SCREAM FOR ME, KARLEE 1

KARLEE

I shouldn’t have taken the alley.

That thought came the second I stepped off the main street and into the narrow gap between the buildings. The club was still thumping behind me, bass leaking out onto the sidewalk, but the alley swallowed the noise fast. One flickering yellow light hummed halfway down. The rest was shadow. Damp brick walls rose close on both sides. The ground was wet and uneven. It smelled like old beer, piss, and trash left too long.

My friends had all gotten into Ubers. I lived four blocks away. The alley was a straight shot. I’d walked it before. I’d also lain in bed more times than I could count imagining something exactly like this — being followed, grabbed, pinned against these same bricks while strangers walked past only metres away. The fantasy always made me come hard and then feel filthy afterward. I never told anyone about it.

Tonight the drinks had made me brave. Or stupid.

My heels clicked too loudly on the concrete. I pulled my thin jacket tighter and kept my eyes on the far end of the alley where it opened onto my street. I was almost halfway when I heard the second set of footsteps.

I glanced back.

A man in a dark hooded jacket was walking behind me. Not rushing. Just matching my pace. Hands in his pockets. Head down. My stomach dropped hard. I walked faster. So did he.

“Hey,” he called, voice low and rough.

I didn’t answer. My fingers dug into my bag, searching for keys I already knew wouldn’t help. My heart was slamming so hard I felt it in my throat. The fantasy and the reality slammed into each other inside my chest and left me dizzy.

He closed the distance in a few long strides. A hand locked around my upper arm, spun me hard, and shoved me face-first into the cold brick wall. The impact knocked the breath out of me. My bag hit the ground and spilled. Before I could drag in enough air to scream, a large hand clamped over my mouth and his body pressed against my back, heavy and solid, trapping me completely.

“Don’t,” he growled against my ear. His breath was warm. “You scream, this gets a lot worse.”

I struggled anyway. Pure instinct. I twisted, pushed back with my hips, tried to kick behind me. He only leaned harder, grinding me into the rough brick until it scraped my cheek raw. One thick thigh forced its way between mine and spread my legs. His free hand shoved my short dress up over my hips in one violent motion. Cool night air hit the backs of my thighs.

“No—” The word came out muffled and desperate against his palm. I shook my head hard. “Stop— please— don’t—”

My voice sounded scared because part of me *was* scared. The other part — the secret, shameful part that had replayed this exact scene in my head for years — was already throbbing between my legs.

He ignored every muffled protest. His fingers hooked into the side of my panties and yanked them down to my thighs in one rough pull. They stretched tight, keeping my legs from closing. I was still mostly dry from fear, but he didn’t care. He spat into his palm, reached between my legs, and rubbed the wetness over my pussy without any gentleness. Then two thick fingers shoved inside me.

I cried out against his hand.

The stretch burned. He fingered me hard and fast, no build-up, curling his fingers and pumping them deep while his other hand kept my mouth sealed shut. My cheek dragged against the brick every time my body jerked. I could hear people at the mouth of the alley — voices, laughter, the beep of a car lock — close enough that real panic mixed with the heat that was starting to build low in my stomach against my will.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered. His fingers worked deeper, scissoring, stretching me open. “And already getting wetter. You like this, don’t you, you filthy girl?”

I shook my head frantically, making desperate noises against his palm. Tears pricked my eyes. But my body was betraying me exactly the way it always did in the fantasy. Every rough thrust of his fingers sent another unwanted pulse of pleasure through me. My panties were stretched around my thighs. My dress was bunched at my waist. The brick scraped my skin. And underneath the fear, my pussy was clenching around his fingers, getting slicker by the second.

He pulled his fingers out. I heard the sound of his zipper and the rustle of fabric. My whole body went rigid.

The thick, hot head of his cock pressed against me. He rubbed it up and down through the wetness he had forced, then shoved forward and buried himself inside me in one heavy, relentless thrust that made my eyes water.

I screamed against his hand.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound almost satisfied, and started fucking me against the wall in hard, deep strokes. The wet slap of it was filthy and quiet in the narrow space. My cheek dragged across the brick. My heels scraped and slipped on the concrete. I kept trying to push back, to twist away, to close my legs, but he only pinned me harder and kept going, using my body like it belonged to him.

People walked past the open end of the alley. None of them looked in. None of them heard the muffled sounds I was making.

He fucked me like he had all the time in the world.

And the worst, most shameful part was that my pussy was taking him easier with every thrust, getting wetter, clenching around him even while I struggled. The fantasy and the reality had crashed together and I couldn’t tell which one was winning.

I was being used against a brick wall in a dark alley by a stranger, and my body was loving it.