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tvmkavlitzbby

Jul 1, 2024

httpkaulitz

playing with fire

PAIRINGS: Gangster!Tom x Female reader

CONTENT: Smutt

SYNOPSIS: You're obsessed with Tom and there's nothing you wouldn't do to get his attention.

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, mention of drugs drinking and guns, violence, pyromania, p in v, oral (m reciving), public sex.

You went to the bar that night with one thing on your mind. You were already floating after using some good shit you bought a few nights before - the same thing you used to seduce him into going to the bathroom with you, the same thing you slapped your tits and shoved in Tom's face before he fuck you quick and dirty against the sink. You were drunk, but not as drunk as him. He almost immediately regretted it, but you didn't. You've wanted Tom Kaulitz balls deep inside you for as long as you could remember, and now that you've tasted it, you want more. You needed it, because once your twisted mind fixated on something, nothing else mattered: no consequence was too severe, no method was too strange.

You were wearing the tiniest blouse and shortest skirt you had. You knew your body was attractive and you knew that was how he liked it. The way he fucked you with one hand full of breasts and the other full of ass told you that, but even before that you caught him staring. You wanted to feel more than his eyes on you tonight. You wanted him to want you as much as you want him, to give you more than five minutes in a bar bathroom so you could show him that you could really rock his world. You thought if you could fuck him enough, you would hook him. He was already like a drug to you, had been for years, and in your fucked up head you thought maybe the two of you together were perfect: the very definition of two wrongs making a right. Because you were crazy and you knew it, and Tom... well, Tom was Tom.

You paused briefly at the door, taking a minute to roll your eyes at the tight-clothed sluts playing hard to get, before heading down the stairs to the basement. That's where his kind of action was, and that's where he would be, because it was Friday night and that's the way it was. It's always been that way, and it always would be until everyone was on the ground. As you turned the corner, the stench of alcohol flooded your senses. The bitches up there would have covered their noses, maybe even choked, but to you it was a comforting, familiar smell. You wouldn't want it any other way.

Georg was at the jukebox, no doubt playing U2, and he was definitely too distracted to even notice you. And that was a good thing, since he took a kind of sick pleasure in cock-blocking anyone who tried to get close to you. The whole overprotective brother thing bothered you, but for some reason, there wasn't no one in town that he considered good enough to lay they hands on you. Not even his best friend Tom.

You scanned the room from ceiling to floor, even though you didn't need to. You knew where he would be: at the bar with his group, a bottle of beer in his hand. You went straight to him. There was no point in playing. The dirty mirror behind the bar was tilted and stole the element of surprise as you approached. You made eye contact with him in the mirror, but he didn't turn around. He looked irritated, but it didn't faze you. Bill and Gustav were kind enough to greet you, but Tom was silent. You just stood up to sit on the bar stool next to him, letting your skirt ride up and your breasts bounce as you made yourself comfortable. You turned to him.

“Buy a girl a drink?” You asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Tom sat hunched over his beer. He didn't look at you when he spoke. “We’re in the middle of something.” He didn't try to hide the displeasure in his voice. "Go stick your tits in someone else's face, okay?"

"You seemed to like it the other night." You leaned in and spoke deep and husky into his ear.

You let your hand wander to his thigh, and his hard muscles clenched beneath the thin fabric of his pants when you touched him. Tom grabbed your wrist tightly and turned to face you. His huge hands wrapped around your wrist like a steel trap and you bit your lip to keep from moaning.

“I said fuck off. I have business.” He released you and turned to face Bill.

Tom had his back to you and was wearing his black t-shirt, you could see every tense muscle underneath. You couldn't contain yourself. You ran your hands over the fabric from the middle of his back up and over his bare shoulders, all rock hard, and he jolted forward as if you were made of fire. He turned around with his jaw clenched and leaned over.

“I swear to God, if you don’t get away from me right now…”

“You're going to do what, Tom? What the fuck are you going to do if I don’t leave? I’m just trying to get a drink.”

Tom picked up the bottle in front of Bill, the one Tom always bought for him, the one Bill didn't drink, and threw it on the bar next to him. Foam came out of the top and you could feel the liquid splash onto your bare shoulder. “There’s your fucking drink. Now go."

You took it with a smirk. "What a gentleman." You said, and you wandered off towards the bathroom.

You liked him angry; you liked the way the muscles in his arms tensed and his thick veins bulged with hot, angry blood pumping through them. You enjoyed irritating him and watching the pressure build until he broke. You would break him this night. You were sure of it.

You went to the bathroom, the same room he had fucked you senseless in a few nights before, and took the bottle out of your bag. You put some in your mouth and chewed the residue until you were good and excited. The cold beer felt good as it washed away the dull tingle in your mouth and mixed with the slow drip down your throat. You drank the beer to the end and smiled at yourself in the mirror, touching up your makeup a little. With your beer empty, you had an excuse to go back to the bar. The drug was fueling a deep desire for whiskey. You always thought beer was for sissies, anyway.

When you came out of the bathroom, you saw that Tom was alone. Where the hell where Bill had run off to and Gustav was in the corner with his hands on some random slut's ass. You scanned the area for your brother, but he were still clinging to the same girl. Tom was all yours now, there was no escaping it. You sat next to him again and ordered a double whiskey, waiting for him to speak. He didn't, and when your drink arrived, you took a large gulp and turned to him.

“Deals closed?” You asked.

He clenched his fists on either side of his beer, looking down and taking a deep breath before turning to face you. His eyes were on fire and you felt the heat hit your core.

“I'll tell you once. It's not going to happen, not tonight, not ever again, understand? Now get off your ass and take your madness elsewhere. I'm serious. I won’t tell you again.”

You started to feel it, that familiar tingling in the back of your neck that usually precedes some kind of irrational decision, you felt the anger rising and there was no stopping it once it started.

“What the fuck do you think you’re scolding me for?” You spat every word. “You think you can just fuck me and walk away like I’m trash? Do you think you're better than me? Fuck you, Tom. We’re not done yet.”

He banged his fists on the bar and despite the noise of conversation and loud music, everyone nearby turned to look.

Something about the way he used you full name irritated you even more. “Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t make me say that again.”

You pressed a button then, and your mind jumped to the nooks and crannies where you kept your darkest desires hidden. They were bubbling now and it was only a matter of time. You kept your voice steady, but your mind was already thinking about the details.

“Alright, you son of a bitch.” You said. “I will. But give me your lighter. I need to smoke.”

Tom hesitated, but finally decided it would be a small sacrifice to pay to get you out of his sight. He took his lighter out of his pocket and slid it across the counter to you, skull design facing up.

“I will bring it back.” You said, even though it was a lie.

"Don't worry." He replied. “Consider this a parting gift.”

"We will see." You said, and downed the rest of the whiskey in two big gulps before heading up the stairs and leaving.

It was hot as hell outside, but the basement bar was so humid that the night air felt good on your drug-flushed face. It was even invigorating, and that was good, because you had plans to put into practice and you didn't have time to waste. You called your friend. He was the only one you knew wouldn’t ask questions. Besides, he owed you one.

“I need a kit.” You said. “The complete package. I’m in the back of the bar.”

"What the hell is that?" He said.

“Just bring me that shit and shut up about it.” You were losing patience and time was passing. “Or do I need to remind you that you owe me a favor?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He said, and hung up without saying anything else.

Your friend was in the family business, like the rest of his brothers, his father before them and his father before him. They were torches, mostly cars, with some occasional buildings being used for insurance scams. Arson was their business, and although your brother Georg had always made it clear to your friends that you should never get involved, you knew the business inside out. You clearly remembered the first time you saw them set a car on fire. You shouldn't be there. They took you for a walk and told you to close your eyes. You didn't do that, of course. You peeked through your little fingers and watched them douse the van with gasoline before turning on the Zippo lighter and throwing it inside. You remembered the thrill you felt as you watched the lighter fly through the air towards its final destination, the rush of adrenaline as the van exploded in a ball of fire. Even through the closed window, you could feel the heat emanating from it or maybe it was just your blood boiling at the sight of it Either way, from that day on you couldn't resist the pull of a flame. You started smoking at age 12 just to have an excuse to use a lighter and watch the fire dance at the end of the cigarette as you lit it. Sometimes you would light a cigarette and not even smoke it, just watch it burn down to the filter, the smoke rising as it burned. The fire was in your blood, in your bones. Even if you weren't in the car that day, you would eventually figure it out.

Your friend showed up with the necessary supplies: all the shit for a quick hotline, two cans of gas, some bleach, and a crowbar to break the windows, you wouldn't need that last one, but it might be useful to have close by. The fire cannot go out too quickly. There's no point in that. He put the things in the trunk of your car and closed it, looking for answers he couldn't get from you. If he had seen the bike parked out of sight, everything would have made sense, but he didn't.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

"I got it." You answered. Your friend was quicker than you to start, but if he knew whose bike it was, he would never let you do it. You had to go it alone.

“You better know what the hell you're doing. We can’t take any pressure now.”

“I told you I’ll take care of this. Now go home.”

He threw his hands up, resigned to the fact that you would do what you would do and there was nothing he could say to make you change your mind. You were stubborn as a mule and completely off the rails, but he loved you just the same.

"Just be careful." He said as he got into the car, but he knew caution wasn't your thing. You were reckless as fuck and he could only hope that the family way was strong enough in you to keep you out of trouble. He knew you were educated on how to do it right, but it was the why that bothered him on the way home. If it was what he suspected it was, who he suspected it was, there was no telling what might happen. He put it out of his mind because he needed to. He couldn't get involved in whatever shit you were up to. He said a silent prayer for you as he pulled into the garage.

The minute his car disappeared from sight, you sprung into action. You parked your car next to Tom's bike and parked there before grabbing your supplies from the trunk. You stopped for a minute to observe, running your finger over the details and smiling. You would have liked him to fuck you by pressing your body against it. Too late now.

You took a quick look around before grabbing your blood red lipstick from your bag and scribbling the name of a street on the driver's window of your own car. He would know what that meant; he would know exactly where to go. You got back on the bike, slowly but surely starting it. You were proficient but not fast when it came to stealing, but luckily the night was still young and no one was leaving the bar at that time. You scanned the parking lot one more time before exiting out the back. Tom's bike wasn't exactly discreet, and you'd be damned if anyone up front saw it. You knew exactly where you were going - just a few blocks away, the end of a street full of decaying, abandoned three-story buildings. You could feel your skin crawl with anxiety at the thought of what Tom would do, since like you he had a certain level of psychosis and a propensity to cause trouble.

When you reached the end of the street, you parked right in the middle and began making preparations with almost uncontrollable excitement. You grabbed the gas cans and placed them next to the bike before reaching into the seat compartment and grabbing Tom's gun. You didn't know what to do with it, so you just stuffed it in your bag and placed it in the ground before picking up the crowbar. A quick glance at the street told you, you was alone; all the houses were dark and abandoned except the occupied one at the other end, squatters you knew, and they didn't call the police for anything. The only light was provided by flickering street lamps, but it was sufficient for your purposes. You took one last look at the bike before breaking the mirrors one by one. You picked up some shards on your arm, but nothing too serious. You liked the pain, anyway; you liked the smell of blood.

When the glass was good and ruined, you started with the gas. You took special care not to get anything dirty, but you knew what you were doing and managed to maintain it without much effort. When it was soaked and ready, you bleached the cans and crowbar and threw them over the chain link fence into the ocean of weeds growing in the abandoned lot beyond. You went back and grabbed your bag, taking out Tom's Glock and tucking it into the waistband of your skirt. You didn't know why you did it, but something inside you wanted it there, out in the open, where he could see that you had claimed it. It was cold and hard and having it pressed against your warm skin made your anticipation almost unbearable. You retreated into the shadows, pulling Tom's Zippo lighter from your bag and rolling it over and over in your hand, waiting.

Tom was almost done. He was trying to control the next thing, but Bill was in a bad mood and being difficult. And then there was you. He dismissed you immediately, but something in you crawled under his skin and wouldn't go away. You were like a damn rash. He should have never fucked you and he knew it. Don't dip your dick in madness, every idiot knows that. But you were ruthless and shameless and always have been. You were also smart, even though you were crazy. You saw how low his defenses were that night and went for it. It didn't hurt that you had a pretty face and a body built for sin, but still. He should have known better. Now you were an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He threw a wad of cash on the bar to the bartender and left, forgoing goodbyes because he simply didn't give a shit. He walked to the back parking lot, trying to decide what to do with the rest of the night. He was turned on and irritated and knew he would end up either pumping some iron or pumping his cock until he was tired enough to sleep. He took his keys out of his pocket and looked up as he turned the corner, but his bike wasn't there. He took a quick look around, he wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, and he could have sworn that's where he parked, because that's where he always parked. That's when he saw your car, that horrible thing you were driving, and the note you had left in the window for him, scrawled in that whore shade of red you always used to draw attention to your lips, not that you needed it: those lips were made for sucking cock and a blind man could see that. It was just the name of a street, but he knew the place. It was only a few blocks away, but it was no fucking man's land, and he had a nagging feeling that he'd better get there quickly. He got scared and kicked the rusty covering on your car door before running away. He didn't stop until he saw his motorcycle, broken glasses everywhere. Then you stepped into the light and he saw it in your hand, his lighter with the skull design on it.

You wouldn't do that.

You flicked your thumb and the Zippo lighter came to life. You watched the flame dance for a moment and smiled. You were in a kind of trance and didn't hear Tom shouting useless orders for you to stop. You saw him when he looked up, though. He was heading towards you, so you let it fly. He stopped suddenly, the two of you watching the lighter sail in slow motion through the air and land straight on his bike: perfect aim, impeccable execution. The bike started with a hiss and a roar, and for a moment all Tom could do was look at it, his face blank, hard and emotionless. Not that you would know. You were paralyzed by the bright rising flames. The heat from the flames warmed you all over, and your insides were also on fire. Your blood was boiling with the adrenaline of the act, your pussy was throbbing as it sometimes was, Tom's proximity was just a small part of that; it was the exhilarating danger of the fire that really motivated you. You turned to Tom and for the first time his eyes dropped to your waist. He saw his Glock appearing, taunting him.

He crawled towards you, closing the distance with a few purposeful steps, and then he was upon you, malice tearing lines across his forehead. He pulled his Glock from the waistband of your skirt and brought it straight to your face, hard enough to leave a mark but not break a bone. You stood and turned your head to face him. You looked deep into his brown eyes, the glow of fire playing with the golden flecks in his irises, and slowly licked the blood from your bottom lip.

So you went ahead, indifferent as could be. “Hey, Tom.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you violently, shouting "Hey? HEY? Is that what you have to tell me?"

“What do you want me to say?” The heat from the fire was licking at your legs and you couldn't help it. “I had to get your attention.”

"So you set my motorcycle on fire, you crazy bitch?" Tom's voice kept rising until he couldn't take it anymore.

He grabbed your throat with one hand and dragged you across the lawn of the last house on the street, around the corner and throwing you against the rusty fence. It squeaked under your weight as you bounced off and fell to your knees in the dirty grass. You looked at him for a minute, saw his Glock raised for another try, and laughed like a maniac.

“You’re sexy when you’re mad.” You said, then let your gaze wander to the bike, taking in the flames biting the air and sending small sparks everywhere. You were warm everywhere and ready for whatever punishment Tom had to dish out. You stood up and shook yourself.

"Sorry about all this." Your sweet voice was as fake as your apology.

“What the fuck do you say, bitch? Are you sorry?” He grabbed your throat again and pushed you hard against the fence, your face burning with rage as he pointed the gun under your chin. "Sorry is what you'll be."

But you didn't regret it, not one bit, and you never would. You looked into his eyes and a hint of a smile touched your lips before spitting straight into his face.

"Fuck you, Kaulitz."

Hearing his last name pass your lips made his skin crawl. Tom removed his hand from your neck and slowly wiped the spit from his forehead, laughing to no one in particular before pinning your arms above your head and moving the gun to your temple.

All it took was the rough skin of his fingers, the blunt pressure they were capable of. For your panties to be soaked, the grip he had on you was sweet agony.

“Now you’re really fucked up.” He said, and you just smiled again. “I’m going to wipe that shitty smile off your face. Do you think I give a shit about you being a girl? Because I don't give. You’re fucking crazy and you need a lesson.”

He threw the gun aside and grabbed your hair tightly, pulling your head back. You arched your back into the movement until your body was pressed firmly against his and he was looking straight into your eyes.

“You will learn to keep your madness away from me.” He said. “And that’s me being nice.”

Your eyes rolled back. It was everything you wanted. It was everything you had ever wanted for as long as you could remember. Every calculated move, every preparation, every little detail, all leading up to this moment:

“Hit me, Tom.” You said, breathless and anxious. “Go ahead, do it.”

Tom considered it for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side. You were crazy, no doubt, but you were fucking hot and for some reason he couldn't push it away, he felt bad for destroying your face. The animal part of him, the one that was about to take control, would love nothing more than to hit you on the head and watch it explode like a watermelon, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he could put a girl down, especially one with boobs like you had. When Tom first hit you, he hadn't quite decided whether he was going to kill you, but one look over his shoulder at the burning wreckage and he knew he would definitely set you right good and proper.

You fell to the ground after the first punch and, in the next few blows, Tom only saw red, heard only his anger echoing in his ears and the crack of fire engulfing his bike. Something made him stop, however. A strange sound coming from the bloodied girl beneath him: a moan, and not the kind that comes with a busted-up face. It hit him then, this crazy slut was enjoying it. You looked at him and your eyes darkened. You were smiling, licking your busted lip. And then you laughed, that horrible, evil laugh. You were like a fucking witch, using some kind of fucked up dark magic to make his dick hard. And it was hard, hard as a rock, there's no denying it. Your breasts were bursting out of your blouse and your legs were spread wide, your short skirt riding up to reveal your barely there panties. There was a heat coming off of you too, and it wasn't from the bike burning brightly behind him. The thin fabric of his pants was doing nothing to hide the bulge there, and you noticed. Of course you fucking noticed.

“Do you get turned on by this shit, Tom?” You asked, teasing him. "Let's go then. Hit me again.”

"You're crazy, you know that?"

You laughed again. That shit laugh. You had your tits out now and were playing with them, as if his dick wasn't already hard enough. He hated himself for it, but he knew he would end up giving you what you wanted. But he wasn't done with you yet. Not by far. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your knees, pulling your face against his crotch.

"Do you feel it, bitch?" He heard you moan against him, felt your hot tongue licking the fabric. "Well, prepare to choke on this."

He let go of your hair and bent down to pick up the gun, tucking it into the back of his pants as he took a condom out of his wallet and handed it to you. He pulled his pants down to his thighs and pointed the gun at your head.

“Put it on and open your whore mouth.”

You licked your bloody lips at the sight of his cock, long, strong and full of veins before rolling the condom down its entire length. You had barely reached the base when you felt one of his strong hands grab your hair and pull you closer. You stuck your tongue out to tease his tip, but he pulled your head back and let go. He pulled the slide on the Glock and you heard the click as he placed one in the chamber. He pressed the barrel to your forehead and smiled at you.

“Bite me and I’ll fucking kill you. Now open it.” He grabbed your hair again and you opened your mouth, taking the length of his cock deep into your throat.

He held the gun just above your head as he fucked you and if you hadn't had a face full of cock you would have smiled; you knew he assumed you would have a gag reflex and you knew it irritated him to find out otherwise.

He wanted to hear you fight and was fucking a hole in your head trying to get you there. Tears were streaming down your face from the grip he had on your hair and the cramp in your jaw, but you were able to breathe well through your nose. You knew how to take dick, and it was very frustrating for Tom. He was really giving it to you now, and when he realized that fucking you in the throat wasn't going to get him anywhere, he pulled your head so close that your lips were in his balls. He held you there with his armed hand and brought his other hand to your nose, closing your nostrils with his thumb and forefinger.

"Try to breathe now, you slut." You looked up and could see the sarcastic smile on his lips.

Now you would fight, he knew. You were all kinds of stuffy and when you started squirming and clawing at his legs, he just laughed at you. He wasn't going to let you choke, but you didn't know that, and he let it continue until he felt your throat closing around his dick and heard your muffled screams. He pulled out of you with a wet pop and you choked on as much air as you could, gasping and coughing into the dirt beneath him. He just stood there with his dick out, watching you. You were like a strange bird, and he honestly had no idea what you would do next. He wanted to know, so he waited.

You finally caught your breath, but you weren't looking at him. It wasn't that you were ignoring him exactly, it was more like you forgot he was there. You were on your knees, entranced by the sight of the burning bike, and before Tom realized what was happening, you were on your feet, taking off your panties and throwing them over the fence.

"What are you doing?" He asked, because he really didn't know.

You turned to him. "Is not it beautiful?" You asked.

“My damn bike on fire next to an abandoned shack? No. That’s not the word I would use.”

“I mean, if it weren’t for your bike, would you think it was beautiful?”

"Well, it's my bike, and you set it on fire, and I'm not done with you yet, so if you wanted to stop and smell the damn roses, you picked the wrong time."

You slowly walked towards him, lifting your skirt inch by inch until it was caught around your waist and he could see everything. A little more light on the matter and he would have been able to see your thighs glistening where you soaked yourself. He could see your hot little clit, and if he hadn't noticed before, he definitely noticed when you lowered your hand and started stroking it. He didn't know he was holding his breath until he had to let it all go at once.

“Just fuck me, Tom. You can kill me later, but fuck me now.” And he wanted to kill you. He wanted to strangle you to death because you were a psychopath and you set his motorcycle on fire and you were a fucking stain on his life.

But most of all, he wanted to kill you because he wanted to fuck you. He wanted to kill you because you had played this dangerous game with him, and you fucking won. He had to laugh, and it was longer and louder than he expected. He laughed because, in some fucked up way, he was impressed. You were twisted as fuck and belonged locked in chains in a padded room somewhere, but you had gone against him alone, and you had defeated him. Few could say that, certainly no one who was still breathing, but you could.

When he composed himself, you were on top of him, stroking his almost painfully hard cock against your clit. Even through the condom, he could feel how hot and wet you were. You were tight too, he remembered. He had been pleasantly surprised. Thinking about how your pussy felt made him angry, because he didn't want to want you. His cock wasn't having any of it, however, and when you spread your legs and rubbed the tip of it against your pussy, he lost whatever control he had left.

“Do you want to get fucked for real this time?” He growled. “I will break you in half.”

“Fuck, do it.” You screamed. And you were begging for it, with every cell in your body you were begging. “You can fuck me to death. I don't mind. Just do it."

Tom cornered you against the fence and drove his dick into your stomach. You reached above your head and grabbed the rusty fence, and when he brought his lips to your ear, you shivered at the feeling of his stubble scratching your cheek. “Come on up and enjoy the ride, bitch, because I’m going to put a bullet in your head when I’m done with you.”

You just looked at him and smiled before jumping into his arms. You hung onto the fence and wrapped your legs tightly around him and he positioned you just right. One strong thrust of his hips and he was deep inside you. You made some kind of animal fucked up sound and he knew it hurt, but you liked it, it was all over your face and the way you moved your hips against him. He wasn't playing well, though. He didn't care if you liked it or not.

He used his cock on you like it was a fucking samurai sword, pretending that each cruel blow was a new, deep gash in your flesh, and that your pussy juice was hot, viscous blood flowing from the wounds. He couldn't kill her; he knew that now. But he could fake it and he could put the fear of God into you while he did it. You were clinging to him like a damn monkey, writhing beneath him as he pounded into you mercilessly. You were gripping and shaking the fence so hard he thought you were going to knock it over, and he could see that your hands were cut and bloody from the rusty metal. Maybe he would remind you to try that, maybe he wouldn't. Now all he could think about was the grip you had on his dick and the look in your eyes as you looked over his shoulder into the fire. The light from the flames flickered in your face and he couldn't see the damage he had done to you. He was grateful for that; made it easier to fuck you until the end of your life. In broad light, the mess he made would have repelled him, regardless of how good the rest of your body felt. And you felt good, better than good, even though he knew he was traveling on a crazy train. It didn't matter, though. You may have won your little game, but he was in charge now. He fucked you with a fury he didn't know he had and your screams became more and more insistent. He knew you were close to cumming, and part of him wanted to be a sadistic jerk, pull out, make you wait and beg for it, and then cum all over your face. But he remembered the way your pussy felt when you came on his dick the last time, so he let you get there, not for your pleasure, but for his.

"Are you going to cum on this dick?" He growled. "Are you going to cum one last time before I kill you, you psycho slut?"

You threw your head back and screamed at the night sky. "Fuck yes. Fuck me harder, Tom."

“What if I stopped right now?” He said. He wanted you to beg for it. “What if I got you all hot and bothered and put a bullet in your head?”

You looked at him, and he was fucking you as he asked, and your eyes got glassy and crazy-looking. That made him slow and he almost stopped, but then you spoke.

“Then choke me.” You whispered. “Choke me and let me cum and then keep squeezing.”

“You’re too crazy, bitch.” He said, and kept his hands firmly placed on your hips as he fucked you.

But now it was all he could think about. You didn't need his hands to hold you down, you were covered between the cruel grip of your legs and the fence you clung to. It would be so simple, really. You were a little thing. He could break your neck if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, not really, not anymore.

"Do you really want me to strangle you?" He asked, and I couldn't believe he was asking the slut who set his bike on fire how you wanted come, but he was.

"Yes." You said. "Please. Do it. I’m going to cum so hard and then you can finish me.”

And you would have died happy with his strong hands around your neck and his cock trapped inside you. You knew he wouldn't kill you now. He would have already done that. He could have done this many times before, but he didn't. And he was looking at you in a way that told you that you were fucking him the way he liked to be fucked, letting him take control, making him feel like he was the king of the fucking world. And to you, he was the king. Other punks could run around all they wanted, pretending their dicks dangled lower than his, but everyone knew Tom was the man. He was the guy you should be afraid of, the kind of guy who would put you down if you looked at him funny. And here you were, watching his bike burn by your own hands and getting fucked for your trouble. You couldn't help but laugh.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He retorted. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

And then, just like that, his huge hands were around your neck and squeezing. You were already so close to cumming, but between the anger on his face, the fire dancing in the distance, and the lack of oxygen, you came like a rocket. Your pussy clamped down hard on his dick and you bucked so hard that his hands lost control of your throat, and the rush of air that hit your lungs made you twice as excited. You screamed like you were dying, and thought in the back of your mind confused that you might be climaxing, but you didn't give a damn because you couldn't stop cumming for what felt like a year and he fucked you so hard and completely that you were essentially dead when it was over. Your body was jelly and you couldn't hold back any longer and he knew it so he pulled out and threw you in a heap on the floor.

“I hope you enjoyed this.” He said, ripping off the condom. “Because this is going to hurt.”

You thought for a moment that he could fuck your ass without a condom, and if you were honest, you would have let him, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

“Sit down and look at me.” He said, and started jerking his dick. He slapped your face a few times between thrusts and you smiled and opened your mouth.

"Are you going to swallow it all?" You nodded and stuck your tongue out as far as you could. You wanted to taste him so much you could have cried.

“Get ready for this.” he said, and you watched the veins on his arms ripple as he pumped himself until he came. You would have liked to do this for him, but you stood still, on your knees, with your hands behind your back and your mouth open and ready for him. “Open your eyes, bitch. Keep them open.”

You moved your gaze between his face and his cock; you couldn’t decide which one looked angrier. They were both beautiful, though, and that's what you were thinking about when his free hand grabbed your face and held your right eye open while the other masturbated right into him. The first explosion was strong and hurt like hell, but the next jets streaked your face. You smiled even though your eyes were on fire. You wish you could see his face when he came, but you could only imagine the evil grin he must have worn as he blew straight into your eyeball. He gave you a solid fuck you at the end, and you respected him for that. He certainly deserved it, and you found it almost artistic in its execution. You squeezed your eye shut as hard as you could, and laughed because you knew you were crying cum and it was the funniest thing you had ever imagined. Only you weren't imagining it; it was happening, and you reached up to wipe away your milky white tears. You couldn't see out of your right eye, but your left was working just fine, so you used it to stare at him as you sucked his juices off your fingers. You could taste the strong taste of him even through the dirt and blood and rust, and you moaned into your fingers. You must have been a vision, one eye tightly closed and the other bulging because he couldn't stop laughing at you. But you didn't care. You were happy.

Funny that you shouldn't be happy at a time like that, but you were. If what he said was true, he was just moments away from killing you. Your face was bruised and something was probably broken, your hands were cut, your knees were scraped, you looked like you had gone to war, and in some ways you had. You had won some battles, but in the end Tom held all the cards. He composed himself and grabbed his Glock from the grass, returning to kneel in front of you, your forehead pressed to his.

“Any last words?” He said, his face set in an evil smile.

"Marry me." You said it, and you meant it.

He burst into laughter and stood up in front of you. He pointed the gun at your head and moved his finger to unlock it. One movement of his thick finger and the lights turned off. You heard the deafening crack of the gun and saw the barrel glow and closed your eyes but felt nothing but splinters of wood from where the bullet entered the side of the house a foot to your right. You opened your eyes and he was smiling at you, that shit-eating Tom smile you loved so much.

"If you mess with me again it will be right here." He bent down and pressed a dirty finger to your forehead.

Tom patted your cheek twice in a row and ran towards the bar. You stood there for a moment, but you knew it was past time to get the hell out of there. If you were caught on the spot, it would mean trouble for your entire family. You couldn't allow that. You pulled your blouse up over your breasts and your skirt down. Your panties were long ago left to the weeds and you never lost your shoes. You left in the opposite direction from Tom, even if it meant heading home instead of taking the car. You wouldn't go to the bar now, not after what happened, not in the state you were in. You knew Tom wouldn't say a word about what really happened to his bike. He'd say it was some punk fucking him, and he'd probably savage some random kid for good measure, just to make a good show of it. You would say you were attacked, but managed to escape. You would get ready in the morning and take care of your business as if this whole mess never happened.

Except it had happened, and you would never forget it, and even though he almost put a bullet in your brain a few times that night and threatened to do it for real, you knew you wouldn't be able to let him go. Not now, not ever. You smiled. He was like fire to you: powerful, beautiful, deadly dangerous, and easy to unleash. You'd be happy to watch the world burn just to have him again.

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