A Story

"Marco ... I want to ask you something," I said, my voice soft. The man placed the book he was reading onto the sofa side table.

Marco looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. "What is it, darling?"

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase my question. "Do I look like your mother?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Marco looked surprised and confused. "Why do you ask?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I felt my cheeks flush and I looked down. "Your father told me this morning," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I will answer on one condition that you tell me the truth about why you want me so much, as you said a while ago," he said, his voice full of teasing.

"Alright," I agreed.

"My mother was beautiful, but you're more beautiful than her."

I felt a warm feeling spread through my chest at his words. But I still wasn't satisfied. "But you said I remind you of your mother," I said, my voice conflicting. "You said you see her in me."

Marco shrugged. "I see my mother in you, but I also see you in my mother."

I looked at Marco, unsure of what he meant. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, the frown slowly forming on my lips.

"My mother always put others before herself," he said, his eyes full of admiration.

I felt a pang of sadness for Marco's loss. I didn't know what to say, so I placed my hand on his and squeezed it gently.

"You're like my mom in that way, Leandra," he said, his voice soft. "My mother was shot while saving me from being kidnapped."

I shuddered, closing my eyes. I then looked at Marco, my eyes full of sorrow and adoration. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your mother."

Marco reached out for me and pulled me close for a hug. "It's okay. It happened a long time ago. I was just a little boy back then."

I just held on to Marco as he stroked my long, blonde hair. I continued to comfort Marco, but then Marco demanded my promise.

"Now, it's your turn," he said, pulling away.

I exhaled, knowing I couldn't escape anymore. "You remember the guy I told you about two nights ago?" He nodded, his jaw starting to harden. "If you think that he's my ex-boyfriend, that's not true. The man I'm talking about is my father."

Marco shifted his butt, looking for a more comfortable sitting position because he probably knew this was going to be a long story. I waited for his response, but he didn't show any significant response.

I told him everything, about my father's cruelty, about his departure that left behind a wake of scars, and the effect it had on my psychological well-being.

"For a year I had managed to control myself, but somehow it all fell apart since you kissed me in front of the elevator that time. I felt so curious about you, wanted to be close to you so badly.

"Then when you walked away that night, it was as if I felt like you were awakening my memories of my father. Instead of hating you, I wanted you even more. I wanted you to touch me so much." I looked at Marco, frustrated that he hadn't said a word.

However, then he leaned closer, his lips soft against mine, his hand gently lifted my chin until his lips were firmly pressed to mine. I tasted his warm lips and sweet tongue, a combination of honey and cinnamon. I tasted his warm lips and sweet tongue, a combination of honey and cinnamon.

My skin tingled with goosebumps from the excitement of his kiss. Marco's hands moved down to my waist, pulling me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Our tongues danced in perfect harmony, exploring every inch of each other's mouths. As we pulled away, gasping for breath, I looked up at Marco, my eyes filled with desire.

"How badly do you want me?" he whispered, his voice husky. I could feel his cock harden against my thigh.

"So bad," I whispered back, arching my back, pressing my breasts against his chest. "Until I masturbated because of you."

Marco stopped all his movements, I stopped breathing. I cursed my mouth for blurting out that ridiculous thing. I swear I heard him laughing softly.

Marco's lips moved down to my neck, kissing me softly. His lips found the sensitive spot on my neck and suckled gently, sending waves of pleasure down my spine. My pussy was growing wet with anticipation. When his lips found my breasts, my nipples hardened instantly, aching for his touch.

"Tell me ...." Marco blew on my neck. His hand was under my dress, groping my lower abdomen as if deliberately avoiding my intimate area. "Tell me how when you touch yourself?"

"I stand in front of the bathroom mirror," I replied, tricked by him.

"Do it."

"What?!" I was about to turn around, but Marco held my body still. His finger rubbed my cleavage once then retreated, leaving me with a sigh of protest.

Marco pulled me into the bathroom, forcing me to stand in front of the mirror.

"Show me how you touch yourself." From the reflection in the mirror, I saw Marco standing, choking. His gaze was so defiant, confident that he would win. "Do it if you want me to touch you."

I bit my lip, starting to take off all my clothes. I looked at Marco once more, making a pleading face, but he had no effect at all. He remained firm in his stance.

"Tell me what you imagined back then!"

It was an order, and instantly my body stiffened. "I was upset that you didn't kiss me at the party. I touched my lips, wondering if you didn't want to kiss them."

"Demonstrate. Continue."

***

0708’23, Anne Joyce

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