hold you afterwards like a good boyfriend he was. Mumbling how it was the best he ever felt when it's the same thing he said last time. He'll tell you he loves you and you'll tell him you love him back.
Because that's the whore you are.
Too desperate for attention and love and affection that you're ready to give him your body as payment.
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anx·i·e·ty
Randomyou were six and you're never good enough. you do this wrong, you did that right -but not quite. you were six. and you're never good enough. you're thirteen and ain't smart enough. you can't pronounce faux pas properly. you cannot derive formulas...
