..Did you think I would take care of you since you have not been with a man in a long time?" I ask darkly, looking at her cruelly, I leave her hands and go back to viciously groping her breasts. " You..you said you would...make it feel good," Becky sobs quietly, the pain is unbearable. " I lied," I say, smirking at her. I pick up the pace, " Wrap your legs around me" I growl. She quiets down, she is starting to feel numb now, not her body, her body is still feeling the brutality, it's her mind that feels numb but my request seems to be the final push for her to fall off the edge and she explodes, " Fuck you!, you son of bitch!." She yells furiously and slaps me across my face with all her strength. I stop moving, my expression is one of shock but that transforms into something menacing, my jaw clenches. I slam into her again, harder than before, she feel like I'm gonna tear her apart. I'm grunting above her face and slamming into her, like a animal, the slick skin of my abdomen. They both wore black. They both liked the retro quality of the restaurant with its polished wooden banisters, cracked leather seats and worn tile floors. She particularly found comfort in the sizzle of food being prepared on the grills somewhere behind them, the nondescript scent of ‘warm’ that permeated the air from years of preparation and serving within these walls. It took the chill out from the air outside and created an intimate atmosphere, even with the silhouette of skyscrapers looming somewhere beyond the double glass doors leading outside. It began as these things often do. They sat shoulder to shoulder and occasionally a knee would brush against knee, or ankle against ankle, toe against toe. The seat was formed in a semi-circle, hugged the equally circular table in the corner so they sat close, and said little. They ordered food and she pushed her egg rolls around her plate, nibbling occasionally, sprinkling soy sauce, all idle gestures that meant little. They talked of.
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