#omg my first fic sdfghjksdfghjk

[fairyparker]

Late Bloomer

This fic contains DUB CON & NON CON/R@PE. DO NOT READ IF THIS UPSETS YOU. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY. 

Summary: When your best friend Peter finds out that you have no sexual experience whatsoever, he decides to help you out and show you what you're missing - whether you want him to or not.

The (dub/non con!) smut is a handjob, oral (reader receiving) and penetration. very naive and innocent and inexperienced reader who doesn’t want to have sex (both generally and in this moment) / asexual reader? Also includes manipulation, gaslighting, victim blaming and bad/wrong ideas about society + sex, drinking, Peter doesn’t redeem himself/no happy end, childhood best friends to…this?, mention of drugs, please let me know if I forgot anything!

words: 5k

- - -

It took Peter a lot of convincing to make you go to this party with him. 

It’s not your thing; you don’t drink, you’re not interested in flirting with someone you’ll never see again and you’re too shy to dance and let loose.

But Peter managed to persuade you by telling you how you’re missing out. He always tells you how great the parties he’s been to are and you know that you should be spending your twenties partying and having fun.

This party though, just like you thought, is not fun.

The people are playing a round of spin the bottle, and the person it lands on gets a lap dance from the person spinning the bottle. You were able to walk away before it started, but Peter is still sitting with everyone, seemingly even enjoying this stupid game while you’re watching from the side.

A girl spins the bottle, everyone waiting to see who it lands on.

It slows down and eventually points right at Peter. Your heart starts beating faster on his behalf. You hope he knows he doesn’t have to do this if he’s not comfortable. But, to your surprise, Peter starts smiling. It’s not an awkward smile either; he’s genuinely excited for it.

You cringe as the girl shrugs and walks Peter to the couch where he sits down. Your eyes meet Peter’s for a split second and in them there’s a look you’ve never seen before. 

Peter is horny, his demeanor cocky. He focuses back on the girl in front of him.

Does she know she doesn’t have to do it? She’s giggling in embarrassment and holding her hands in front of her face as she bends her knees and starts dancing for Peter.

He slides down the seat so he’s closer to her, manspreading so she can stand between his legs. You ignore the jealousy bubbling up inside you, it’s easy to do though, because you don’t want to dance for Peter like that; but it’s not great to see him enjoying another woman like that either.

He puts his hands behind his head like some fuckboy, eyes not leaving the girl’s ass that’s nearly grinding on his lap. He’s looking at her with so much sexual admiration that you feel sick, you never wanted to see your best friend’s sex face. 

Yes, you like him romantically, but not like that.

God, what are you even doing here?

Embarrassed for your best friend you walk away to find the kitchen, wondering how Peter is okay with everyone seeing him in such a primitive state of lust.

You look for a drink and check the time - you want to go home but you’ve barely been here fifteen minutes, and Peter drove you.

He finds you a few minutes later, flushed, and you don’t even really want to look at him.

“Hey. I was wondering where you went,” he says, not acknowledging how this isn’t a normal party or a normal situation.

I just didn’t feel like watching you and this woman have… sex,” you mumble, the word not feeling right coming from you, “in front of everyone.” 

He huffs a laugh, “It was just a lap dance. Not even a proper one. ‘S just a game.”

You’re turned away from him, filling juice into your cup when you hear the metal of his belt clinking and you spin around. He’s adjusting the big bulge in his pants that steals your breath for a moment, “Peter! What are you doing?”

“Sorry, just quickly had to adjust myself. Look I’m done already.”

“I didn’t know you like that girl,” you turn around again, not wanting to look at this disgusting man you call your best friend, “I didn’t even know you knew her.”

“I never said I liked her.”

“Yeah but you..” you vaguely nod towards his jeans. 

He shrugs, leaning on a kitchen counter, “A cute woman gave me a lapdance, only a guy who doesn’t like women wouldn’t get hard from that.”

You don’t say anything more, staring into the opened fridge as a distraction from your sudden changed perception of Peter. Still, you’re kind of glad he doesn’t like her. You still like him, even if he’s more debauched than you ever thought.

“Can you pass me a beer?”

“I was actually wondering if we could go soon? I don’t really like it here,” you look at him again, hoping to convince him with your sad look.

“Aw but the party’s just getting started.”

You both stare at each for a few seconds, it’s his enjoyment versus your discomfort.

“How about we leave in an hour? And I’ll stop drinking in thirty minutes so I’ll be sober by the time we leave.”

It’s a fair deal considering he was probably planning to stay much longer. His consideration for you puts a smile on your face momentarily, “Okay, that’s fine.”

You pass him his beer and he gets close to you when he takes it from you, making your face scrunch up, “Ew, get off me with those dirty hands,” you hurry to the opposite side of the counter.

He chuckles, “Don’t worry, I showered before we left. My dick is clean.”

You tsk, looking away, “I don’t want to hear about your… penis.”

You leave the kitchen, hoping to find someone else who understands how ridiculous these ‘party games’ are. But the only thing you find is two people making out in a bedroom or people taking drugs, so you end up alone on the porch, waiting for Peter and watching TikToks in the meantime.

You’re having a much better time being on your phone, and you remember why you usually prefer to stay in. 

By now, Peter should be ready to leave in half an hour or so, and you still have enough mobile data for that time.

You flinch when the door behind you opens suddenly and Peter calls your name, “There you are. I was looking for you everywhere, I got worried.” You’re flattered at his protectiveness over you. You know exactly why you like him despite his flaws that you recently discovered.

“Sorry. I just didn’t wanna be in there anymore.”

“That bad? Okay listen, I’ll say bye to the guys and we’ll go home okay?”

“No, but you’ve been drinking.” From what he’s told you, he needs at least half an hour to sober up even with his enhanced physique.

“Not that much. I promise I wouldn’t offer to drive if I didn’t feel safe doing so,” he smiles down at you. He looks so pretty in the dim light.

“Okay. And you really don’t mind?”

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches out to help you up, “I’d rather never go to a party again than have you sitting on this dirty porch alone.”

You beam and tell him to say bye to everyone. He kisses your cheek, accidentally kissing you closer to your lips than he meant to and your cheeks heat up - but he’s unaffected.

It’s moments like this that make you question whether Peter likes you back or not. It would be a lie to say that you’re not attracted to him.

He’s cute. He’s caring. He’s smart. He treats you like a princess. 

And you like when he takes care of you. You could easily get a driver’s licence but you don’t mind having Peter drive you everywhere, and he’s told you that he likes being your chauffeur too. He likes spending time with you and that includes driving you around places that you need to go to.

He’s the perfect boyfriend really. You’ve known him for years and trust him more than anyone.

But then you think back to earlier at the party. How he enjoyed being grinded on. In front of all people, too. And you can’t get his perverted smile out of your head. That’s why you could never be with him. You’re sure of it, especially after today. But that doesn’t stop you from wanting to be with him.

But that’s the main problem: sex.

Sex has never been appealing to you. You feel gross even thinking about it. Watching that girl grind her ass on Peter was an image you never needed to see so doing something like that yourself sounds horrifying. 

But if even Peter wants to have sex, then you guess every other guy on earth does too, so you’d still be best off with Peter.

It leaves a sour taste in your mouth that apparently you’ll have to have sex with him if you do ever get together though.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long, saying goodbye quickly and walking you to his car, a hand on your lower back. Your skin tingles where he’s touching it and you can’t hide your smile.

He opens the passenger door for you like the gentleman he is and you wait with putting on your seatbelt. You turn your whole body towards him once he sits down in the other side, shutting his door.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Always,” he replies.

“When did you..” you trail off as you think of a way to phrase your question without having to say that three letter word. You sigh when you realize it’s easiest if you say it. 

“When did you go from being grossed out by sex..” you make a face when you say it - it’s the second time today that you’re using the word. Who are you turning into? “When did you go from being grossed out by it to liking it?” 

He raises his eyebrows as if the question is laughable but he answers anyway, “When we hit puberty, I guess.”

“I remember we used to be so disgusted when there was a .. scene like that in a film. And I went through puberty too, my body and hormones changed, but I never got any interest for.. you know.”

He smiles sympathetically, “Don’t worry. Maybe you’re just a late bloomer.”

He’s said this to you plenty of times though, and you wonder how late late is. If you don’t have the desire to have sex by now then why would it suddenly change?

You give him a small smile, feeling like there’s something wrong with you.

He starts driving and lets you choose the music. It’s a welcome distraction.

“Nearly there,” he tells you and you realize you fell asleep for most of the drive. You try to wake yourself up again and look around in the car as you stretch.

Your movement stops when your eyes fall on the bulge in Peter’s trousers.

Is it still there or is it back again?

And is he that big or is it just the angle?

You want to tear your gaze away, but this is new for you. It looks so vulgar that you just can’t look away, your voice caught in your throat.

You can’t tell if he notices you staring or not.

You’re finally snapped out of it when he turns off the engine, parked in front of his apartment building. You’re too shocked by what you just saw - what you’re seeing for the second time today - to ask why he didn’t drive you to your place.

Undoing the seatbelt, you reach for the car door but Peter locks it. You giggle, thinking he’s messing with you as a joke, but when your eyes meet, his are serious.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

You gulp, already knowing what topic you’re going to have to talk about again now.

“Have you had sex?” He asks.

You shake your head, feeling heat on your face. You can’t look at him, “You know that. I would have told you if I had.”

“I don’t know, you went on a few dates here and there.”

“Yeah and I always told you how bad they were,” you meet his gaze this time, wondering if he thought you lied to him.

“I assumed they couldn’t keep their hands off a pretty girl like you and you were too prim and proper to admit that you did something. The innocent seeming ones are always the freakiest.”

You can’t argue with that at first. Peter seemed innocent to you for the first ten or so years you’ve known him, and you just found out today that he apparently likes dry humping in public - that’s essentially what that lapdance earlier looked like.

“Not me,” you say weakly.

He pauses, looking like he’s about to accept the truth, “Never?”

“Never,” you confirm.

“Do you wonder what it’s like?”

“I do wonder, sure. But I don’t wonder enough to actually want to do it.”

Peter smirks, crossing his arms, “I think that’s a lie.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t know, just a feeling.”

He leans back in his seat as you tap your foot against the floor, waiting for him to end this conversation and unlock the car. You count every one of his breaths, growing more impatient with every one of them, your palms starting to get sweaty. This is Peter, you remind yourself, you don’t know why you’re starting to get scared. Maybe it’s just the uncomfortable topic.

“You wanna try now?”

“Try what?” You splutter.

“I don’t know. We can start small. So you’ve never even touched a dick?”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Stop using that word.”

“What, you want me to stay cock?”

You cringe, inching closer to the door, “Don’t say it at all.”

“So do you wanna?”

You take a deep breath, hoping to calm down the sick feeling in your stomach. You shake your head.

“I think you’ll like it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“It’s normal that you’re a little grossed out at first. Girls always think they don’t want it when they really do.”

Your jaw drops slightly, “Girls have said that to you?

“No, not to me specifically but it’s just a known fact.”

“Well I’m not like that..”

“Come on.” It’s the first thing he says that doesn’t have at least a bit of humor in his voice. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Not generally, but especially not while he’s got you alone in his car at night.

“I’m so hard, you can’t just leave me hanging like this. I drive you everywhere, leave a nice party early for you. And I’m not even doing it for me, I think you’ll like it. So just try it, okay? It’s just your hand. And if you don’t like it you can stop.”

Your chest tightens but you fear that he might be right. You don’t want to make such a big thing out of nothing. If the woman from earlier can twerk on a stranger in front of a whole party crowd, you can’t touch the… dick of your best friend for a few seconds.

You know it’s stupid, but you’ve always been insecure about how inexperienced you are, and at this age you should probably doing stuff like this regularly.

You don’t say anything, simply leaning over to him a little as you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“There we go,” he smirks.

Somehow you find the courage to look into his eyes. They look different, like he’s taken drugs or something, but they’re still the same eyes that you’ve looked into a million times before.

You trust Peter. 

You’ve trusted him for the better part of a decade and you’re not suddenly going to stop. He only wants what’s best for you, and sometimes you have to do something out of your comfort zone to gain experience.

You take a deep breath as he undoes his belt and unzips his jeans, pulling out his hard dick. Your heart beating in your chest is the only thing you can hear for a bit.

It’s so vulgar. But somehow you imagined it to look uglier – which doesn’t mean that you like how it looks though.

Peter takes your hand and pulls you toward it. The skin is soft, but his erection feels harder than you would have imagined.

He squeezes his hand around yours and guides you up and down himself a few times. You’re tensing more with each second and you have to force yourself to stop clenching your teeth.

He releases your hand after a few moments and you let out the biggest breath of relief. That wasn’t so bad after all.

You watch Peter as he takes your hand again and brings it to his mouth, spitting into your palm. You mouth falls open and you pull your eyebrows together; you’re speechless as he brings your and his hand down to his cock again.

The sound is wet and loud as you involuntarily stroke up and down his dick. You’re pulling your hand away but you forgot how strong he is. You have no chance against him, even as you try to yank your arm away with your free hand. 

He’s moving your hand faster and harder now, ignoring you completely as his eyes fall shut in pleasure.

You finally feel the lump in your throat release for a second, “Peter–” you start, voice weak and you clear your throat, “You said I could stop if–”

“Just a bit longer,” he grunts, nothing but pure strength guiding you along his dick that is covered in his spit. You knew he was strong, but you never thought he could make you do something against your will like this; you’re powerless, especially in his cramped car.

Peter throws his head back with a moan and hot, white liquid spills all over your hand and the front of his jeans. Your face scrunches up as he grips your hand ever harder, his mouth wide open with a groan, and you feel more drops of his cum on your hand.

Tears finally prick at your eyes and he lets go of you after a few seconds. You wipe your hand on your jeans as quickly as possible, scrambling for the tissues he keeps in his glove department, and you clean off your hand for what feels like hours.

He grabs a tissue too, carelessly throwing it to the back of his car, zipping up his trousers.

Once his dick is out of sight, he feels like the old Peter again. His gaze is like it is any other day, and despite your racing heartbeat you suddenly feel like you’re overreacting, embarrassment creeping in.

“So?” He asks, tone calm, “What did you think?”

“What?” You nearly shout.

“What did you think?” He asks again as if you’re stupid. 

“Well I..,” you’re at a loss of words for a bit, “What do you think? You think I was trying to pull my arm away because I was enjoying it? Why did you make me do that?”

“You didn’t even say anything - how am I supposed to know what you want?” He scrunches his eyebrows together, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. You don’t want to upset Peter, especially not now that you really know how strong he is.

“I did..,” you mumble, “I said–”

“Relax, I just did you a favor. It was just a handjob. Most girls give those for the first time when they’re like sixteen,” he shrugs.

“They do?”

“Yeah. You were just talking about how you feel behind. I wanted to help you out. Hey, at least you don’t have zero experience anymore,” he shrugs with a smile, unlocking the car doors but you don’t get out immediately. His sweet smile warms your heart and your deep feelings for your best friend come back at once.

You know what he just did wasn’t right, but that doesn’t mean he did it on purpose. Apparently he’s had much more sex than you assumed, so you two have different perspectives. Of course it’s not as much as a big deal for him as it is for you. 

Anyway, now that it’s over, you already feel lighter.

And, he’s right, at least you have some experience now. It wasn’t how you imagined, but maybe it’s just one of those things you have to get used to. No one likes beer the first time they drink it and yet it always becomes most people’s go-to drink. You hope you’ll get used to this sex thing too and in any way, you’re glad Peter was the one you did it with.

For now, all you want to do is sleep and remove yourself from this sexualized world.

You get out of the car and remember that you’re at Peter’s place.

“Why didn’t you drive me home?” You ask.

“I thought you were staying at my place. And I’m really tired now.”

“Please.” You’d really prefer to sleep in your own bed, even if you’ve spent the night at Peter’s plenty of times, you’d feel more comfortable in your own four walls right now.

“You can have my bed to yourself and I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?”

You shrug. If he won’t drive you home, you have to sleep at his place. You don’t have money for a taxi and there’s no way you’re walking home alone.

As you step into the familiar apartment, you feel the last bit of tension leave your body. You’ve been here so many times, and it’s like a second home. You feel safe here, and it’s not because of the apartment, but because of Peter.

You would have realized years ago if he was a bad person. He was just helping out his best friend, it’s not his fault that there’s something wrong with you and you don’t enjoy sex like normal people do.

You take a random, oversized shirt from Peter’s bedroom and change in the bathroom.

Your heart sinks when you accidentally touch the cum stain on your jeans. All the bad feelings are back immediately. You might throw up.

You get out of your trousers as fast as possible without touching the drying stain.

Peter might be your best friend, but he’s not stupid. He must have realized how uncomfortable you were.

Even if he just wanted to help you, he shouldn’t have forced you. Enough is enough; and he usually knows when to stop.

You throw on Peter’s shirt, scared yet determined to talk about what just happened.

You find Peter sitting on the couch. He looks at you and asks if you want to watch a film before bed. 

How can he be so casual after what just happened?

You sit next to him on the sofa and your anger starts to dissipate again. No matter what just happened, he’s still the same Peter. He’s your best friend and he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you. He made a mistake, that’s it. It happens to everyone.

Maybe that’s just what sexually active adults do. Maybe he really did do you a favor. Up until twenty minutes ago you weren’t even sure what the word handjob meant. At least you’ll know how to pleasure a guy in the future. 

If even your kind and innocent boy-of-your-dreams Peter likes sex, then you guess you won’t ever find a boyfriend that doesn’t need sex from you.

And you’d rather use your hand than your pussy, or worse even, your mouth. Although you’re not sure if people actually do the latter, or if it’s just a perverse fantasy some people have. So at least you’ll know how to do a handjob now. 

He’s unaware of your inner turmoil, and your shoulder jerks up when Peter puts a hand on your upper back, “Tired?”

You nod, the lump back in your throat. You’ve never felt this many conflicting emotions at the same time.

“Let’s get you to bed then.” His voice is soft and you feel yourself relaxing once more.

You forget that he said he was going to sleep on the sofa. You’ve always slept in his bed together, and you always felt comfortable. Besides, he left a party early for you, drank less, drove you here and it’s his bed. He has every right to be here.

You try to forget about the day, closing your eyes, facing away from Peter, but his phone light and the lamp next to his bed are bright. You try for another few minutes, but no matter how tired you are, you can’t sleep with this light.

Just as you’re about to ask him when he’s going to bed, you hear his voice. You turn around.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah I do. I love you too.”

He puts his phone away, gently kissing your temple, “You know, I feel kind of bad about what happened in the car.”

You smile immediately. You knew Peter wasn’t a bad guy. Your chest suddenly feels free again, like you’re emerging from the water after you were beneath the surface for too long, “I forgive you.”

“Oh,” he furrows his eyebrows, “I wasn’t apologizing.”

Your face falls, dread filling you again, “What?”

“I just meant I feel bad because I didn’t return the favor. I’d love to show you how good it can feel.”

His sincere tone relaxes you a bit, but you’re still cautious after what happened earlier so you sit up, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to.”

“Do you ever touch yourself?”

“No.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You’ve never had an orgasm.” You can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement.

You shrug, feeling bad about your lack of experience again.

“It’ll feel good, I promise,” he smiles, his tone playful but you can’t quite get into the same mood.

“You said the same earlier and it didn’t feel good.”

“Come on. Do you trust me or not?”

You don’t answer straight away. One moment doesn’t erase a decade of trust. Besides, Peter is intimidating tonight and you feel like he’ll get his way no matter what, so cooperating is your best shot.

You swallow and bring yourself to nod, Peter’s eyes darkening. 

“See,” he smiles, coming closer. You smell a bit of alcohol in his breath and a hint of that cocktail he likes so much.

You stop breathing as he hovers over you, slowly removing the blanket that’s on top of you. You try to push him away but his chest is like a brick wall.

You gather every ounce of courage and strength in your body as you say: “Peter you’re drunk and I don’t want this.”

“Shh, I promise you will once you realize how good it feels. Trust me. Open your mouth.”

You open your mouth to talk and two of his fingers slide between your lips. You bite them instinctively but Peter is unbothered, and no matter how serious this situation is, you can’t bring yourself to actually try and hurt Peter. He’s not doing anything bad right now, he just has his fingers in your mouth, but it’s nowhere near as bad as what he did earlier.

Fingers wet with your spit, he pulls them out of your mouth and moves down your body. You hold your t-shirt tight but you realize under your shirt is not where he wants to go.

One hand on your waist, Peter brings his fingers towards your underwear and your heartbeat speeds up even more. 

Your belly flutters wildly when his fingers go underneath the fabric. You hold his wrist with both hands, trying to pull him away, but it feels like all your strength is gone; you’re paralyzed and it doesn’t just feel that way because he’s ten times stronger than you anyway. 

The shock from what happened in the car hasn’t even worn off yet, your body isn’t ready for another intrusion like this. Your body isn’t ready for anything and you’re screaming and thrashing around internally but nothing translates to the outside. You’re left without any power, you don’t feel like a human with an own will anymore. You’re completely at Peter’s mercy.

His wet fingers slide between your legs, touching a spot you never even knew was there. Through all the anxiety and panic, you feel a tiny spark of pleasure from where he’s touching you, but you’re too terrified to really notice.

You gasp when he starts rubbing your clit, going down further where you become aware of an unfamiliar wetness that he dips into.

“Such a fucking wet pussy, all for me. I knew you’d like this,” he grins, looking at your body. You don’t even have time to grimace at the word he uses for your private parts.

“Peter–” it comes out as a whisper and he shushes you immediately.

“Shh, relax. Relax. You can’t tell me you’re not enjoying it if you’re this wet.”

The wetness is loud against his fingers, and he pulls your panties down your legs, humiliating you even more now that he’s seeing it all. You’re exposed in your most vulnerable area, and you didn’t consent.

“Peter,” you try again, your body still not listening as you try to push him off. You just can’t.

He stops, looking you in the eyes. You can’t imagine that you look anything but petrified; his eyes, on the other hand, are passionate. It’s not entirely positive, there’s aggression behind it too, but mostly he’s enjoying this and trying to convince you to do the same.

“I’m your best friend. I’d never so anything to hurt you. Trust me, it’ll feel good if you just let it happen.”

It sounds like he’s giving you a choice, and you finally manage to sit up, making his fingers slide deeper into you, and you lie back down on the bed again with a whimper.

This is not how you imagined having sex with Peter. You hoped it would never happen, but if it did you were sure he’d be gentle and considerate. Something inside of you is screaming that he’s only being rough because he has to force you. 

What if you submit? What if you just let him? Maybe he’s right, and you will like it more. Sex isn’t regarded as something desirable for no reason.

You relax your legs and Peter notices this immediately, hovering over you again. Licking his lips, Peter smiles down at you, and you smiling back is like a reflex to you.

He’s already being more gentle, his hand running over your pussy slowly. Fingertips wet, he lifts them to his face, smelling you first. Then he pushes two fingers into his mouth, licking you off of himself like a dessert he needs every last taste of.

You flinch when he suddenly hums, loudly.

“Fucking hell. You’ve been depriving me of that sweet taste all these years?”

You don’t know what he’s talking about. Can you even taste good down there?

You swallow to get yourself ready to talk, “W-was that it? That didn’t feel good.”

He chuckles, “We’re just getting started.”

It’s like he drops another brick into your chest, your heart feels heavier with every passing moment, time going by in slow motion.

You only manage to mumble, “Peter no, please.”

His eyes darken. You’ve taken it too far. You should just make him think you want this as much as him, and he won’t treat you as if he’s having to force you.

“Just lie down before I have to tie you up.” 

It’s like a punch in the face that activates your fight or flight again. You can’t make yourself believe that you’re enjoying this.

Your eyes drift towards the door, and suddenly you feel like your body might actually listen to you. But Peter sees this.

“Don’t even think about it–” 

He grabs you before you’ve even fully sat up. You have no chance against him, no chance at all. 

You can’t scream either; your voice is barely there, muted by fear, and you don’t want him to hold your mouth shut. You already can’t breathe fully, you can’t handle more restriction of your most basic need.

He manhandles you onto your belly, ripping off your shirt. It seems as if the whole mattress is shaking from your heartbeat that’s now pressed against it.

You can’t even see what he’s doing now, and tears start to blur your vision. “Don’t,” you croak, but you don’t even know if any tone comes out of your throat. Your ears are ringing.

Peter pulls you by your legs so you’re on your knees, ass in the air, and he can see everything.

He holds your wrists tight behind your back with ease, “Making things so complicated when all I wanna do is make you feel good.”

You don’t believe him anymore, but it never mattered in the first place. He knows you don’t want this, yet he’s been doing it to you all night. You feel yourself going slack; there’s no fighting him, your body is giving up.

The emotional pain is unbearable, but it’s like your mind and your physical body are two separate entities entirely. You can’t move. You don’t even notice how he’s maneuvered himself so his face is between your legs.

You expect his fingers again, but instead there’s something wet against your wet. Peter’s tongue.

It’s so unexpected that you flinch again and don’t stop moving, but his tongue only ends up in more places you don’t want it so you stay still, testing his grip on your wrists but you can’t even try to pull away - he’s that strong.

You give up once and for all, you’re lying on the bed motionless. Your ass is in the air and right in your best friend’s face. You realize that your face is still scrunched up where it’s buried into the pillow and when you finally relax your muscles, what Peter is doing starts to only feel half as bad.

“Such a dripping mess for me. See, I knew you’d like this. Nearly there.”

You shake your head even though you know he takes no notice of it. No, you don’t like it, because you never wanted him to do anything like this to you in the first place.

He’s licking you like a lollipop, starting to suck on your bundle of nerves and you gasp when he gets faster in his movements. You shut your mouth to stop the moan from coming out - Peter doesn’t deserve to think that you’re enjoying this for even a moment.

Yet, a debauched moan makes its way out of your throat when pleasure explodes through your whole body, drowning you in bliss. You push your face into the pillow as the orgasmic wave floods your every nerve but you can’t enjoy it, and knowing that Peter can even make you feel good against your will makes this whole thing worse.

He lets go of you when it’s over and you fall on your side, pressing your thighs together to hide from him even though he’s already seen everything you don’t want him to, tasted it even.

“Feel good?” He asks, licking his fingers.

You stare ahead of yourself. No, you don’t feel good. You didn’t want it to be like this.

At least it’s over. Finally fucking over.

A sob gets caught in your throat when you suddenly notice Peter getting naked too. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing, maybe even attempt to run away again despite knowing it’s hopeless. But he grabs your hips and pulls them up and against his front, taking hold of your wrists before you can think of using your hands to push him away.

You feel the same soft skin he made you touch in his car. He’s going to fuck you.

Your scream isn’t as loud as you want it to be when he pushes into you, painful inch for painful inch until he’s in you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as he starts thrusting into you, and silent tears spill down your cheeks, “I said I was doing you a favor for your own sexual experience, and I meant that. But now that I know what you feel like? I’m not gonna let any other man experience this. Ever. You’re all mine now.”

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