My Bullies, My Lovers

Tori “Oh yeah,” I fake a moan as Kyle continues to lick at the wrong spot. That's my inner thigh, Kyle. Can you really not tell the difference? You're Twenty-f*****g-four! When his text came proposing I come sit on his face, my deprivation prevented me from denying his request. I took an Uber, like an i***t, because my car is still sitting pretty at the shop with a starter that needs replacing and a ball joint that's as loose as an eighty-year-old woman's sagging t**s. Hard to come up with the money at twenty-one with a part time job and college books to buy. His hands grip at my thighs, pulling me down further towards his face with need…probably because he's in the wrong damn spot. My thighs burn in agony, having to try to hover over him so I don’t crush him. I don't want to suffocate a man with my labia. I'm so bored my gaze is fixated on the Rocky f*****g Balboa poster he has hung on the opposite wall. How the hell did you get here,Tori? When his hand aimlessly reaches up towards my breast, I take it, guiding it to his wanted destination. He squeezes too aggressively at first, but realizes his mistake and eases, massaging it softly instead. Now, if he could just get his tongue in the right spot. “Mmmm, yes. That's it,” I throw in, needing to finish this already. I've gotten too good at faking it as of late. Let's see, this will be the twenty-seventh time I've had to pretend I've had an orgasm? I'm not sure that anyone, aside from myself, will ever get me to c*m again, not since him. Is this what s*x is going to be like for the rest of my life? If so, shoot me now. I would like to believe that I could keep to myself rather than continue this hopeless journey, but here I am, hovering over Kyle's face in hopes I'm wrong and he has somehow figured out how to bring me the pleasure I so desperately seek. Nope. Nothing but f*****g licks to my thigh. Come on, Kyle. You're killing me. “Oh, yes!” I yell out in my convincingly fake tone as I start to grind my hips faster for show. His finger pinches at my n****e and I have to bite my tongue to keep from wincing. After this is done, I'll have to return the favor and choke on his soda can of a d**k. I'm definitely getting the raw end of this deal. I tense my muscles as a muffled high-pitched squeak leaves my mouth, allowing him to believe he got me to reach my peak. My thighs are screaming as I hop off and die beside him in bed. Stop skipping your trips to the gym, Tori. You're so out of shape. Kyle immediately props himself up on his elbow with such a self-assured grin I want to slap it straight off his face. You're a f*****g i***t, Kyle. But sure, feel good about yourself. “That was faster than last time.” He wiggles his brows as if I should be praising his skills, but it only annoys me further. Shit, was it really? “Yeah, I guess it was. It must have been the boob play.” I pinch my lips together so tight I almost make them disappear entirely into my mouth. “Ready to return the favor?” He asks the question, but he's already taking his pants off as if he knows the answer. I'm not one to leave someone high and dry, so I'll do it, but after this, Kyle is on the block list. So useless. His thick-ass d**k jumps to life like a cobra ready to strike. The large veins throbbing with need are visible from across the room, pulsing all the blood to the pink tip of his c**k. “One second.” I reach over the bed for my pants, digging in my pocket to pull out the d**k lips I brought specifically for this. If I'm going to choke on his c**k, giving head, then at least it will taste good. I lick the gummy before sliding it down his c**k, Suck me Strawberry. The gummy tears slightly at the side, almost splitting apart and becoming useless, but thankfully it holds together, just barely, like a prostitute's v****a. From there, it's just a lot of sucking, gagging, licking and rubbing until Kyle cums in my mouth without warning. I want to spit it all back out on him, tell him to open his mouth and swallow it his f*****g self. I don't. Instead I gulp down the slimy s**t and get dressed. Why do you do this crap, Tori? You know no one is going to erase the memory of him, no matter how hard you try. “Well…” I slide my legs into my underwear, pulling them up so fast I almost trip. “This was, uhhh…” I'm searching the crevices of my mind for a word to describe this dreadful experience as I grab my pants and shimmy into them. “Amazing?” he offers, and at this point I don't care enough to come up with an adjective to describe what this really was. “Sure.” I nod as I spot my shirt on the nightstand, pulling it on as I make my way to the door. “Goodbye, Kyle.” I don't turn to look back at him, leaving before he can say anything more. Add another one to the books, Tori. You're on a roll. *** “Where did you go last night?” Alicia hands me the cereal box, her thumb still skimming her phone, lost in endless doom scrolling. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, barely acknowledging my presence. I grab the box and head to the counter, pouring an absurd amount of chocolate puffs into a bowl and drowning them in chocolate milk. “I went out,” I say, lifting my bowl. “Wow. Thank you for that detailed answer. Just what I wanted to hear.” Alicia’s words drip with sarcasm. It’s our default, the glue that makes us tolerable as roommates. She gets it. I get it. But that doesn't mean I enjoy being on the receiving end of it. “I figured as much,” I retort, matching her sarcasm. “Whatever. Don’t tell me, then. I’m not your parent.” She shrugs, doing her best to feign disinterest as her thumb starts up again. But she’s an older sister at heart—even though she’s not mine—and the need to know is always there. “You’re right. You’re not my parent.” I scoot the chair back, the legs screeching in protest across the seventies patterned linoleum. Sitting, I drop my bowl on our small, round red table and shovel a spoonful of chocolatey goodness into my mouth “You’re my best friend.” I wink at her, cereal still in my mouth, barely swallowing before adding, “I'll give you one guess.” Alicia finally looks up, intrigued. “Another failure?” “Another failure.” I sigh, refusing to say his name. Admitting that I’d expected another disappointment would only make it worse. “I’m telling you, you need a professional.” She leans back, crossing her fishnet-covered legs beneath her Lolita-blue dress and black corset. “I’m not sleeping with a prostitute,” I groan, bending over my bowl. “That’s not what I mean. Gross.” Alicia wrinkles her freckled nose, waving a dismissive hand. “I mean, find someone super experienced. Like, someone who knows what they’re doing.” I get it. I’d known one once. That’s why I’m in this mess. “And how exactly do I find that?” I arch a brow. “I know people.” She taps her phone, as if the solution is just a text away. “Nope. Absolutely not.” I shake my head so hard the room spins. Her guys are into kinks that are way out of my comfort zone. “I’m not wearing a tail.” “You’re missing out.” She shrugs, attention already drifting back to her screen. “I’ll let you be the judge of that, cause I'm never finding out.” I make an exaggerated X with my arms. “It’s a hard no from me.” “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Anyway, you better hurry or you’ll miss your bus again.” “Shit.” Milk dribbles down my chin as I curse, realizing I’ve still got a mouthful of cereal. Grabbing one of the disposable toothbrushes I bought yesterday, I brush as I dart around the tiniest two-bedroom apartment ever built. I throw on my black tube top and green cargo pants and race to the bus stop outside our complex, just as the bus doors open. Panting, I adjust my bag on my shoulder. Can’t be late for work again. I swipe my card and grab a dangling handlebar, giving up on finding a seat. The morning commute is always packed—everyone in the neighborhood seems to be on the same schedule. I miss my car. It takes a total of five stops, twenty more people, and too many minutes for me to arrive at my destination. I almost miss my stop as I try to squeeze through the mass of passengers, barely stepping out as the doors close, almost catching the ends of my auburn hair. I stand on the sidewalk, allowing myself to take a moment to breathe, feeling overstimulated from the close proximity of everyone in that sardine can. When I feel my mind can handle people again, I take a step in the direction of the cafe I work in. “Cutting it close!” Shawn, the shift leader for the day, yells from behind the counter, tapping his watch at me. I look at mine. Two minutes. He's not kidding. Hurriedly, I make my way to the back employee room, getting the baggy green shirt out of my bag and putting it on. The golden name tag is pinned onto my shirt haphazardly still reading Victoria rather than Tori like I’ve asked them to change for months. With my visor held between my lips, I tie my hair as I make my way behind the counter. Maci hands me the headset and my day begins, taking coffee orders from people that watch too many one minute videos with drink recipes that make my life hell. “Thank you for choosing Java Jive, where we put more effort into our coffee than our small talk,” I start, listening for the customer's reaction in my right ear. It's so silent I question if anyone is even there until I'm greeted by a voice so delicious my legs immediately press together. Why does this voice sound so familiar? “I am not sure if I like that. The effort for small talk is so low that it wouldn't take much to put more into the coffee.” Now I'm the silent one, unsure of how to respond, I answer with what I should have said to begin with. “What can I get started for you today?” “I'll have a small black coffee and a—” he starts, pausing to confirm an order with his passenger. “A medium caramel frappe?” He seems so unsure of the drink that I question whether or not it's real. Of course it is. I've made it a million times. “Will that be all?” I bite my tongue, giving him the most professional side of me rather than my snarky normal self. What I wanted to say was ‘are you sure that's what you want?’ “That's it.” “Great. Please pull up to the window.” My heart is hammering as I start on the order, wondering what the face of a voice that beautiful looks like. My hands are shaking so badly I get caramel on the side of the cup instead of inside it. Maci takes over, staring at me like I'm an i***t as I head to the window, seeing his black pick-up truck with windows so tinted I can't make out who's inside. Very slowly, the window slides down, until I'm met with a familiar face, one that punches me right in the gut. You've got to be f*****g kidding me! Thorne Harrow—my high school bully. What hits me harder is the girl beside him is none other than my ex-best friend, Sadie Gray.