Repost: Reckless Pleasure

Before I venture to my next stop, I’ll have a last get together with someone. And all I want, all I can think about, was asking him to fuck me like he hates me. It reminded me of an old unedited story I wrote. Worth the share if only for my pleasure… 

Part of me wonders if I secretly ask for it. Not in the length of my skirts, the amount of cleavage I show, or the alcohol I drank. No, I wondered if I asked in my body language, in the secret desire that rolled off me in waves.

I always felt on the edge of danger like I’d just missed being in the wrong place at the wrong time by mere chance. Excitement would edge out fear, my mind shying away from what it knew was there except in the dark of my room. I was able to ignore the need that always shimmered below the surface, but he must have spotted that spark and chose to turn it into a flame.

It was a quarter past midnight when I left that party. My feet ached and my bed called out to me from a distance. I bid my friends good night and exited into the warm summer night.

The air brushed across my skin, lifting goosebumps on my arm. It was like a premonition washing over me and I chaffed my skin as I quickened my pace. My body seemed to sense the danger and pumped adrenaline like a drugged cocktail into my blood. The beat of my heart so frantic in my chest was my only warning. I was nearly to my car when a body darted out of the shadows and broadsided me, sending me straight to the ground.

My dress offered no protection as the concrete scraped my hands, knees, and thighs. I laid dazed on the ground barely aware of the figure hovering over me. When I looked up and up, the shadows fell across his face, blocking him from my view. He was big and angry, a dark menace that was ready to take and devour me.

“You don’t belong here, bitch,” he spat in my direction. The deep timber of his voice almost erotic, but tinged with too much anger to make it sexy.

“Who are you to tell me where I belong? You aren’t my keeper who tells me where I can or can’t go. Step into this century, you stupid son of a bitch.” My voice trembled just slightly

I seethed as I struggled to get up, determined not to remain cowed at his feet. He terrified me, but I was just as angry.

His hand threaded through my hair before I could stand to my full height. I grasped at his wrists as he yanked me up so our faces were close. Even in the minimal light, I could see the way his eyes glittered. He was pissed and aroused, and it was all aimed at me.

“You’re a fucking stain that needs wiped out,” he breathed into my face. “I know what’ll fix you.”

He tugged me into an alley, into the darkness and away from my car. I panicked, knowing he’d hurt me if I let him overpower me. I resorted to flailing, scratching, and kicking in a vain attempt to get away as the darkness closed around us. My mind screamed louder than my mouth was able to.

He led me deeper, trash swirling around us as we struggled. It felt like we walked forever before he tossed me against the brick wall hard enough my breath left me. He was on me then, wedging his big thigh between mine, right against the lips of my cunt. A hand circled my throat, cutting off the breath that had just returned to me.

“Shut. Up. Keep your mouth closed and I wont hurt you too bad. Understand?” Something sharp pierced the soft skin of my belly as if to emphasis his point.

I nodded too scared to even speak, but my mind conjured the ways he’d hurt me. My whimper was pitiful and I clawed at his hand constricting my windpipe.

Whatever I imagined, he did the total opposite of what I expected. He kissed me full on the lips like a lover. There was no punishment in the way his lips moved over mine, nothing but pure lust rolled from him to me as his tongue sought entrance into my mouth.

My surprise morphed into something recognizable as he devoured my lips. I wanted to turn away, but he held me still as he took, demanding I yield. He hitched one of my legs higher, sliding his thigh more firmly against my core. The press of his cock to my hip sent a rush of conflicting sensations through me. I wanted to squirm away from the rocking of his body as it sought to elicit a response from mine, but I could feel the way I plumped up and dampened. Wanted him.

He released my throat to grasp my breast, kneading and plucking until my nipple stood taut. I choked on my moans determined to remain silent and ignore the mounting fire in my belly. His lips trailed down my throat as he parted my legs wider to step between. He pressed close, his cock butting right at my wet entrance.

I felt the tug at my top that released both breasts from my dress. His breath fanned across my skin just before he enclosed my nipple in wet heat.

“Please, no.”

My hands pushed weakly at his chest and shoulders as he suckled. Gentle then hard, the sensation shot straight to my pussy as I undulated into him. Mind struggled to wrestle control from my body.

“No,” I gasped under my breath as he switched to my other breast, the night air tightening the wet one he abandoned. “Please.”

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth cut across my nipple and I arched, opening my legs wider for him. “I hate it when you open your mouth.”

But he wanted the taste of my skin, he wanted the feel of my body. Every time I spoke he reminded us both of who I was and how he shouldn’t want me.

He pushed my dress higher on my waist, reached for the edge of my soaked panties, and tore the sides. My hips rocked forward into his denim-covered cock at the bite of the fabric into my hips. God, I hated that I wanted this so much, hated that my body trembled for him. My want of this scared me more than his taking of it.

“I’m taking what I fucking want. You’re nothing but a wet cunt. Don’t forget it.” His words were harsh, but his hands were gentle as they teased along my clit and down between my lips. He coated his fingertips in my wetness and teased at my opening.

“Wet for me like the fucking slut you are.” He nipped at my shoulder before capturing my lips again.

This kiss was brutal. I pushed against him, hating the bite of his teeth, the guttural growls. He canted his hips away briefly and when he slid back against me I felt the touch of his cock as it settled on my mound. He was hard and hot, pulsing with anger and need that he planned to spend in my body. His kiss reflected that savagery and I clung to that reminder. This was not mutual and I better not forget it. I couldn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t. Oh, God, I can’t.

He spun me around, his hand grasping my neck and pushing me face first into the wall. “Don’t you dare move.” His words rushed hot along my cheek.

He slapped his dick on my ass two or three times, coating my skin with slick precum. It’s a move that mortified me, but I held like he demanded. He kicked my legs so wide they ached, his hands pulled my hips back as I scrambled to keep my balance.

“Don’t. Move.” And I froze. The hot, seeking head of his cock moved down the crack of my ass to my entrance. In spite of my conflict, I was so wet for him and he slid in easy.

My mouth opened wide as he filled me, tiny sounds flowed from me as he pushed deeper. The stretch was brutal at this angle. Not even my reluctant excitement was enough to prepare my body for his ingress. But I parted, I opened, I took because my body didn’t care about the wrongness of it. My pussy did what it was made to and gobbled him up.

He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot on my skin as he settled inside me. He sounded as tortured as I felt. “God, I hate that you make me want this from you. I hate that my cock wants this, wants you.”

Even as he chanted all the things that I was into my skin, his hips moved. Pulling away, my pussy clung and mouth gasped. Surging in, pushing my chest and shoulders into the wall, ensuring bruises from the cold brick would appear on my skin. His fingers dug into the plump flesh of my bottom, yanking me back to take him.

I braced. That’s all I could do was brace and take. I swear to myself that I wouldn’t give him (or myself) the satisfaction of my climax no matter how it swirled low in my belly, tightening in anticipation. I felt myself flutter around his girth, the stretch and rub firing me high.

“Oh, God,” he moaned after I gripped him especially hard. “I want to feel you cum on my cock. I want you to take my cum, milk me fucking dry, you dirty whore.”

He reached around to finger my clit and I struggled anew. “No! Oh, God, please.”

“Ssh.” His tongue darted out to taste my skin. His soft groan did something to me and I clamped hard.

That time he let me struggle even though it was useless. He had me impaled on his cock, his thrust hard enough to lift me up on tiptoe. I gasped, wept, and fought to stave off the orgasm that brewed.

“Please, no,” I sobbed as he thrusted in hard, his thrumming of my clit working in tandem with his cock to get me off.

One hard press, one savage thrust and I came. God, I came so hard no sound left my mouth. I could barely breathe as my body gripped, released, gripped, released. The age-old working of my cunt sang that beautiful song in that dark moment, coaxing and calling for him to cum inside. Please, it begged with each milking grip, please spill your heat and sate this need in me.

He groaned low in his throat, and the vibrations moved through me. The girth of him expanded impossibly large and then he exploded. The jerky rocking of his body pushing me forward as he came, heating me with his warmth as he gasped in my ear. I couldn’t stop milking him, begging in unspoken words for his essence.

The things he whispered reminded me what I was to him. “You’re my cumbucket, aren’t you? You’re my dirty whore. You take my cum like the gutter slut you are.” On and on so it echoed in my brain.

He held me against that wall, both our bodies trembling with the aftermath of that explosive coupling. I felt shame at my reaction as he slumped into me. The shock of my pleasure weighed as heavy as the solid form crushing me to the wall.

Our mingled fluids flowed down my thighs, warming my skin. My body sent out tiny ripples and he groaned every time I gripped him. His lips spoke hate even as they kissed and licked at my throat. We were a contradiction in that dark alley. His hate and desire, my fear and responsiveness. I wanted him to go so I could pick myself back up, I wanted him to stay and dirty me some more.

“Ssh,” he whispered into my hair. He drew in a breath and ground his hips into my ass, his cock semi hard and still buried deep. “My dirty, fucking, gutter slut.”

It sang like an endearment meant to soothe. My mind screamed, but my lips stay sealed.

“I should chain you in my basement and fuck you every day until you’re white with cum. Mine, my cum covered slut.” He pumped into me once, twice, three times. His soft moan belied his harsh words. “I’d pass you around to my friends and let them use you until you begged.”

“Please let me go.” I was willing to beg then. “I won’t say anything.”

He moved my head so our lips could touch and I whimpered as he kissed me. “You won’t because then everyone will know how much you loved it.”

They couldn’t know! I trembled hard at the possibility of my secret getting out. I just nodded, our breath mingling as he held me like a lover. The slow pump of his cock inside me made slick sounds that shamed me.

“I promise.”

“I’ll find you.”

He kissed me again, that gentle one from before. You promise, his lips seemed to say. I won’t say a word, I won’t say a word. I promise, I promise.

“I’ll fucking find you.” His threat lacked heat, but I believed him all the same. “Don’t move.”

One last kiss and then he released me in increments. Lips, pressure off my back, hips. Until the only contact was his cock parting my pussy. I pressed my hands and cheek to the wall, staying perfectly still, barely breathing, back arched, ass out.

The moment he slipped out I felt the emptiness and I wanted him back. I shuddered at the thought.

But I couldn’t contemplate that then. I registered his arm across the back of my neck, his breath on my cheek again, the night air as it cooled the spunk on my legs.

“Remember what I said.” He pressed into me hard and then he was gone, his boots clomping on the pavement as he moved off.

I hovered for long moments in the silence. My knees buckled and the wall was what kept me upright. I trembled, ached deep inside. My mind whirled with what just happened to me.

Maybe I cried, maybe I didn’t, but I managed to pull myself together enough to straighten my clothes and teeter out of the alley. The drive home became a blur. I smelled him on my skin the whole way and shuddered with equal parts desire and revulsion. The worst part was the way my musk scented the air, calling me a whore for liking what he did to me.

I made a beeline to my bedroom, stripped off the dress, and turned the water on as hot as I could stand. It poured over me, burning me like the memories of him inside my body. I wouldn’t go to the police because what can I say? The ridiculous fear of them knowing I’m the slut he said I was haunted me.

I scrubbed the smell of him off, the picture of what happened playing in my brain as I washed. I cupped my pussy almost without thought, stroking instead of washing as I thought about him. I was so messed up, but I couldn’t help thrumming my clit and plunging three fingers deep in my cunt. I whimpered as I fingered myself, ashamed of my behavior, but unable to stop.

He was there under my skin. The pulse of him lived between my thighs, dirtied my mind and I wanted so much more of him.

As I climaxed, I remembered the names he called me. His dirty, gutter slut. His cumbucket.

His

His

His