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“Shh…” he whispers in her ear, forcing her down onto the bed. His hand wraps around her mouth, her comedy mask already shattered on the floor as he places himself on top of her. She makes a soft sound but doesn’t protest anymore, she’s so tired of protesting and it makes her feel pathetic.
The first time it happened she cried. I mean, she’s crying now, but it feels like it’s just a habit at this point to cry, like she needs to or something. Whatever it is, she’s crying like she usually is. It’s not quite as hard as she did the first time. The first time she begged and pushed him and screamed and no one heard, and she was too afraid to say anything and at this point it’s too late to say anything because it’s been happening for so long and for so many times. She can’t tell if Jax is annoyed or if it gets him off more. The answer won’t stop her from crying.
“Would you stop already?” He asks as he shimmies his clothes off of himself, revealing himself. Gangle doesn’t respond. Not that she could if she wanted to, his hand is still covering her mouth. She sniffles but her tears still come.
The first time it happened, she felt sick. She sat in the shower and cried until she could barely open her eyes and her throat was entirely sore. Well, as much as it can be in the circus. The second time was a similar experience. And then the third. The fourth is when she stopped scrubbing and crying in the aftershock as much. The fifth time she loses track and now she doesn’t know how much it’s happened.
Of course people had asked her if she was okay. And she denied, of course. And when it happens so often, eventually people stop asking. She disgusts herself a little bit. Especially for letting Jax in her room in the first place. Jax, who had done nothing but torment and never brought any news that was good, took his place in her room and left his smell and body and she couldn’t do anything about it. And now she’s reaping the consequences once more. And if she doesn’t let Jax do this, if she doesn’t like his hands on her body and his dick inside of her, if she refuses him and somehow did manage to make him stop, he’d find someone else. He’d bring his adamantness and lust to a different girl and she just can’t live knowing someone else would have to go through this, so she lets it happen to her. And maybe a part of her likes the attention it brings, even if she hates it too.
She realizes she’s been zoning out when she feels him shove himself inside of her and make a small, pleasured noise, rocking his hips ever so slightly. “Gangle, you’re not useful for much, but you’re so fucking tight.” He grunts, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in. She makes a noise and he smirks at his. “You fucking like that don’t you?” He growls, and Gangle really doesn’t but the noises she makes can’t be helped and she hates herself for it even more.
He repeats the move, small noises leaving his mouth as he smirks, trying to force sound out of her loud enough to pass through his hand still covering. He thrusts again. And again. It gets increasingly faster as he slowly forgets about eliciting sound from her and entirely focuses on fucking into her to get himself off. His head is tossed back and his body moves quickly and with intention, his face blurred with the tears from his eyes.
Jax lets out hot breaths as his head falls onto the bed from where it was tossed, right next to Gangle’s shoulder, his hips still moving with an intense ferocity, more noises of pleasure slipping out of Jax’s lips.
One of his hands moves from the sides of her head where he was propping himself up and lands on her hip and she winces at how tightly he grabs onto it, stabilizing himself as his movements become even more insistent and brutal, focusing only on himself, using Gangle.
She makes another noise, a grunt, living somewhere between the misery that comes with dancing this dance and the small amount of pleasure that she’s disgusted she even feels. He makes another noise in response to hers, one of pleasure and that signals he’s almost finished with his cruel act. He continues to jackhammer his hips into his before they stutter and he lets on another low yet embarrassing noise, spilling directly inside of her.
She gasps but lets it happen, letting out a breath of discomfort and agony as he moves his hips while coming down from his high before smirking at her. He doesn’t pull out yet, instead he runs his hand up and down her thigh once more, face still pressed by the crook of her neck. He does this, sometimes. Puts his hands on her when he’s finished. Not violently, just… places there. Moving up and down. Like he’s memorizing her body, wanting her skin overtop of his. The act itself feels a lot less like he’s taking advantage of her body, and a lot more like he wants to be inside her body. Well, he is inside her body, so to speak, but it feels like he wants to be her. He wants what she has and instead of being a normal person (as normal as anyone can get in this circus) and forming any semblance of a bond, he takes advantage of her body any chance he can get.
He stays for longer than she wishes he did. Not that she wants him to be here at all, but even if he did do it, she would prefer he finished and left quickly. Instead he revels in the horrors he commits, like he’s proud of it. She figures he probably is and that twists the knot in her stomach even more. She feels herself crying again and Jax doesn’t comment on it this time. Maybe he’s going soft. Or maybe he likes to hear her cry. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Eventually, after what feels like hours (and maybe it is, she doesn’t know, she’s lost track of time), he lets up, pulling out of her and smirking as he watches the cum dribble from her, staring at it, his eyes shimmering in the darkness of the room before he sits up and clears his throat. “Like I said, Gangle,” He starts, putting his clothes back on torturously slow. She wants to stop facing him, but that will probably result in more talking or yelling, so instead she just watches him with a sad and ashamed face. “You aren't good for much, but you are tight. Same time tomorrow?”
She doesn’t respond and that makes him chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, same time tomorrow.” He says, as if they’re having a full conversation and he’s not talking to her, the threat of his acts dangling on a string as she knows what tomorrow will mean for her again. He gets out of the bed and walks out of the room like he owns it, and in a way he does, it’s just as much his now as it is hers. Maybe a little bit more. He owns her and whatever she does now. When he’s finally gone she cries like she hasn’t since the first time it happened and she showers and scrubs her whole body and then she throws up and then finally passes out from exhaustion. She doesn’t want tomorrow to happen.