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| MarcusStrapp |
Could there be someone on this site that is a filthy whore? Could she want this? Or it could be that it is all just fiction, my warped imagination? Perhaps no woman really wants to be taken roughly. Perhaps no one would dream of pleading for anal sex. Perhaps no one would ask for a fisting, then rescind the invitation knowing that they were on the rag, but still regret that they couldn't go through with it?
Oh I'm sure it just me. Just fiction hey?. I'd never get a private memo by 8am begging me to make this real. And if there isn't a begging memo in the next 12 hours, well, then no one could reasonably expect me to make this real. Could they?
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I arrive, she opens the door to me. She has a towelling dressing gown tied around her, but my peripheral vision has taken in her nylon clad feet; the sheer sensual leg-ware she knows full well is de rigueur in my company.
She turns to close the door and my fingers wind their way into her hair and gather her up and lock with a slight twist so there is a mild stinging presence over her scalp, By her hair I turn her through 90 degrees, then release her hair and step in so I am facing her. Oh she's married now. She'd never cheat. She's had her past and revelled in sordid depravity. But that's behind her now. Like all of mankind, she wanted to be loved, and, he sweetly loves her. Cares about her. Buy's her flowers and kisses her cheek. He's proud of her. He has to fit her into his busy life, but he does, and where he can he makes room for her and shows her off to his friends. He is nyce to her.
I tug at the towelling belt and let it fall, The gown cries open and weeps her beauty all the way down to my feet. Her nipples are still sheltered behind the edges of the dressing gown, but I know they are hardening. The cleavage line is followed down across the flat of her tummy and down and tucks in around the line of a cunt that has been shaved never for her husband but always for me.
She is frightened. She has placed herself where she knows she is going to be shot. She has stepped up and turned to face the firing squad, naked and wounded by her crippling need for something that is as pure as death.
My left had slips up to the side of her face and my fingers lace themselves into her hair. I am not pulling tightly, but the purchase is such that if the floor opened up beneath her I could save her by her scalp. She knows this. She knows my reign over her is absolute. She chose to walk up to the wall, but now she knows there is not a fucking thing in the world she can do to escape. I am going to show her what a dirty whore she already knows she is. I know she hates what comes next. I love that she hates it. The gob of spit catches her across the left eye, left cheek and some falls across her lip. In less time between the flash of lightening and the report of thunder a clap catches her across her right cheek and leaves a hand print.
Her mouth closed, a small mewing sound escapes from her throat. She's trembling. There is that shaking that always accompanies a road accident victim who is in shock. The muscles overwrought with the uncontrolled excess of electrical stimulation.
"Well?" and again, a little louder, "Well?", she lifts her eyes and feels my scrutiny bore straight into her. She is aware I am asking for something. She's desperate to remember what it is she must do. She holds on to my eye contact for support and then thanks God that she remembers. "Thank you" falls out of her mouth and she is so fucking thankful that she has remembered and she so fucking thankful to be fed that another "thank you" falls out and tumbles over the first.
My fingers of my right hand taunt the robe off of her shoulders and gravity shames it to the floor. Stocking topped coltish legs. No king knows of the reverence that this gift to the devil bears. For months, this man had been kept at arm's length. It was the only way to avoid inevitable disaster. Steer clear, only meet in public, no sordid talk, nothing that would lead her astray. And now, here she is, cheating, needing. Spit running over her cheek, shivering, not quite crying but not smiling, It would never be enough to have anything less then the full syringe of this man pumped into her vein.
Stepping to her side, I remove my fingers from her hair and my hand comes to rest on the back of her neck. "Walk with me to the bed" She needs the instruction. She is totally mind blanked by the overwhelming craving addiction that has had her in its grip for the last few days, ever since she knew she had to shoot up again.
At the bedside, I push her hard enough to take her off balance and her feet sweep out from under her and she falls onto the bed. "On your back". She is grateful to no longer have to be responsible for anything. As she arranges her self I remove my clothes.
"Open your legs and pull them back". The string is wrapped around my finger and I remove the tampon and place it the bin beside her bed. Her bald cunt has a small trace of blood across her labia. "you really are so very pretty". For a moment she engages on the human level, she smiles a cheeky smile, conceited in her knowledge that indeed she is attractive. "Thank you, yes I am!". I smile back at her and she feels my eyes ice and ice crystals form in her heart as she knows she has been tricked. A stinging open hand slap catches her sex hard. She jerks her legs together, but she checks herself despite the shock and pain and saves her legs from completely closing. "Ow! You bastard". No she wont be punished for that. It's no more than a statement of truth. I smile and pull the duvet to partially cover us. I spit on my right hand. "Oh no, we can't do that today honey, I told you". I don't answer. My silence is more convincing then any discussion.
Fingers explore soft folds of flesh and seek the channel that is to be in receipt of an abuse that is second only to child birth. She knows this. She sinks down into the bed, and the engagement on the human level falls off the horizon. Once again no longer human.
So this is all prosaic and in your face. I make no apology. I told you this is not nyce. The charmless description that my fingers first slipped into her sex and then blood streaked, started the unkind assault that would take her to where my coned hand was stuffed up against a natural limit in the elasticity of the muscles that prevent you going further. The cunt is stretched to what feels like a limit, but we have a problem, my hand is not inside her, only my fingers are. There is a very big difference. It's like an appliance not quite plugged in far enough to a wall socket. It's just not going to work. She knows she has to be plugged in. I know she needs it. So I'm prepared to put her through the discomfort of taking that elasticity limit and breaking it. A force, controlled but applied has her crying "Argh, please, please go slow, slower please, stop, stop". But I don't. She gives and my hand curls into a ball inside her vagina. "Oh God, Oh God". The front of her vagina miraculously makes a slow creeping recovery to close around my wrist.
Now pay attention to any of you who do not have experience of fisting. It is like nothing else. In this position you are connected. I can plainly feel her cervix against the front of my fist. The G-spot is lying against the bone that runs from the first knuckle of my index finger back to my wrist. Her soft bloodiness is convexed around the bony extremities of my curled hand. There is absolutely no need to move. Just the slightest application of will, will cause a change to where pressure is felt. This connection! You could say it is emotional, beyond being just physical, but even that does not adequately describe it. Perhaps this is what it feels like to be a conjoined, Siamese twin.
I cannot ask her to talk now. There is no point in pissing around to get her to say "thank you". I know she thanks me. She is off with the fairies. The drug that I am, is through her veins and I have hit her brain.
It's a good 15 minutes lying like this, her drifting in and out of a delirium. Heavy breathing as the feelings wash over her. Her marriage lying somewhere off on another distant island. A faded wallet photograph. She is here now.
Time passes, and she opens her eyes. She has been a very very good girl. I smile at her. "I'm sorry but I have to hurt you a bit now. I have to take my hand out" She knows I mean what I say, I am indeed truly sorry to have to hurt her for a second time. "Eeeeee" she screws up her face and bears the discomfort of me tearing my hand from her. She is also aware of the feeling of me vacating her and leaving her empty. She is holding on to the knowledge that what comes next is the single thing that she has craved more than anything else. What is to follow, is the satisfaction of an addiction that for the last few days left her incapacitated with desire and need.
"Turn over, get your arse in the air and give your master your arse hole". She is still a bit sore, but having this man anally rape her is the only thing that can possibly slake her dire need. She needs this as much, if not more than anything else. If she was in a predicament where getting anally impaled on my cock resulted in her oxygen supply being cut off, there is the very real possibility that she would kill her self for this. This is a long way from any sense of reason. Make no mistake, we are in the grip of genuine madness.
My cock head is at her anus. I can tell by her breathing that she is nothing other than the need for this. But she must make a show of it. "Beg!" I know she knows what this means.
She starts quietly, whimpering, "please, please." She wrestles to recover her composure.
"Fucking beg!" I shout at her. She falters and almost cries, "Please. Please" The words are louder and her voice is hoarse and choked with emotion. "Shove it in my arse. Fuck my arse. Begging, begging. Do me. Shove it up deeeeep" and the last word is sobbed out. She is choking on the words. I spit into my bloodied hand and apply some to my tempered cock. My hands find her hip bones. My cock head is at her anus. I press, she is use to anal work. The head of me opens her and prepares her sphincter for its elastic band trick. For a moment I love and pity her in equal measure and then terribly, irresistibly, I bring her hips and my pelvis together in one impaling awful stroke. "Arrrghh".
"Fucking say it!".
"Thank you, thank you, oh please, thank you, yes"
"You like me owning you"
"Oh yes, oh yes, only you can own me like this, God only you, only you"
I hold her like this for a while, then start the engine that will increase and have me slowly cranking in and out of her arse.
You cannot imagine how appreciative she is. Ludicrous isn't it? As paradoxical as screaming for your own death.
The exquisite adorning and adoring of my uncondommed shaft by her anal passage is almost more than I can bear. I should christen the bitch Viagra when you consider what she does to me. But as much as I want to consummate the act with ejaculation deep in her bowels, I have to hold off. There is a formality that has to be observed to conclude this tryst. A formality to stamp the authority all over the dynamic of this relationship.
When I can bear it no more, "Now". My growl rings in the air as I pull out of her. She frantically bends at the waist and turns. She reaches for the clean cold plate on the bedside table and brings it under my cock. Her little hand wraps around my shaft and squeezes and presses towards the base. She lets out an "Oh" and she licks her lips as the pulse in my root feels like a jolt of electricity in her hand. I let her milk me. She watches fascinated as the semen issues from the eye and collects and pools on the plate. She is licking her lips and salivates. Pavlov had a dog, but I have a bitch.
The excesses have me wasted. The intensity of the feeling brought down a purple haze and I had been close to passing out. The bitch mind, is still lively.
"Do it"
She crawls on all fours and takes the plate off towards the side of the bed. She places the plate on the floor four foot from the bedside. She gets on all fours and hunkers down so her face is close to the plate and her arse is in the air. Her arse cheeks are small and taught and in this position her anus whilst closed, is still showing the signs of its abuse. With the remains of the energy I can draw on, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I place my right leg between her stockinged legs and kick it forward so my shin engages with her tender cunt. She rocks forward slightly and then recoils to come to rest on my leg.
I wait a little while and then, "Let me hear you pant".
She dutifully pants. An obedient bitch at the food bowl who knows she has to wait for the command.
"Go on then"
Her tongue drops to the plate and she starts licking and lapping. She starts rubbing herself up on down on my leg.
This bitch for now is a truly truly happy dog.
Edited Wed 31 Jan 07, 8:36 AM by MarcusStrapp
| 23 Jan 07, 8:08 PM mini_velvet UK(EH), 6 yrs |
I hate you x La Douleur Exquise | |
| 23 Jan 07, 8:14 PM pinkrebel 5 yrs |
Me too x | |
| 23 Jan 07, 8:20 PM Korriagan UK, 6 yrs  |
And I'm expected to sleep tonight after THIS?? Freedom cried the wind...and I followed.... | |
| 23 Jan 07, 8:40 PM domspaintoy UK(YO), 6 yrs |
Completely evil.  | |
| 23 Jan 07, 9:58 PM playzone UK, 5 yrs |
Evil evil man I need a drink Da mihi castitatem et incorruptus, sed noli modo Edited 23 Jan 07, 9:59 PM by playzone | |
| 23 Jan 07, 11:14 PM siranfian UK, 11 yrs |
Fantastic story, pictures and rope work. | |
| 24 Jan 07, 10:26 AM verte UK(E), 8 yrs |
Jeeeeeez, I should so not have read this at work! It is far easier for a woman to lead a blameless life than it is for a man; all she has to do is to avoid sexual intercourse like the plague. -- Angela Carter | |
| 24 Jan 07, 12:40 PM MarcusStrapp UK(CB), 7 yrs |
Oh Goodness... My Email Inbox Is Bust! Overloaded Growl! What is a man to do when he discovers that the worst excesses of his dark imagination are to be found mirrored in all these sweet innocent flowers. These responses collecting in my email inbox are driving me towards insanity. Ok - slight exageration, but mmmm, wow "There's a nasty lot that live here, when you come to think" -- Under Milk Wood, Dylan Thomas Conventional wisdom is often more about convention than wisdom. | |
| 24 Jan 07, 1:16 PM siranfian UK, 11 yrs |
::Laughing::
Ok I'll bite ... were you spotted? | |
| 8 Feb 07, 5:58 PM Crystal_Eyes UK, 5 yrs   |
*squirms*
You most certainly have a way with words. Thank you ~ = ~ = ~ = ~ = ~ = ~ = ~ = ~ |
