13. [Chapter Thirteen: Angry Sex 3.0]
"The door isn't locked."
The kind lady hadn't made a mistake. She led me to Lawrence's private room; it was Durand who had barged in on his own initiative, wanting to ask him how the interview was going. Lawrence was on the terrace looking down at the time. I can already imagine the smug smile on his face as he watched me walk into the club. Dogs are extremely loyal animals; no matter how far they're lost, they'll run home—that's probably what he thought.
Lawrence settled me, still stunned, on the sofa and saw the uninvited Durand out the door. I stared intently at his retreating figure. Lawrence wore a custom-made dark gray suit, his steps unhurried, his conversation witty and charming. This beast in human skin was so elegant that I almost doubted whether the brutal, bloodthirsty "highway butcher" was actually someone else. His arms, not gripping the machete or the steering wheel, hung naturally at his sides; his legs, not trampling on the corpses of his victims, were long and straight, perfectly concealing his explosive muscles beneath his wool coat. Perhaps it was precisely this deceptive appearance and demeanor that prevented anyone from suspecting whether he was truly a respectable novelist.
Durren left, and Lawrence closed the door, turned around, and opened his arms to me. His muscles rose and fell like mounds, just as they had when I was beneath him and he had his arms braced against me. My nose felt hot, like it was about to bleed. Lawrence laughed, "Now you should jump into my arms, puppy."
I pounced on him, threw him onto the sofa, pulled open his suit jacket, and buried my face in it, inhaling his scent with ravenous hunger. Lawrence didn't scold me for my impulsiveness; instead, he happily ruffled my hair, like petting a puppy that had just come home. I gripped his shirt tightly, pressing my entire weight against him, afraid he would run away. His shirt, which had been perfectly wrinkle-free just moments before, was now as messy as my hair.
"Why...?" My tears fell onto his chest in a steady stream. "Why are you kicking me out?"
"Because, I really love the way you are now, even though I've abandoned you, you still run towards me with all your might, no matter how wronged you feel." Lawrence showed no remorse whatsoever, and pinched my cheek mischievously. "Didn't you come back to find your master by smelling the scent? You could smell it from this far away."
“I came by following the chain,” I sobbed, shaking the collar.
He leaned closer to look. "Where's the chain?"
"You can't see it. Only I can see it," I said defiantly.
"Ah, now I can see it too. This one in my hand?" He smiled as he looked at his empty hands.
It's like the Emperor's New Clothes. I firmly believe in this lie and hope he won't expose it. "Hmm."
He pulled me forward, and I leaned in to kiss him. When he let go, I remained motionless. When he pushed me back, I pressed down on his shoulders, mimicking how he used to kiss me, using the tip of my tongue to part his lips, my tongue pushing in and sucking. My movements were a little clumsy, but I tried my best. Lawrence got hard almost instantly; clearly, he had been suppressing his desire for a long time. He used his knee to spread my legs, his hand reaching between them. I instinctively cried out and pushed him away, but Lawrence immediately grabbed my hair roughly, preventing me from backing away, and took the initiative, hooking my tongue around and violently swirling it around. I closed my eyes tightly, whimpering in discomfort, but Lawrence ignored me, relentlessly ravaging my lips, giving me no chance to breathe. A tingling electric current surged through my body; my waist went limp from his kisses, and I could only passively endure this extremely rough kiss, even though I was the one on top.
When we parted, we were both panting. I was panting especially hard. I lay against his chest, looking up at him with tears in my eyes, and said, "Don't... don't push me away again."
Lawrence didn't answer, his eyes filled with lust, and he said with a rather blunt smile, "I want to fuck you."
Men are all driven by their lower bodies. Their two testicles gradually develop into the left and right hemispheres of the brain, full of grooves but incapable of thought, especially someone like Lawrence, whose animalistic instincts have long superseded his humanity. Whether he agrees or not to send me away again, I believe he won't at least not now; Lawrence's eyes practically scream, "I really want to fuck you." I was furious with him, but I'm a man too, and my lower body longed for his, so I said, "Okay."
Lawrence ripped my shirt off and rolled over, pinning me beneath him. If I let him undress me, I'd be naked in no time. So, while he was focused on sucking my nipples, I tearfully unbuckled my belt and pants myself. I couldn't tell how long it had been since Lawrence had been virgins; his bites really hurt, but this body knew him too well. Every muscle remembered the intense pleasure that followed the pain. Just his playing with my nipples made me want to ejaculate. Lawrence raised an eyebrow playfully, leaning against my chest and looking up at me, his tongue deliberately rubbing around my nipple. That wicked and lustful look ignited my desire. The hallway was outside, and someone could come in at any moment. I tried to suppress my moans, leaning back against the sofa armrest. Just as I was about to climax, Lawrence suddenly touched the head of my penis with his fingertip. Instinctively, I thought he didn't want me to ejaculate, and I managed to hold it in.
I don't know why I was able to hold back; I hadn't masturbated for almost a week. Lawrence was quite surprised as well, but he understood why before I did. He moved closer to my erect penis and flicked it with his finger with interest. Seeing that I was still biting my lip and enduring it, he narrowed his eyes with amusement. "Remember when I helped you control your ejaculation?"
"Yes, he was referring to that time we were in the back of the truck. He tied me up then, and next to me lay a hapless man who had hitched a ride on the 'Death Truck,' also bound, except I was bound with Lawrence's prized erotic leather rope, while the man was bound with cold, sharp wire and rough, tough hemp rope. I was kneeling on the ground, an electric vibrator inserted into my anus—a position more shameful than submission, but I was rock hard. Lawrence didn't insert a urethral dildo; he just left me like that for an hour, while he was busy torturing the desperate man. Lawrence left his limbs intact so he could tell me that if I dared to ejaculate without his orders, he would cut off the man's fingers, one after each ejaculation."
The man looked at me with pleading eyes. What could I do? I could only endure it. Finally, when he had only three fingers left, I learned to control my ejaculation without any external force. It was extremely painful, but the pleasure and orgasm were drawn out infinitely. When Lawrence ordered me to "ejaculate however you want," I fainted from pleasure. When I woke up, I found I had incontinent, and I was so ashamed that I wished I could faint again. The man ultimately didn't escape his fate. While I was unconscious, Lawrence cut off his limbs for amusement and even castrated him because he dared to have sex with me. Even under Lawrence's command, it was rare to see a death more gruesome than that of a human pig.
Just thinking about those memories sends chills down my spine. I should be scared, but my body reacts involuntarily, especially since Lawrence himself is on top of me. He's the real Lawrence, the one I can see and touch. He removed his fingers from my penis, and I knew it was time to release. My mind went blank, and my hips jerked upwards, gushing out thick streams of semen, some even landing on Lawrence's face. He was initially very surprised, then the murderous intent and intense lust in his eyes made me want to run away. I was terrified and frightened; his gaze made me burst into tears. I frantically rolled over, trying to crawl under the sofa. Lawrence grabbed my waist, pulling my dangling upper body back down. Without any lubrication, his thick penis slammed into my anus.
The feeling was like having a branding iron forced into my body. I screamed in pain, my whole body convulsing, my fingernails carving five deep gashes into the leather sofa. Once Lawrence turned into a beast, he completely disregarded my feelings, fucking my anus with the ferocity of a wild animal, using the lubrication of my blood to forcefully open that sluggish place. I felt like I was going to die, but each thrust from Lawrence hit my prostate squarely, the force so heavy that my entire lower body melted against his penis, and the wetness in my anus gradually became sticky. My mind was hazy, and my moans grew increasingly wanton. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I clenched my anus again in fright. Lawrence groaned as I clenched, slapping my buttocks hard. I felt wronged and ashamed, and couldn't help but cry out. Lawrence lifted my chin with his hand, and in a hoarse, lustful voice, whispered in my ear, word by word: "The door isn't locked."
I was stunned. My blood rushed to my head, and I was so frightened that I immediately held back my tears, biting my arm tightly, afraid to utter another cry. The knocking continued; the person outside could burst in at any moment and catch us in the act. I sobbed and slumped over, pleading with Lawrence to give me back my clothes, but Lawrence ignored me and the person knocking, continuing to penetrate me relentlessly. He pressed almost his entire body against me, using gravity to thrust his thick penis in completely, all the way to the hilt in one go. His large scrotum slapped against my entrance, filling the room with the obscene, sticky sounds of wetness and slapping.
"Caesar..." I mustered all my courage to beg for mercy at this critical moment, "Tomorrow, tomorrow is..."
What I wanted to say was that tomorrow was his book launch. If the people outside were reporters, they could just open the door and see clothes strewn everywhere, furniture askew, me being assaulted, and him raping me. A single photo could ruin both of our careers. However, with every word I uttered, Lawrence would deliberately bump into me, making me groan. Soon, I couldn't say anything more. The intense physical contact drove us both mad. I was nearly driven insane by pleasure, and Lawrence was probably no better off. The loud noise was like two wild animals fighting and making love at the same time. The people outside were startled and pounded on the door even harder. "Mr. Essack! Are you alright?!"
"Mr. Essack" was perfectly fine; it was me who was in trouble. I was dazed and covered in bruises; it looked like I'd been raped by "Mr. Essack." But the rougher he was, the more excited I became—I was hopeless. Every time Lawrence pulled out, a bit of intestinal flesh would come out, then he'd thrust it back in hard. After dozens of repetitions, Lawrence gritted his teeth and groaned, spreading my buttocks with both hands, pulling his entire penis out, and then shoving it all the way back in. I bit my bloodied arm and moaned, my penis rubbing against my body and the leather sofa stained with all sorts of fluids, Lawrence squeezing out the last bit of thin semen. Lawrence's orgasm came a few minutes later than mine; while I was convulsing inside him from orgasm, he continued to fuck me fiercely. With the last few thrusts, he suddenly pulled out his penis, flipped me over, spread my legs, and thrust back in from the front. I was being fucked so hard I was shaking my head wildly, my penis was completely drained, but Lawrence still held it in his hand and started stroking it, forcing me to have an orgasm. My legs were kicking weakly, my penis bounced and spurted out pre-ejaculate, my throat was so hoarse I couldn't even groan. Lawrence continued to fondle me while thrusting into me with all his might, until finally he ejaculated deep inside me in large spurts.
The knocking seemed to come from another world, irrelevant to me. I lay sprawled out, my chest heaving, my eyes blankly staring at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, while Lawrence remained inside me, thrusting in and out with lingering pleasure. After a while, I remembered there was someone outside who could come in at any moment, and anxiously pushed against Lawrence's naked, sweaty chest. Lawrence lay contentedly on his side beside me, one hand lazily propping up his head, the other holding a cigarette, and said calmly, in a tone that even I found repulsive, "Just kidding, the door's locked, I can't get in."
My vision went black, and I passed out. I don't know if I was exhausted from what he did to me, or if I was just angry with him.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com