Plain Jane (H.S.)

Ch.00

"Ready?"

She's flattered by his confirmation of consent, but this isn't a quality men should be celebrated for. Her bar is so low, even the Earth's mantle wouldn't be deep enough. "Yep."

He maneuvers his dick to her entrance. As he pushes in with ease, she arches her back, gasping. Her reaction sends a smile creeping up his cheeks. He slides partially in and out, and Jane has to grip the pillow to her left. She doesn't have sex often. By no means does that mean Jane doesn't want to fuck. Jane wants to fuck, and it's not for the pleasure. Nothing is pleasurable to her about being distended past Gods Will, having her organs punctured in the process. Every time it's in her, her anxiety ramps up from the discomfort. It's like a tumor she needs to punch out of her stomach.

So then why is she here, now? It's not complicated:

Jane is tired of being invisible.

She dresses in hoodies and baggy jeans to hide herself during class. She finds a seat anywhere past the 3rd row. She did no sports growing up, nor is she notarized for an 'outgoing personality.' She has one friend, Brenda, because all the rest left her in the dust. She was never invited to parties, asked to school dances, or been on a single date. 

Jane didn't want pleasure, she wanted attention.

So when the sweaty man utters, "You know, while you did break my dick, I'm happy you didn't leave 'cause I only fuck fat chicks," It does all, but inflate her confidence.

Jane tenses harder. The emotional pain strikes her gut with more ferocity than any tumor-analogous-intercourse could. Her eyes screw shut. She yearns to leave her body. All the while, He continues to thrust, oblivious to the fact that he'd thrown her into a dysmorphic spiral.

'Is it dysmorphia if it's true?' She contemplates. 'At least he's into me.'

Quickening the time between thrusts, they produce a clapping sound as their skin collides. It tempts Jane into rolling off the bed.

Somewhat recovered from his verbal assault, she finally peaks at the scene. He's up on his knees, grasping at the front of her thighs. His fingers are spread, digging in, then readjusting, never in a set spot. Jane is given a hint of gratification, as he's trying to grab as much of her as her can; and he likes it.

She sits up on her elbows, still holding her breath for each shock of penetration. Ego being built up brick-by-brick, the physical pain gradually subsides. His gaze pries over the landscape of her stomach. Despite the comment, she doesn't feel the urge to recede like an unbloomed tulip. She invites speculation. He's getting a high off this.

He's getting a high off her body.

His eyes roll back with his head, granting Jane the euphoric validation she'd been craving.

"I'm gonna cum."

For a brief moment, she's still swimming in the serene pools of fulfillment. That is, until she remembers neither of them have condoms. "Maybe, pull out?" She gently suggests, because it should be obvious, right?

"Yeah, yeah," He continues to thrust, "I will."

This close to mission takeoff, she should be sliding out of his affliction. Yet, she stays put, trusting he'll know when.

She is raw pizza dough, being kneaded as his breathing gets shallower. He makes more desperate grabs at her and Jane is losing hope for a vacant womb.

Just as she starts to whimper, "Please, you should-" her stomach is splattered with warm streaks of slime. His syrup drizzles over her like he's decorating a sundae, pulsating with each release of the goo.