FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sakina sits on the roof at her job while there's no customers to serve. It's more like a shack than a stand she works at, but the board at the front dangling by little chains definitely calls this place a stand. Far edge of the beach, baby blue painted all round under the counter, ice cream cones and three sizes of cup stacked up high all along on top. Sakina doesn't own it, but just about nobody else deigns to work the place.

She leans opposite the natural slant of the tiles, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around them. Bikini. Shorts pulled up over the bottom piece and a cotton hoodie unzipped up top. Her sleeves are snaked down to her thumbs, nails painted a poison violet, and the breeze flits free over her belly, skin the darker side between olive and bronze.

There's a uniform hanging on the wall in her job below that Sakina's supposed to wear. Nothing too corporate. Just some red tee splattered in a cartoon font over a dripping cone. She added a thirty-dollar price tag to it instead, hung it up in public view right by the menu on the wall. Better advertising if someone else wears it.

No takers so far.

Here's the earnest local girl, too far gone for her own good. Black snapback shading her amber eyes, and those locked across the road. Her fingers are warm in the low sun, but lonely tucked around her elbows.

She'd change if she could. Sometimes. But maybe not tonight.

There's a hotel going up just across the road from the beach. Men are building it right now. It's the spearhead of the kind of downtown this island never knew just how badly it needed, apparently. In another year or two, Sakina's home, too, just like the next island over, will be best known for a six-buck postcard pinned inside the lid of a jewelry box or tucked in the back of a photo album in some million-dollar penthouse far, far away.

But from up here on the roof across the road—Sakina sees just the men building it right now.

It's rarely the same men in view. They all come and go in and out of sight in the bones of the first three floors so far, yelling or carrying or ducking out of the way from the boss for a sitdown only Sakina ever spots. But a few faces she's learned to recognize by now.

Skinnier guy in ripped denim and a hard hat twice the size of his skull—he operates the backhoe, at least while they still need one. Spends half the day digging, other half leaning with one foot up against his machine's larger tire and wiping his nose with his thumb, hand in his pocket. He goes by Cool Thumb Luke. Sakina's sure of it.

The site's foreman, as clear as she can tell, has long since grown a fuck-you belly. Never carries anything heavier than a clipboard or helps in hefting either end of the beams still small enough for men to lift. Big arms, though, and not just fat. His biceps have the shape to help out if he ever feels like it.

She calls him The Great Goatee.

But the guy who's caught her eye most often—she still doesn't know what to call him. He's got a nickname from her, too, yeah, but that's not enough for a guy like him. She's caught a few of the names these boys throw around to each other, but never one for this guy. And this guy she'd really just like to call by name.

Her eyes dart across to the other side of the site, and there he is, carrying one of those long metal beams over his shoulder right now by himself, no trouble balancing it. Sweat's beaded up on his forehead, judging by the shine, but that's mostly from the heat. Sakina's never seen his endurance waver. He's got it. But she's never seen him care much about how dirty he gets, either. All day long, he's got dirt and grime caked up and down his arms, only wiping it off at the end of work with some long-soiled rag.

He's got the hard hat, y'see, but no shirt. No pants. He's got four arms, and by God he's got forearms, wow.

So of all the guys Sakina really watches—he's that kind.

And so far, yeah, she usually calls him Forearms. Yeah, she patted herself on the back for that one. At first. Now she just really wants to know his name.

Sakina would change if she could, honest. But not right now.

He's not wild. He's sure not caught, either. On an island this small, people call pokemon like him “freelance." Nice, right? Kind of mysterious. Maybe he rooms with someone nearby for a bed at night. Maybe he really does kick it in the forest or something. Outside of business hours, that's all his business. He's a free man, so he gets to do what he likes, man.

Right? With the “man" bit. Right. Close enough.

The breeze cruises under the brim of Sakina's own little hat, tickling her nose, and she cranes her neck and glances back to the beach a second. Just a few people still stroll along the edge of the water or lounge in the sunset, and none of them are customers. So she shores up the sleeves of her hoodie and re-cradles herself at her perch.

And when she looks back, there's her guy looking back at her, too. He's set the beam down and he's wiping his brow. He doesn't stare, but he sees her, too. There's a crook in his pale lips that doesn't quite make for a smile, but close. It's nothing weird. Nothing salacious. Just a couple strangers noticing each other.

Nothing compels Sakina to pretend differently.

But she wants something different.

Her guy's almost-smile disappears with him when he turns to his next task, sauntering into the hotel's foundation as someone else hollers for him. Big Guy. That's his name today. Sounds about right.

Sakina holds down the corner of her hoodie with one hand and tugs her phone out from her pocket with the other, tapping it awake for the clock. Almost time to close. She shoves it back in her pocket and scoots down the slope of the roof, cupping her hands carefully over the edge before swinging off onto the top step of her stool below. She straightens her brim and slips inside the shack to wrap up.

Ready or not, the sun bids another goodnight. Another half an hour and the horizon lingers over the ocean in only a gentle cloudless glow. Street lamps tick on more or less all at once along the pavement, and here's the cue across the road, too, for the end of another day's hard work. Men tug their hard hats off and shake sweaty hair free again, chatting openly now as groups form and split off in direction of their preferred nightly joints, or else just head home.

Sakina waits perched against the backhoe as all these men gather and leave—one foot back against the tire, one hand in her pocket. Her free hand holds a medium strawberry milkshake. She restrains herself from chewing the straw in between sipping idly from it, and in the few minutes she's here it's actually only once that any of these construction workers asks if she takes checks, baby, before sidling back up with his crew and laughing his ass off. Maybe the rest assume a poor defenseless thing like her is just waiting for a ride home with her baba or something. Whether or not that's it, it doesn't stop a few blatant peeks at the cleft of her tits on the way out.

But it's just the few minutes she needs to tolerate.

There's the big guy again in just a moment more, wiping himself down with the same soiled towel as Sakina's ever seen. He's two-toed, but every step he takes is a thump as heavy as from any boot here. There must be some monster callouses down there. His arms, too, from this close up, uh… actually kind of ripple. That whole thing going on in the muscles underneath. That actually happens. And that's just worth admiring, human or not. That's just being fair.

He pulls the towel down from his brow a few steps closer, and here he sees Sakina, too. She smiles. He keeps walking, and now it's toward her.

As short as Sakina is, she doesn't have as far to look up to meet his gaze as she thought when he stops a pace before her; he looked taller from a distance. The towel comes to rest around his shoulders, gripped by two wide hands on either end while his other two settle over his hips, and he's still got the traces of a hot day's workout on him despite it. The previous crook in his lips doesn't make its way to his expression this time. He only lifts an eyebrow.

One more sip for herself, and Sakina extends her milkshake.

“No idea what you're getting paid around here, but you ever tried one of these?" she says. “None of you tough guys ever come over for one. You don't really think you're too macho for ice cream or something, right? Come on. You don't know what you're missing."

The back half of the crowd keeps filtering past, and more than a few of the guys glance at this mismatch by the backhoe as Forearms here—Big Guy, whichever—takes the cup. He purses his mouth around the straw, sucks a swallow down for himself. Pauses. Takes another.

Sakina pulls her other hand out from her pocket and twines both behind her back.

“Told you."

Call it another twenty minutes tops before their mouths are clapped only against each other's, wide open and wetter every second. Nobody else is here anymore, and there's a spot in the back corner of the site no one can see from the road. It's dark. Secluded. Not so lonely.

Fingers roam and grasp over her Machamp's chest, too big for her to hold onto. In the dregs of shadow even on a moonlit night, Sakina can't even see him all at once anymore through amber eyes glassy, her breathing turned shaky so soon. She's weak. She may be a horny idiot, but right here, she's vulnerable. She can't help it.

Through the partners' mutual fumbling backward, kissing, touching, rubbing—Sakina's back hits one of the concrete walls. She's pinned. Even as she opens her lips willingly for his tongue around hers, one hand reaches to her nape and angles her in deeper still, the rigid brim of her hat sliding past his cheek. Thick, dirty fingers brush the stray fibers down her neck and lock her in a wet, welcome cage against his rough mouth.

Big Guy likes women. She couldn't have known for sure. God, he likes women….

But as the shakiness in her breath reaches her lungs, too, that light trembling touch over his chest turns to an active push, begging different than in their kiss.

Her man parts their lips and pulls away, and Sakina gasps ragged already. Already helpless if he hadn't… listened, sort of. But he did. It's okay. Right? She may be an idiot, but she's putty in his grip and she can't get away from that.

Big Guy lowers his hand from behind, too, and Sakina rubs his chest with the soft, lissome touch she can offer in return, darker violet over grime-streaked gray. She swallows back her breath.

“It's okay..." she whispers. “You c'n hold tight…."

There's a look in his wine-red eyes now almost like an angry want, more than just sultry. There's a heat under his skin even while he stays cool.

He pulls her forward, nape and all. Sakina opens her mouth even before his tongue enforces it. Her own unsteady hands reach back to her shoulders and push down her hoodie. Just the first inches slide down her curves, and she offers up what more skin she can to be taken by a man in want of it.

But two more hands join around hers, and Big Guy pauses her. His fingers tangle under hers and lower them gently, teasing her away from the fabric, and Sakina gives in, gives up the feeling in her arms as she lets them hang empty down her sides. A brand new force reverberates through her as Big Guy clenches a firmer grip on her clothes and tears the cotton down her form, bundling her sleeves at her wrists.

Honest to God, Sakina shivers.

Foreign hands snake her clothes loose past her thumbs, and in a sound she can't hear over tight, muffled slurps sucked back and forth, her top pools beneath her. While her hands make their way back over him to search slowly downward, her man finds somewhere new to play much faster.

The same firm hands already disrobed her reach closer and squeeze next over her breasts, thick fingers pressing in from all sides, digging at first painfully hard into her skin before relenting, kneading instead. He holds her all this time against their sopping kiss and steals every squeak she can muster.

He likes women, and he really likes titties.

Hot breaths fog Sakina's nostrils in between the separate intensities Big Guy imposes upon her. Thumbs together push her bikini out of the way to a loose, ticklish perch on top of her breasts, then press below again. He rubs deep and slow over her nipples, and when forefingers join them in a pinch too soft to be true, Sakina can't hide the high, girlish moans in her throat from him.

She always heard guys like him were no good with their hands unless they were balled up in fists. Never meant like this, as far as she could tell, but…

Tonight, she's just happy to help him practice.

Especially when he submerges his fourth hand directly into her shorts. There's nothing Sakina can do to hide the slick juices Big Guy slips through now, rough fingers worming around hot skin.

And as she moans again into him, glassy eyes surrendered to his, she's ashamed.

She'd give anything for him not to stop right now—that's the point. But she knows she should want him to.

That's how normal girls work, right?

Some guy Sakina doesn't even know stands over her right now in control of her body, frenching, groping, fingering her, and all she can process is how bad she wants this stranger's fat cock inside her. How bad she wants him to splash all over her face, or leave a mess leaking down between her tits for the bus ride home, or just hold her down and finish inside whether she asks for it or not.

She honestly forgot to even ask his name.

Though to be fair, he never seemed interested in hers.

But for all the interest Big Guy shows the rest of her, he teases only his fingertips over her vulva. His knuckles scrape up and down the damp stains in her bikini and he digs no deeper. He dares her to wish for it. He teaches her to beg for him through her sloppy mewls and sweaty hands trembling over his stomach, draws her entire body into a whine for more, but denies her penetration just yet.

Four hands hold her body in thrall from top to bottom. When one more thumb rises above her vulva, finally, and pokes her burgeoning clit loose from its hood—Sakina's not just about to cum. Her man's about to make her cum. It's not her decision, and it's not up for debate.

Still ashamed, yeah, but in this growing moment, she's mostly grateful.

Sakina tugs her lips the inch away from his tongue that she needs for just a second, and her voice is even huskier than intended when she gasps, “Do it. Do it… please…."

She can't change, can she? Maybe she doesn't want to. It's not worth leaving this.

In that same second they're pulled away from each other, that strange crook comes back to Big Guy's lips. Not quite a smile, but not as mean as a smirk. Cocky? Maybe that's it. But he doesn't let her study him long enough to figure it out before he plants her pretty little lips back around his tongue.

The pressure builds in all her nerves at once before she gets release—he rubs her whole groin up and down with each hard swipe over her clitoris, smears her just as dirty as he cares to mark her, caresses and manhandles her tits in equal measure without pause as her lungs reach their final shrill high just behind.

Sakina locks up when she cums. She gasps in sodden, broken pulses like even her throat's been struck by lightning. For the seconds it lasts, anything more than quivering is impossible.

She can swear her eyes actually tear up.

It's unceremoniously that Big Guy then pulls his drenched fingers out from her drawers. He pulls her lips away again at the same time, giving fresh air back to her littler constant moans, and leans his face around hers to kiss next down her jaw, lapping and suckling gentler to her nape. He withdraws his thumbs from her nipples and shifts those hands to just below her shoulders, stroking her arms up and down as she recovers in separate filthy pieces coming back together in the wrong order.

As long as he helps hold her up… Sakina can't think of a better way to come back.

His hand brushes over her shorts again within this quieter phase of her panting, and her gaze lowers hazy down toward where he fiddles with the plastic button restraining them.

Now her hand comes down over his, and rather than pulling him away, she holds onto him while she sinks to her knees. Her shins sprawl around her hoodie splayed in the dust. And her man straightens up, breathing in again slow and content, his wettened hand coming to stroke behind her ear instead.

From down here, the black bulge of his cock flexes toward Sakina perfectly at eye level.

“Lube you up…" she mutters, already reaching for his belt. “Lemme get you ready…."

She fiddles with his belt the same, tracing over the circular gold buckle—but it's not actually a buckle. After several seconds of fingering only metal warmed by sweat, uh, how does it come off?

Of Big Guy's lower arms, his free one reaches down and he pinches the almost-buckle firmer, twisting it to the right until a click sounds from inside. He pulls the whole thing from his waist and takes one heavy step back, gold strap dangling from his hand before he drops it with a solid thud at his feet. Just the bulge remains.

It's only the one step, but Sakina crawls to him.

She twines her fingers under the hem of his tights, but her grip meets pure resistance when she tries and fails to tug them down with both hands. Somehow just the material itself is heavy, even scratchy on the outside.

Jeez. Even his tights are thick.

Big Guy brushes past Sakina's grasp on his way to slipping a thumb under his nethers, and for the effort she just put up, he peels the stuff down like giftwrap. His girth bends tight and low through the whole stretch and enraptures Sakina through the motion. She hovers her face inches away from how tauntingly slow he goes, panting over him, fingers itching at his thighs before she gets to put them to work again.

His cock less springs loose and more smacks against her cheek. Hard. Sakina gasps within her slightest recoil, eyes wide, and just this sensation of her man genuinely cockslapping her melts a sickly sweet smile over her lips, pushing forward already, opening wide for him.

Her hands come back up to him, middle finger circling over his root to meet her thumb underneath, and she jacks thick skin back and forth over the base while she slurps her tongue around his leaking crown. It's the same smooth shape that she already knows how to adore. Not weird, right? So she slobbers. Like a dog. She leans under his shaft and supplicates from beneath, giving up her pretty little face to the smear of sweat and pre bubbling over her cheek, rubbing his rank scent into her skin on purpose.

And that hand at her ear, stroking her too? Big Guy pulls one finger back from it and flicks her snapback off, knocking it against the concrete wall behind as Sakina's bangs fall freer on either side of her face. He returns to petting her by wiping off in her own hair the mess she made all over him.

Top to bottom… sullied. Not like a dog anymore, but Sakina gives one good look up at him and purrs.

Without the brim over her face in the way anymore, she reaches her final moment of Fuck it. She pulls her mouth back around his glans and braces both hands lower, then sucks tight and pushes forward. She rubs his whole thing down her throat. She gags, yeah, sure, but for this—she deals with it. She can't help it. Hope wells up in her stomach that his hand will take a harsher turn and his fingers will dig in at the roots of her braid, that he'll hold her down at his base, that somehow he'll open his mouth and tell her that she has to swallow before he can let her breathe again, and that's just how it's going to be.

Doesn't quite happen like that, but she gulps him back and forth like a good girl anyway until he's nice and sloppy. She earns her first groan from him so far at the next deep suckle, a low senseless grumble shaken down his whole body, and Sakina smiles even around the shaft stirred down her throat.

Big Guy really does reach more hands down to her, thank God, yes—but he takes her by the shoulders instead and pops her off his slimy cock, dripping and drooling as deep as the lips taken care of it. He pulls her all the way up to her feet in an instant, snorting, and more fingers reach for the button of her shorts immediately, not so much fiddling as grabbing like he's ready to rip them apart down the seam if need be. He can. He will.

Before he fulfills that promise, Sakina jostles her fingers under his and tugs her waistline open for them both, loosens this last barrier to bonetown. To getting plowed, baby. It's happening.

Big Guy pulls her close again, a breath away from when she deferred to the authority of his tongue. But he shares no kisses this time. Two sets of fingers roll over her hips, rolls the tie and strap of her bikini down her cheeks, and a hand strokes down from her hair to her nape again, to her earlobe, to her cheek, all while he prods his filthiest, hardest limb right beside her mound. He stares her down before he takes this moment for himself, and Sakina can only watch the intentions deep inside his eyes.

Red like wine. The clearer she can see them, the truer it is.

And before that moment is taken, before she can tell herself not to, she blurts out the quietest thing she can say.

“Backdoor?"

Her fingers curl up in balls against his chest. She can only watch for his answer with lips ajar as she fogs the air through them.

“Please."

It takes a longer second, but a crook returns to Big Guy's face. Not a smile, not a frown. A face hidden from meaning to her. Watching that, all Sakina can do is duck her gaze away and wonder why the hell she just asked that.

And then with all his hands upon her body, he turns her around.

Concrete meets her view as with one hand Sakina is bent down carefully but firmly against it. Sweat pools at either end of her body as her breaths turn to gasps before anything even happens, eyes wide, presented in completion to this stranger as he takes both her cheeks and spreads them. And all she can watch is concrete as it happens to her.

One hand still holds her softly above the elbow, the other of his upper pair braced against the wall above her. He rubs her arm up and down like she needs the reassurance, and Sakina has to swallow back the shame in her gut as she admits the next part again, too.

“You can hold tight…."

The grip over her shifts. The side of her face is shoved against the dusty concrete as her man braces himself with her body instead, pulling down his hand from the wall to join the other as he pulls both her arms back and clenches high around her wrists.

Now it's impossible to run. There's no one around she could call to for rescue. She can't get away anymore.

Even within that sodden grin she can't hide, smooshed against the wall in pre and spit, it's in this moment Sakina further realizes what it is that's wrong with her.

She didn't ask for this. She begged for it.

And yet the only change she can think of making is how quick she'll need to run to her room when she gets home before anyone sees the mess she got made of again.

Then the moment comes when she's squeezed against. Sakina breathes in, shuts her eyes just the moment, and pushes rather than clenches. Slowly—forcibly, surely, whether or not she was ever going to help him fit, her rectum opens. It's hot. She breathes out quicker, lower, pretends it's not a moan already as wet flesh presses her apart deeper all on its own. Her fists can hold onto nothing as a man holds her down and takes his time enjoying her colon.

He grunts again, too. Slurps an inch more inside her, and Sakina bites her lip. Trembles. Girls aren't supposed to enjoy it like this, right? She's not supposed to.

But the fingers around her wrists reposition, take a grip on her all over again, and together with the hands scooped warm under her hips, they pull. In these inches he wiggles her body deeper onto him, makes her squelch her own spit even tighter between their flesh, and she just can't help it when that makes her brain shut down to anything but the sickest joys.

She can't help it, right? This is just out of her control.

Then she's pressed flatter into the wall. He drags flesh wet and raw out from her, all the way to the tip, and in the kind of perfect sloppy kiss that can only be taken by force, grinds himself back inside a hole designed by nature to resist him. And it can't. She can't.

Even in a hiss through shaky, burning lungs, even while the ache in her neck grows tighter, Sakina can only spend the rest of her breath in tiny, grateful whimpers. God, she's going to be sore after this. And she's so grateful. Even as her throat picks up that panting melody in her lungs, she knows she won't be able to sit for a week when this guy's through wrecking her.

And every time she has to sit anyway, she'll remember just how brutal she got it.

Short grunts echo above her now in staccato with each raw thrust. A foreign tone of voice through inhuman chords, but masculine in the only way that matters to her. Like the very worst kind of man who thinks because he's got a cock, and she's got a pretty face, he deserves her coiling tight and obedient around him. Like he's only taking what's owed by rights to him.

But Big Guy's not like that, right? Not on the inside. He's better this time. That's why Sakina can dangle her tongue and whimper already for more, for deeper, harder.

God—he knows, right? That it's okay if it's with him. He knows he can do anything to her and she'll take it. He knows she wants him to keep going no matter how much it hurts as long as her hole's still tight enough for him, right?

Not literally. But he's got to know. Even the whines she gives him pitch higher already, higher every thrust, and at the sweaty thump of her man going balls deep inside her, truly, there it is—her cracked, girlish moan all over again. All without the slightest caress of her pussy. Not one finger on her clit.

He goes rougher now, harder, just like she begged, balls deep. Sakina's vision and throat hang in the same conquered trance. Over her own pitiful noises, all she can hear is the wet sucking her body offers freely to whoever this guy really is. And that's all it's going to take. Bent down, held there, and instructed in just how deep she has to receive him whether she likes it or not.

Just from anal, without quite enough lube—Sakina's building to another climax.

God, she's disgusting.

And she just can't help enjoying how disgusting she is.

Even as her spine is shoved hard toward the wall, a motion is fucked solid enough through her that her breasts bounce anyway, halting either backward or forward at each new thrust before they can gain rhythm. That part's fine—it'd be an insult staying clothed around him, right? If he likes titties so much, he's earned setting hers on display….

Words don't come easy like that, jaw rubbing flat and sticky over concrete, but in what few other thoughts she can form, Sakina gasps back toward her man, “Cover my mouth! Please, pluhhh, cover… cover, pl—"

Her body yanks up. She only feels that a hand's left her hip as it comes to clap around half her face like a vice, way too strong to squirm out of. His index finger holds right under her nose and just as suddenly it's all she can breathe, her whole world, the scent of her first discharge still soaked over the hot sweat of his grip. Every thrust he takes thrusts her into this now, makes her breathe it deep.

He pulls her arms farther back at this angle, bearing more of her own weight against his cock while he pounds inward. Sakina has no say in their mutual tempo. Her fingers unflex and curl and bundle uselessly again, and her eyes bead up the same until they spill lone tears past muffled cries beneath.

Now she's free to cry out. Only now, when only her man can hear how easy it is to keep her quiet.

All of this, and she still grazes her mouth open within his grasp. Broken squeaks plead against his skin as in please, please—and one finger flexes back to oblige her further, presses her lips wider, worms thick over her tongue.

His taste is all the filthier, all the heavier in her caged mouth. Now the sweat and muck of his day's toil seeps into her fully under the mix of her own juices. As little as she can kiss and suck down his knuckle, Sakina closes her teary eyes and welcomes fellating more of the man who's claimed her tonight. It's all the praise she has left to offer. It's nowhere near enough. Not until he finishes inside, drags her off to some basement where no one else will ever find her, chains her up, and brainwashes her every single day into a proper little fucktoy born into this world just to be property, body and soul.

Not literally. But God, he deserves it from her. And he's got to know it.

When one part of her fantasy comes true, at least, she realizes only as it happens.

Her man clamps around her wrists too tight, and it's only one more way he's leaving a mark. He pulls her by the waist firm and fully upon the seat of his cock, denies her the choice to squirm, and grunts angrier in the muggy breaths down her spine.

Then everything's warm.

Then it's hot.

Sakina sobs down the impregnable hand silencing her, and her nameless man boils over inside her. In thick, virile spurts, she's inseminated.

And untouched in any way a decent girl's supposed to enjoy—she cums, too. Held down tight, colon spread open deep, only her pussy allowed to quiver this time. She keeps her eyes shut even as she feels the whole world spinning around her.

Filled to the brim, and she didn't even have to beg for it….

Those muggy breaths slow gradually. Maybe it takes a minute, maybe shorter. Sakina takes every second he recovers inside her as another unspoken gift. She only opens her bleary eyes as the grip encasing her relaxes, and she gasps wet as her mouth is the first part of herself given back freedom.

Next is her ass, and she winces as he withdraws from her slower there. He rubs back down every sore spot in her body on the way out, but gently, gently… and with less fanfare, he pulls loose. The hands on her wrists massage their way back above her elbows and ease her upright, keeping just firm enough around her still that she doesn't have to stand under her own power all at once.

When the hand around her hip pulls away, Sakina hears Big Guy next shuffling those tights back up to his waist. And for whatever reason, this is the moment her brain connects again to the circumstance. Not that it was a Machamp just inside her, but—actually, God, that should be the first thing, right?

For someone else, maybe. But he's not the problem.

And of all the problems Sakina can actually deal with right now, she starts with her clothes. Covers her tits again, pulls her shorts back up… clenches, sure, but lets her already damp bikini be a sacrificial cloth for whenever the semen's ready to dribble out of her anyway.

Is it weird if that makes her feel kind of even more like a piece of shit now? After the begging, the fantasizing, the orgasms?

She already knows.

She leans down with less a cute grunt for her hoodie and takes a couple steps over for her snapback in the same bend. Big Guy just gets his belt, buckles it back on, if that's what he'd call it. And for all the mess that remains on Sakina… she'll wear her hood up on the bus home.

Big Guy, Forearms, whichever—one more hand brushes over Sakina's shoulder, and she looks back up to him to see his eyes already set back on hers, stepped closer. That crook in his lips, the closest to a smile yet. Nearly. Not quite. The strength of a hundred wicked men in his body, the power to do anything more to her, but now that they see each other again, her eyes are all that hold his attention.

After everything, he lifts just the hand. Thumbs over her ear.

After all that… Sakina looks back down to his chest. Not in that kind of way.

“Could I, um…."

Her voice is back to a whisper. She holds her clothes tighter.

“I know you've gotta go, but… could you do me a favor?"

This time of night, a few minutes later, it's just the street lamps still buzzing quiet along the road. Only a half moon out to light up anything past the pavement.

Big Guy sits at the end of the bench, eyes closed, two hands clasped over his lap and the others resting behind his head. Sakina leans against the wall at the other end of the shelter, fists in her pockets. She's good waiting on her feet.

Last bus came three minutes ago, so it's forty minutes they wait together in silence for the next one. Give or take. Sakina doesn't check her phone.

So when it's finally a marquee that shines above the next headlights coming down the road, and it's the 27 Eastbound that trundles up and hisses to a stop at the curb, Sakina holds back just a second before she boards. She glances to the bench.

“Thanks," she mutters. “Sorry."

Big Guy opens his eyes plainly when he looks back to her, but Sakina shores up her hood over her hat and doesn't wait to see whatever last expression he gives her. She creaks onto the bus alone.

After all that, she really shouldn't want to see him again.