“Give me your hand.” His voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability I wouldn’t have expected. I place my hand in his, and he guides me to his shaft.
“I want you to beat me off. Have you ever given a hand job before?”
I feel my cheeks heat at the word. Hand job.
“No,” I whisper, feeling ashamed. I’m not sure why I feel the way I do, maybe because most eighteen-year-olds know more about sex and the male anatomy than I do.
A part of me wants to give back to him for being so kind to me, while the other part of me knows that being kind to one another is just plain human decency.
I look up at him, watching as his jaw clenches, the muscles jumping. Is he angry? He seems mad, and that only makes me more nervous. His grip tightens on mine, as he places our hands against his penis. I gasp at the simple touch. It’s smooth and surprisingly soft beneath my hand.
“I’m going to guide you through it. I’m not going to hurt you or force you to do it, but I won’t let you stop until I’m finished if you do this, okay?” I hear the want in his voice. He wants this, he wants me, and for some reason, that makes me happy.
“Okay,” I whisper. I feel nervous but surprisingly I’m not really scared, not like I was with the guys who came into my cell. Ivan keeps saying that he won’t hurt me, and I believe him. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and he said he won’t force me. He is giving me a choice, and I want to do this for him.
Within seconds of my response, he starts guiding my hand up and down his shaft with his hand still wrapped tightly around mine. He goes slow at first but I think that’s just so he doesn’t frighten me, and after a few strokes, he glances over at me to check if I’m okay, like he half expects me to starts screaming or crying.
I bite at my bottom lip nervously when he catches me looking down at where our hands meet. Heat creeps up my neck and onto my cheeks, and I wonder if I’m doing this right? I know he said he’d guide me, and he is, but I don’t know if this is how it’s done.
He starts picking up speed with each stroke, and a deep groan of pleasure vibrates from within his chest, slamming into me. I don’t know what it is about that sound, but I suddenly want to hear it again, and I realize I want to be the one drawing that sound from deep within him.
“Can you do this by yourself?” he asks me with a near breathless voice.
I eagerly nod my head and see surprise flicker in his gaze. I want to please him. Right now, in this moment, I want nothing more, and it’s not because I feel like I owe him, I just want to do it. I want to be close to someone, anyone. So, when he releases his hold on my hand, I do exactly as he was just doing, watching his facial expressions to determine if I’m doing it right or not.
He put his hand on the shower wall in front of us and lets his head hang down. I watch him closely as he closes his eyes, and his lips part, a growl emitting from his throat.
“Faster,” he orders through clenched teeth. A heat settles between my thighs, his voice vibrating through me as I stroke him faster, my thumb rubbing over the slit at the head of his penis with each stroke. I squeeze him as hard as I can, my hand not quite big enough to wrap around him all the way. His eyes flicker open again, and he looks down at my body.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me close to his body as my hardened nipples rub against his heated skin and my bare pussy rubs against his leg. A number of sensations course through me, fear, excitement, pleasure. I refuse to cling to any one of them, afraid of what may come if I do. Instead, I focus on Ivan.
“Fuck... fuck…” he roars, his hand slamming against the tiled wall. The intensity of his pleasure pours out of him, and his hardened length throbs. My arm starts to grow tired, but I know he has to be close. I continue with the same rhythm until I hear him growl and watch eagerly as ropes of semen shoot from his penis and onto the tile in front of us. The sticky substance coats my palm and when I release my hold on him and pull my hand away, I stare down at it.
His eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy. He leans against the wall as if he needs it to hold him up straight. It takes him a few moments to recover and when he opens his eyes again, he looks relaxed and satisfied. That is until his gaze meets mine and guilt starts to paint his features. I instantly have this irrational need to reassure him.
“It’s okay… I didn’t mind.” I force a smile, but I know he can see right through it.
“I didn't plan this when I brought you up here. It wasn’t my intention, I just...” I can tell he’s sincere and means every word he says. He rinses us off one more time, never loosening his hold on me. I’m more than thankful for it, because I really don’t think I could have stood up for much longer on my own. He has been carrying most of my weight this entire time, and I wonder how the hell he’s still doing it. Then again, if I looked like him, I’m sure I could carry anything and everything around.
We get out together, and he releases me for a second to grab a towel.
He dries me off from head to toe before he wraps my body in a large towel and my hair in a smaller one. The way he does it with such ease has my mind kicking into overdrive. It seems like he has done this before and the thought of Ivan giving another woman a shower or bath like this has a lot of unwanted feelings settling into my gut. Curiosity gets the better of me and though I know I shouldn't, I ask anyway.
“Do you do this a lot? I'm only asking because it seems like you know what you are doing wrapping up my long hair in that towel.”
“I haven't done this in a very long time, and I don't typically.” Sadness coats his words. I'm relieved at his confession, and again, I don't understand why. It’s not like he really cares about me. Not in a sense that he cares what will happen to me after I leave this place.
He wraps a towel around himself before leading me to his bedroom. Once there, he deposits me onto his bed. It’s so soft underneath my legs, all I want to do is curl up and go to sleep on it.
Dread overcomes me like a wave when I remember what he said… I can shower and then I’m going back in the cell. I’ve been trying not to think about it, and I succeeded, but now that I remember what’s going to happen, I’m on the verge of crying.
This is only a short vacation from my new reality. He is going to bring me back downstairs and leave me and then I might never see him again. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I don’t know why but I don’t want to cry in front of him right now. I watch him dig through his dresser, grabbing a few items and throwing them onto the bedside me.
He turns back around to face me, and I try to hide that I am on the verge of crying but, of course, he sees the unshed tears in my eyes.
“I told you… I can let you take a shower, but you have to go back to the cell now.”
“I know. It’s just... I'm always cold and alone. And scared that those guys will come back.”
Ivan gives me a conflicted look, and I know I should be thankful for a shower and I am, but I don't want to be down there. I don't want to be away from him.
“I’ll give you something warmer to wear and like I said before, they won’t come back. They might be dumb but they know how to follow orders… they won’t disobey me.” His gaze flickers over my half-naked body like he might be tempted to want something more from me.