Chapter 2: El inicio patético
El aire acondicionado zumbaba como un enjambre de abejas furiosas, incapaz de disipar el calor pegajoso que envolvía el monoambiente. Juan, sudoroso y con la camiseta del Colegio Nacional pegada a la espalda, la miraba desde la cama deshecha con ojos de perro abandonado. "Mel, ¿estás bien? Parecés... distante."
Melissa forzó una sonrisa, estirando la remera ajustada sobre sus abdominales marcados. Distante, dice el boludo. Ni se enteró que hacía veinte minutos que estaba contando los azulejos del baño mientras él se movía encima mío como un perrito asustado. "Nada, che. Calorón nomás. ¿Pasame el agua?" Su tono tenía ese dejo de impaciencia que Juan, fiel a su estilo, interpretó como cansancio.
Él se estiró torpemente, casi cayéndose de la cama de una sola plaza que ocupaban desde que se mudaron juntos, ese gesto patético que antes le resultaba "tierno" y ahora le daba ganas de gritar. Le alcanzó la botella. Sus dedos rozaron los de ella, húmedos. Ella retiró la mano rápido.
"Gracias," murmuró, tomando un trago largo. El agua tibia no calmó nada. Solo le recordó otras gotas, otros sudores. Sudores de hombres. Hombres que no preguntaban "¿estás bien?", que tomaban lo que querían, grandes, rudos, con manos que la agarraban como si fuera de ellos, con vergas que la hacían sentir rellena, usada, viva.
Juan se acercó, deslizando una mano por su muslo descubierto. "Che... ¿querés que... probemos otra vez? Capaz más despacio, o..." Su voz era un hilito débil, cargado de una necesidad que a ella le resultaba asfixiante.
Dios, otra vez. ¿No se cansa de perder? "Juan, estoy cansada," dijo, el tono más cortante de lo que había planeado. Pero la imagen de la noche anterior se le imponía: ese tipo del boliche, el de los tatuajes que le cubrían los brazos como armadura, la forma en que la miró, como si ya supiera cómo sabía por dentro. El roce de su pollera corta contra sus piernas mientras bailaban, la promesa brutal en sus ojos oscuros.
La mano de Juan persistía, subiendo, torpe, buscando el borde de su bombacha. "Pero, Mel... hace días que no... y vos estabas tan... caliente antes." Su aliento olía a la empanada barata que habían cenado.
Caliente... por vos? Ni en pedo. Un arrebato de rabia y frustración la atravesó. ¿Por qué siempre tiene que ser esto? ¿Por qué no puedo tener algo decente? Pero también, una chispa perversa se encendió. Bueno, si tanto quiere follar... que se quede con las ganas de verdad.
Se dio vuelta de golpe, enfrentándolo. Sus ojos negros, que solían encandilarlo, ahora eran dos pozos oscuros y calculadores. "¿Sabés qué, Juan? Tenés razón." Le puso una mano en el pecho, empujándolo suavemente hacia atrás sobre las sábanas arrugadas. "Quizás... solo necesito que me boludees más fuerte. Que no me preguntes tanto." Su voz era un susurro ronco, fingido, pero efectivo. Sus ojos se iluminaron con una esperanza patética.
Ella se montó sobre él, sintiendo la flacidez apenas disimulada bajo su boxer deportivo.
Melissa’s fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of Juan’s worn boxers, yanking them down just enough to free his semi-hard cock. It twitched against her inner thigh, a disappointing warmth compared to the thick, demanding heat she craved. "No pienses tanto, Juan," she breathed, grinding her cunt against him through the thin silk of her panties, feeling his pathetic hardness struggle to respond fully. "Solo hacelo. Tomame."
He gasped, his hands fluttering uncertainly towards her hips, then settling with a timid grip. "Mel... vos... Dios." His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with a mix of lust and nervousness. She could smell the cheap beer on his breath mingling with his nervous sweat.
Impatience flared. "Dejate de joder," she snapped, her voice low but cutting. Reaching between her own legs, she shoved the silk aside, exposing her wet slit already gleaming. "Metemela ya, boludo. O no podés ni con eso?" The crude challenge, the filthy demand, usually froze him, but tonight, spurred by her sudden aggression and the sight of her bare pussy hovering over him, a surge of desperate arousal seemed to hit him.
He bucked his hips upward, fumbling, his cockhead bumping clumsily against her opening. "Sí... sí, Mel... ahora..." With a grunt that was half effort, half fear, he managed to push the flaccid tip inside her entrance. It barely stretched her, a feeble intrusion she wouldn't have felt if not for the damp warmth.
She sank down roughly, forcing him deeper with the weight of her hips, taking his meagre length entirely in one bored thrust. There was no satisfying fullness, no delicious burn, just the slick slide of her own wetness around his inadequate shaft. "Así," she lied, her voice flat, beginning to rock back and forth with mechanical efficiency. "Más duro, Juan. No seas maricón."
His breath hitched. "Te gusta?" he panted, his hands tightening weakly on her ass, trying to thrust upwards to meet her rhythm. "¿Está bien así?" Every word, every hesitant movement, scraped her nerves raw.
"Callate y cojeme!" she snarled, leaning forward, her long black hair falling around his face like a dark curtain. She squeezed her internal muscles hard around him, a cruel mimicry of pleasure, watching his eyes roll back. "Follame como un hombre, pelotudo! Rompeme!" The obscenity, the filthy command uttered against his ear, was like a switch.
He gasped, a strangled sound. His body tensed violently beneath her. His hips stuttered upward once, twice, a frantic, shallow pumping that lacked any power. "Mel! Ahí viene... ah... Dios... Mel!" His cock pulsed inside her, a weak, pathetic throbbing. A meagre spurt of cum, barely enough to feel the warmth, filled her as his body shuddered and collapsed back onto the sweat-damp sheet.
JUAN SE VIENE RÁPIDO, DEJANDO A MELISSA NUEVAMENTE INSATISFECHA.
She froze on top of him, his softening cock slipping out almost immediately, leaving a cold, sticky trickle on her inner thigh. Disgust twisted her face. He panted beneath her, eyes closed, a small, relieved smile touching his lips. "Che... estuvo... increíble," he breathed, utterly oblivious.
Melissa shoved herself off him, the movement abrupt, violent. Her bare feet hit the cool floor. She didn't look back as she strode towards the tiny bathroom. "Increíble," she muttered under her breath, the word thick with contempt. The cheap linoleum chilled her soles as she slammed the flimsy door shut, turning the lock with a decisive click. Leaning against the sink, she stared at her flushed face in th
The cheap linoleum chilled her soles as she slammed the flimsy door shut, turning the lock with a decisive click. Leaning against the sink, she stared at her flushed face in the mirror. Disgust curled her lip as a drop of Juan’s lukewarm cum slid down her inner thigh. "Increíble," she spat at her reflection, mimicking his breathy praise with venom. Her cunt still pulsed with unspent hunger, a hollow ache where his limp dick had failed to fill her.
The lukewarm trickle between her thighs felt like an insult. Melissa snatched a wad of cheap toilet paper, scrubbing roughly at her skin until it burned, erasing Juan’s pathetic release but not the hollow throb deep inside. His weak sperm was just another stain on the humid bathroom air, mixing with the scent of his nervous sweat still clinging to her.
She flung the paper into the overflowing bin, the sound loud in the cramped silence. Outside the door, Juan’s soft, satisfied snores started instantly, a low drone that grated on her raw nerves. Increíble? she thought, venom dripping through her mind. Ni siquiera llenaste la punta, boludo patético. The mirror reflected flushed cheeks and eyes burning with frustration, not passion. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock doing nothing to quell the restless heat simmering low in her belly.
Pushing the door open, the stench of sex – stale sweat, her own arousal gone sour, and the faint tang of his cum – hit her like a wall. Juan lay sprawled on his back, mouth slightly open, one arm flung out onto her side of the narrow bed. The single sheet was tangled around his waist, exposing his soft, small cock nestled in limp curls. She felt her lip curl. Ni para verlo dormido da ganas.
She slid into the small space he hadn't claimed, her back rigidly turned towards him. The thin mattress sagged under his weight. He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, his hand flopping over to land heavily on her hip. Melissa stiffened. His touch, even unconscious, felt like a claim she hadn’t consented to, a reminder of his ownership that now felt suffocating. "Sacá la mano," she hissed into the darkness, her voice tight.
He didn't stir, his breathing deepening. His fingers twitched against the curve of her ass. The pressure, slight as it was, ignited fresh irritation. That hollow ache between her legs intensified, a physical echo of her dissatisfaction. It wasn’t just the lack of orgasm; it was the sheer inadequacy. She needed to feel stuffed, stretched, fucked until the only thought left was the brutal rhythm and the thick cock pounding her into the mattress. Juan’s damp little dick barely registered.
She squeezed her thighs together, a futile attempt to create pressure, to spark something. It only made her more aware of the emptiness. The humid air pressed down, thick with the sour smell of their failed coupling and Juan’s sleep. She stared at the crack of light bleeding under the cheap door, her mind detaching from the tepid body beside her. Who would it be? Who would finally make her feel what Juan never could?
Images flickered behind her eyelids: the hard, assessing stare of the bouncer at ‘La Catedral’, his massive shoulders straining the black t-shirt. The rough, tattooed hands of the delivery guy who always lingered a second too long when handing her the pizza, his gaze dropping to her chest. The arrogant smirk of Diego, the footballer she’d seen crushing beers at the corner bar, thick neck, thick thighs, probably thick everywhere else. Her pussy clenched involuntarily at the thought, a sharp pulse of raw want cutting through the numbness. Sí, él. Diego. Esa verga tiene que ser un monstruo. She imagined his calloused hands ripping her panties aside, his thick cockhead forcing her open, the brutal, unapologetic slam of his hips burying every inch deep inside her wet cunt. Te voy a romper, puta, she imagined him growling, the filthy words sending a shiver down her spine.
Juan shifted, his snores stuttering, then deepening again. His hand slid a fraction lower on her hip, his thumb brushing the top curve of her ass cheek. Melissa flinched as if burned. She lay perfectly still, eyes wide open in the stifling dark, her unsatisfied cunt pulsing with a fierce, lonely hunger. Tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow. She needed to be fucked properly, fucked like a whore, fucked until the memory of Juan’s limp, useless dick evaporated. ASÍ, MELISSA SE VA A DORMIR INSATISFECHA, PENSANDO CON QUIEN VA A ENGAÑAR A SU NOVIO PRIMERO. FIN DEL EPISODIO.