What can I tell you? The man has a point.
Having his fat cock anywhere near my ass would indeed feel wrong. It would feel very, very wrong. It would feel so wrong, it might start to feel right. My body reacts the same way it did yesterday. And the way it did the day before. I lose reason. Any and all semblance of reason is gone. The only thing left in its place is lust.
“Tell you what,” he says, “if you want to get ready, I’ll let you use the bathroom all by yourself.”
I’m on my feet in a flash, but I can’t resist having the final word. “What? Aren’t you scared I’ll try to stab you with a piece of mirror when I get back?”
“Nah.”
“How come?”
“’Cause, when you get back, I’m going to strip you and perform a thorough cavity search on you.”
The same wave of arousal from a few minutes earlier hits me again. It hits me hard, but this time it’s mixed with fury. He’s mocking me. Or he’s trying to be cute. Either way, he is the world’s biggest asshole. An arrogant asshole, at that. The whole time I’m in the bathroom, I tell myself I’m going to say no. I tell myself I’m going to get him worked up and then I’m going to laugh in his face. I tell myself that, but my hands are shaky, my heart is pounding out of my chest, and I find myself going through the motions of prepping.
I open the bathroom door and see him standing in the middle of the room, waiting for me. His eyes are black and narrowed. His body is primed. He looks like a man who was built for the sole purpose of fucking. The second I see him I know the course of my immediate future has already been written. It’s written in stone. There’s no goddamn way I’m going to make it through today without letting him fuck me. There just isn’t.
He approaches me slowly, one hand out, as if he’s approaching a wild animal that’s liable to bite. I don’t bite. I don’t snarl, and I don’t scratch. What I do is start quivering disgustingly the second he touches me. He runs his palms up my arms. His hands are warm. Strong. He traces the hem of my tank. He tugs at it and releases it, teasing me until I have a very real fear that I’m going to start begging if he doesn’t move faster. By the time he pulls my top off over my head, my teeth are clenched hard. I feel like I’m trapped in an awful limbo. I’m frozen by my will, unable to move, because I don’t trust myself not to crack and show him how much I want him. At the same time, I’m burning. I’m a ticking time bomb. I’m going to explode, that much is certain. The only question about it is when.
He reaches down and worries the cord of my sweatpants. He does it until I want to scream. I count to ten slowly in my mind. I promise myself that if I get to ten and I’m not completely naked, I’m going to slap him. I’m going to slap him as hard as I can. I make it to nine and three quarters. He gives my drawstring a hard tug and then nudges my sweatpants down. The relief I feel when they hit the ground is palpable. I step out of them quickly.
“Spread your arms and widen your stance,” he commands in a deep, harsh voice.
Military,I think.Definitely military. Must remember that for when I report him to the police.
To my utter shame, I do as he says. Far from fighting, I surrender. His hands are all over me. On my sides, my back and my belly. He pats me down roughly, leaving my skin inflamed where he’s touched me. When he’s done, he walks me back toward the bed. I not only scramble onto it of my own accord, I roll onto my back and spread my legs. He stands over me and watches, hissing through his teeth as he breathes. He opens the top drawer of the nightstand and fishes out a condom and lube and tosses them onto the bed next to me. Then he crawls over me, pinning me down with the weight of his body. I turn my face away from him.
Yes, I’m a wanton slut and yes, I have no self-control, but I’m still a cold-hearted bitch, and you can bet your ass that if Asshole needs to kiss to come, that shit ain’t happening. Not on my watch.
Unfortunately, he takes me baring my neck as an invitation. He sets to work kissing my jugular and running his tongue up and down my pulse point. He does it until I twist away even more. Then he kisses me along the line of my jaw. He does it softly. Repeatedly. He runs his tongue along the edge of my earlobe. The trail he left on my skin turns icy as he inhales, and then ignites as he breathes fire on the exhale. I make a long, simpering sound. It’s awful. It’s the worst sound I’ve heard. It’s so base and pathetic, I want to attack it. I swear to God, if that sound was a living thing, I would beat it. I’d beat it with my bare hands.
Mercifully, Asshole has started working his way down my body. Thank God and thank fuck. I need his dick in me. I need a good, hard dicking down. I need to get this madness out of my system and then I need to get back to normal. It’s as simple as that. Unfortunately, Asshole has other plans. He’s nowhere near done with tormenting me. He runs his fingertips over my chest, tracing them along meridians only he can see. He does it lightly. So lightly, pleasure barbs and dances up and down from my head to my toes. I try not to writhe. I honestly do, but by the time he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, that battle is lost. Each tiny flick rushes straight to my dick. It strains and lurches and leaks onto my belly. Writhing gradually turns into struggling. When I can’t take it anymore, I slap his hands away roughly.
“Asshole,” I spit, “just fuck me already.”
He catches my wrists and slams them down on either side of my head. He does it easily. His grip is like steel. His strength is unreal. I can’t move. Each time I try, the shine in his eyes is replaced with something darker. Eventually, the darkness sparks and ignites.
He bares his teeth at me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
I hate that he thinks he’s funny. I hate that he’s trying to be cute. But what I hate most is that for some despicable reason, my dick loves it. It’s eating it up. It can’t get enough. My lower back arches hard, straining to get close to him. I struggle again and this time, he releases me. I squirm under him, rolling over and pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. He kneels back, murmuring something I can’t make out. I feel an intense rush of relief.
We’re in my house now, bitch.
I know how this game is played. Hell, I invented this game. I part my legs and tilt my ass up and out, leaning down so my face and my chest are flat on the mattress. I know I look good presented like this. I know I have a legendary ass and a legendary arch. I know I look hot as all fuck. I’ve brought men to their knees in this position. Lots of them. Asshole won’t be any different. He’ll probably prep me as quick as he can and shove his dick in me. I bet he’ll have no more than five or six pumps in him before he loses his shit.
Of course, Asshole can’t follow a plan to save his own life. Instead of groping and grabbing, he takes his time. He works one finger into me at a time. He coats me with lube until I feel like every joint in my body is slick and slippery. He fingers me so slowly and so gently, I feel the delicate fibers of whatever it is that holds my sanity together, start to unravel.
“Asshole, I’m ready. I…you…justdo italready.” He doesn’t answer, but he omits a soft sound that makes him sound like he’s happy and I fucking hate that for me. I really do. I hear the flick of the cap of the lube opening again. “Asshole! That’s too much lube. What the fuck are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” he muses. “I’m fucking you, Demon. This is how I fuck. You’ll thank me for it later, you’ll see.”
My dreadful cock pulses and I let out a low, keening sound. He puts the condom on, lubes his dick (excessively) and then presses it up against my hole, dragging it up and down my crack until I know for sure I’m going to crack. Milliseconds before it comes to that, he holds my hip firmly in one hand and guides himself into me with the other. I give way immediately. My hole’s never been more willing. Still, the stretch is intense. The sting is sharp enough to see me bunch up a fist full of quilt and shove as much of it into my mouth as I can. It drowns out some of the sound I’m making, but sadly not all of it. As he starts thrusting, I claw at the quilt and the sheets. My toes curl when he’s deep and I all but sob when he pulls out. Each thrust he gives me is a thing of beauty. Perfection. Art. His thick, meaty cock grazes my insides, scraping every sensitive part of me. The most sensitive part especially. He thrusts again and again. He thrusts until I can’t remember a time he wasn’t inside me. He thrusts until the only thing I know is that I’ll die if I don’t come. I reach down to take my dick in hand, but he swats my hand away. I give a long, shrill wail that sounds like something that came out of an alley cat. I twist around and look back at him in desperate frustration. His eyes are pitch black; his pupils completely blown out. His jaw is slack and his lips are ajar. They look darker than usual. They look like he’s been dragging his tongue and his teeth over them. He looks down at me. I can feel his eyes on my mouth. I know what he wants. As if it’s not bad enough to know what he wants, as if it’s not bad enough that I know all about his adorable little kink, the worst thing of all, is the inexorable fact that I want it too.
I twist around as much as I can and offer him my mouth. I kiss him roughly, snapping at his lips. He handles my dick with care. The second our tongues touch, I feel like I’m fluid. I’m hot and full and before I have time to prepare for it, everything in me clenches, and I start gushing. Shooting. Exploding. It’s exquisite in its intensity. It’s so strong, it almost feels like pain. It isn’t, but almost. His thrusts start to falter, and for a few glorious seconds, his roar drowns out the piercing sound of my pleasure.
He pulls out at last, ties off the condom and drops it onto the floor next to the bed. I move to my side of the bed, closest to the wall, and collapse onto my back. He does the same. We take care not to touch each other. Knowing he’s lying in the wet spot I made, brings me some comfort. I close my eyes and neither of us utter a word for a long time. A very, very long time.
When I open my eyes, I find him peering at me. His eyes are shadowy. Not soft, but not as hard as they usually are. He’s not moving and has a dumb, stunned look about him. The way he’s looking at me is unnerving as fuck. It needs to stop. I scramble around, searching my mind for something to say that will wipe that look off his face.
