He sat on the kitchen counter, smoking a spliff.
In between tokes, he pulled me towards him and kissed me. Slowly. Aggressively. Urgently.
He forced my head down and unbuckled his belt.
It was substantial.
“Go on, then.”
I raised my eyebrow and smirked.
“You can take it.”
I took it deep. I gagged and spat.
“All. The. Way”
He thrust and let out a small moan.
My eyes began to water. I gagged and spat.
“All. The. Fucking. Way. Back”
I couldn’t breath. I gagged and spat.
He thrust harder than before. He left it there for longer than he should have.
I gagged, retched and spat up my dinner.
He scooped up bits of half-digested food and threw them in the sink.
I was mortified.
He dragged my face towards his.
I didn’t know what would happen next.
He kissed me. Slowly. Aggressively. Urgently. And ran his tongue along the inside my mouth. When he pulled away, he licked all the way down my chin and neck.
He raised his eyebrow and smirked.
“You haven’t finished yet”
So I continued.
In his DIY recording studio – soundproofed with egg boxes – he produced a rap about the incident.
He asked me to lay down some vocals. Just like the girls do in mainstream gangster rap.
I put on the headphones, and gagged and spat into the mic.
I stopped seeing him before I got to hear the final mix. Shame.