Stranger (5)

He came in the dark. Silently moving across her apartment, slipping into the room where she lay sprawled upon the bed, he took a moment to study her in the dusky light coming through her unadorned window. Reviewing his moves, he slipped out of his sweatpants. Thin leather gloves would caress her skin this time, would slap the cuffs around her wrists, slip the spider gag into her mouth as he sat on her tits. His back to the light would ensure that she would not be able to see him, until he slid the silken mask over her head.

It was like a sadistic ballet. The timing was perfect–and needed to be. He all but leapt upon the bed, upon her, his moves fluid. His knees slid up to her armpits, his hands capturing her forearms. In seconds she was cuffed to the headboard, the lovely old iron railings so perfect for this.

He felt her struggles beneath him, the kicking of her legs, but he paid no attention. Her mouth opened and closed, gasping half-formed words as she woke to shock and confusion. The gag slid into her mouth perfectly, her arms jerking, as she tried at the last moment to avoid it. The mask slid over her rumpled hair, hiding her eyes. The hole in the mask aligned perfectly with her open mouth. In a quick move, he was off of her, heard her gasp a deep breath now that he wasn’t perched on her rack. Snatching the rope from the floor, he grabbed both legs, half laying on her again, and began wrapping her ankles together.

“What a pretty mermaid you are,” he chuckled meanly. Though she bucked and writhed, she was well and truly caught. The noises from her mouth were unpleasant, and his cock was rock hard from them. So sexy, those gasping honks. No words, just the sounds of a captive animal.

He slapped her cheek with his shaft; she jolted. More high-pitched noises erupted from her open mouth hole.

“I hope you’re hungry darling. But first…”

He slipped down, until his ass was resting on her belly. Slapping left to right, right to left, he attacked her tits. Bobbling madly from each blow, even in this semi-dark he could see them start to pinken, the nipples to flush with blood. He slapped hard, the sounds echoing in the room. When his hands began to sting, he slapped the two meatbags together, let them fall, slapped them together. Watching them shake and jiggle tightened his cock further. The sounds she was making were insane. Guttural  grunts, the gurgle of saliva. Yes, she was ready now. He dropped her tits, and slid up, his balls massaged by her soft skin. Rising up to his knees, he positioned his shaft, running the tip along her bottom lip. Turning away wasn’t an option for her, her head trapped between her arms, her arms constricted by his legs.

If he was a gentleman, he would have teased her more. Would have slid his rigid length along her tongue. Instead, he hammered her throat. Held himself buried in her heat, felt her throat closing around him, the quick hitching spasm of her gag as her body tried, vainly, to expel him. He moaned, counting silently to 20. Pulling out, he let her gag, allowed her to inhale, one breath,two, before punching his cock into her face again. He fucked, ruthless, brutal, raping her lips, her tongue, her throat. Again, holding her breath hostage, he gritted his teeth, thinking of ice cubes and glaciers, willing his balls not to shoot straight into her stomach.

He pulled away.

The mask was wet from tears, he could see the blotches where her eyes would be. Spittle soaked the mouth hole. He imagined her face was shiny and sticky with it. She’d be sticky with more than that soon. His cock lurched, and he tried actively to not explode; viciously remembered falling into a cold mountain stream while hiking, how his balls had lurched so far inside he felt them under his heart. Despite the frigid memory, the tip of his shaft was oozing, red and angry and throbbing, demanding release.

He had better control than that.

She was making small noises. He ignored them, lest he lose control and shoot his spunk everywhere. Sliding from her, he grasped her legs, tossing her to her side. His gloved fingers plunged into her cunt.

“You’re fucking soaked. Slut. Whore. You scream and whine, but your cunt is begging for this.”

He sank, balls deep, on his first thrust. He fucked her roughly, using her like the fuckhole she was, each punch of his cock a slam against her exposed pussy. Her whining became whimpers and he knew she was close. He pulled out, flipped her to her back, and had his shaft in her throat before she could react.

“Taste that. Your cunt-juice all over me.”


He took her throat in his hands feeling his cock shove past her gag, past point of reason. He felt her jerk, twitching violently on the end of his shaft, before he slid just enough for her to catch her breath. On her third gasping wheeze, his cock erupted, filling her mouth.

He used his penis to plunge every last drop into her throat.




Stranger (4)

She worked. It focused her, took her mind off of him, of what he’d done to her. Of what she’d enjoyed him doing to her. The words echoed off some primal nubbin of her brain. No. She was civilized, reasonable. Responsible. She didn’t agree to this. Didn’t like this.

Did not.


Yet anytime some little nugget of memory rose, she found herself squirming in her chair. In the ladies room, her cunt would be oozing. Her asshole clenched. The memories of her body kept The Incident alive.


He let her stew. He’d watch her always from afar. A stranger never strayed too close, after all, until it became totally necessary to remind her of what she was capable of. Of what he was capable of. Her body was looser, these days. She walked with a sexual roll, hips swaying rather than the staccato steps common in today’s businesswoman. How many times did her nipples rise each day, he wondered, looking at the telling jut under her shirt. She was seemingly unaware of them, locked, he thought, in the memory of his body buried in hers. He watched other people, men and women alike, pause for a moment, watching her. The swing of her hair, the sashaying walk, the curve of her tits, the pebbled nipples poking cheekily from her top. Men licked their lips, or would touch their fly; women would either stare in admiration, or avert their eyes. Just one visit and already such change he had made on her.

His smile was wolfish. Soon it would be time for another.



Stranger (3)

She paced around her place, naked. Her fingers strayed often to her breasts, her nipples. They were hard, had been hard.

Almost as hard as his cock.

NO! The thoughts kept intruding, poking holes in the cloak of calm she was trying to draw around herself. She hadn’t called the cops. Hadn’t leapt from the bed in fear or dismay. She hadn’t seen his face, his hands, his anything.

She only felt them.

She kept ‘feeling’ them, the large firmness of his penis buried deep in her darkest place. shit, holy shit,  his cock had been buried in her anus. Her asshole. Stretched-her-filled-her hurt -her; made her cum.

She came from having a man rape her ass.

Her nipples grew hard again, jutting into the cool air of the room. Day had fled; night slipped over the city. Tall towers speared light up into the sky.  Again she circled around her penthouse suite, her ass still throbbing all these hours later. Trying to work, every thought had fled, or been turned back to The Incident.  She couldn’t eat, couldn’t think of laying back on her bed. It had his scent, hers. The musk of cum filled her nose, the throb of lust stabbed her.  Trying to deny her mind, her body would not be silenced, Her fingers caressed the swollen buds of her breasts as she stalked around the rooms, ignoring that she was backlit by the lights.

Ignorant that she was on display, he wondered, looking across the way at her. Was she so stupid that she had no idea he–anyone– could look in and see her fondling herself, see the arousal flushed on her swollen tits?

He scanned the binoculars over her body, planning.


Stranger (2)

He could see her. No curtains on her windows, which is what first caught his eye. The room, boldly lit, hid nothing from his wildly expensive binoculars. She paced the room, hugging herself. Yet she’d pause, now and again, sliding a hand over one full tit, stopping to caress her nipples, rubbing at her beautifully round butt.

His cock, despite the workout, roused.

Oh, that ass. How deliciously tight her rosebud was. Trying to keep him out, only exciting him further. How wonderfully she’d moved under him. He’d felt the quiver of her cunt as she came, then came again. An exhibitionist, to be sure, but one who had hidden needs. He had known, all along. She had whimpered into the mattress, the slick sheen of sweat adding scent to the layer of intensity. She’d fought, he’d conquered. His cock leapt again, the sleeping beast waking to semi-hardness as the memories of her flooded him. He had enough self control to not reach down and stroke himself, preferring to let the need grow.

Until his next visit.


Stranger (1)

His cock was buried in her ass before she could move. Limbs tangled in sheets, she woke with the painful intrusion.

“Don’t. fight. me.”

His mouth was at her ear, the words staccato. His breath was warm, tickling. Her brain struggled to make sense. Was she dreaming? But the pain in her ass, the hard, grunting thrust was no dream.

“Take it all.”

Who was he? How had he gotten into her apartment? Though she whimpered and moaned, her body, held securely under his, was trapped too snugly to break free.

“It’s my ass now, and you’ll take every inch of my cock, whore.”

h u r t ss s” she cried, the word shaking as he thrust deep.

“Good,” he growled, then bit her shoulder. Her scream was muffled by the pillow, but no one would have heard anyway, her condo was too well insulated.

She felt like he was tearing her body, the steady hammering of his hips into her rectum an ache that throbbed deep into her core. Her orgasm shocked her, soaking the bed under her.

His cum splattered over her back as he withdrew. His hands smoothed it over her ass, her hips, before slapping her hard. They slid under her, scrabbling for her tits, finding them. She arched as he squeezed, pinching her nipples.

“Stay right here. Count to ten. Don’t move before then. I’ll know. You won’t like what happens.”

The bed shifted as he moved, then he was gone.




Masturbation Fantasy

Masturbation fantasies are often short, always dark, always dirty. This one got me off big-time last week.

“Go ahead…you can try to close your legs. Won’t work, but I’ll enjoy watching your tummy and thighs quiver and strain with the effort. All you can do is take it. The vibe on your clit, my cock in your cunt, and you can’t do a fucking thing to stop me.”

“mmmmm, your slit is tight, squeezing my cock. You want it rough, you know it, I know it. The vibe will keep you cumming, make you scream and whimper through the gag. I can’t see you, your head in that big brown bag, but I can hear those sexy little whimpers. Hurts but feels good, doesn’t it, slut?”

“Soon the guys will be here. Cunt, ass, doesn’t matter which hole. They’re open and ready for use, all soft and wet from cum…mine and yours. I’ll just prop this vibe here while I go grab a beer. You just lay there and try to squirm.”

“And listen for the doorbell….”