A Hard Day

You entered the lobby of your 4-story apartment building. You were mentally and spiritually exhausted. Your day had been terrible, and it was only Tuesday. Your boss decided that the report that you produced -- directly copied from a previous report that he found acceptable -- was in entirely the wrong format with the wrong text styles. He also criticized the quality of the content and the amount of effort you had put into it. He called it sloppy and the product of lazy work.

You'd spent 12 hours on that report and had included a clear and concise summary of the results at the start of the document. Each point had a two-paragraph explanation of where the results came from and what they meant. You had written it in plain and basic (almost simple) language; your boss was not the sharpest tool in the box.

He had spent the rest of the day finding little things to pick at you with -- complaining that your clothes were too boring, that you shouldn't need a sweater in the office because 70° Fahrenheit was a perfectly reasonable temperature, and anything higher would make too many employees uncomfortable and sweaty -- he mainly meant himself and the other males in the office.

He didn't like the way you arranged your desk, even though there was nothing on it. He complained that your keyboard was crooked, and that everything was all dusty and messing up the feng shui of the whole office. He complained that your hair was too neat and made you look severe and unforgiving. He thought your perfume; you weren't wearing any; was too aggressively floral and likely to trigger the allergies of other staff. Your skirt was too short; below the knee; and would make the men in the office think you were immoral and looking to get promoted on your back rather than through hard work.

It was your first job out of college, and you'd only been there two months, so you couldn't switch jobs without looking unreliable to other potential employers.

The foyer of your apartment building was sweltering -- it was above 92° Fahrenheit. The steam furnace must be malfunctioning again because it was also swampy with humidity. You checked your mail and found only junk mail and bills that you could barely afford. The elevator was out of order again. You would have to climb the stairs to your fourth-floor studio that overlooked a dank alley.

You were able to climb to the 3rd floor landing before you had to stop and rest. You stood leaning against the wall, panting, sweating, and nearly crying.

A man stepped out into the stairs from the 3rd floor. He was tall, fit, and rugged. He was dressed in immaculate business casual -- pressed long sleeve shirt, tie, sharply creased pants and well-polished and cared for oxfords. He was wearing a cologne that was a mix of smoke, leather, and salt. Your whole body felt overwhelmed by everything, and you started to slump to the ground.

He grabbed you up in his arms and stood you back against the wall. He remained close and looked into your eyes for a moment.

He smiled in a way that was both sly and slightly dangerous. "You've had a hard day, haven't you?". You started to answer but he leaned his body against you and put his finger over your lips to shush you. You could feel the strength in his arms, and the tightness of his abs against you, and his cologne was still overwhelming your senses.

"I know just the thing to perk you up. Do you want me to perk you up?". You nodded.

"Say yes."

Your body shivered a bit, "Yes".

"Say Yes, I want it".

Your voice became softer and meeker, "Yes, I want it".

His smile got a little more dangerous and dominating. He pulled your arms above your head and used one hand to hold them tight against the wall. He used the rest of his upper body to keep you tightly pressed against the wall.

"Just relax and don't scream."

His other hand started massaging, squeezing, and pulling on your breast and nipples. Waves of pleasure coursed through your body, mixed with the fear and self-hatred and mental exhaustion you already felt.

He moved his hand off your breast, and pulled your skirt up above your hips, leaving your panties exposed. He pushed one of his strong thighs between your legs and pressed them open, still holding your hands above your head and your upper body pressed tightly against the wall.

Your sense of danger, being completely under his control, the smell of his cologne and the firmness of his muscles had your body throbbing with pleasure and fear.

He changed which hand was holding your arms against the wall. Using the now freed hand, he stroked it on your cheek and then showed it to you - his thick palm, strong wrist and long and girthy fingers. His hand was callused from hard work, but he'd clearly kept them smooth with lotion.

He stroked his free hand down along the side of your body, onto your thigh and around to your ass. He squeezed your gluts, and then suddenly grabbed your panties and ripped them off you. You gasped and moaned. He dangled them in front of your face then forced them against your nose, so you had to smell them. You whimpered and you shuddered again. He then took a deep whiff himself. "You've been too long without a man, haven't you? I can smell how aroused you are, and I can feel how you've soaked your panties. Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He stuffed your panties into your purse, which somehow was still hanging across your shoulder. He then ran his hand back down your body, across your ass and then down along the back of your thigh. Bringing his hand to the front of your thigh, he circled it with his fingers, putting his thumb on the inside. He slowly dragged it up your thigh, squeezing it and massaging it at the same time. When he got to your hips, his thumb was pressed firmly along your pussy, lying across your clitoris and along your lips. You moaned.

He moved to cup your mound, putting the base of his palm on your mound just above your clit. He pressed down and started moving his hand up and down and in small circles. The pressure and motion were rubbing your pussy against the inside of his hand; it felt like you were riding it.

You started gasping and moaning in time with his movements. Your sense of danger and self-loathing had retreated under his onslaught and the musk of his cologne. He changed tactics a little bit; he slid one finger between your lips and changed to only moving up and down. You let out a short, loud "ahh", and you shuddered from head to toe. "Look at me". You stared at his face, saw the feral gleam in his eyes and his smile was broad and showing all his teeth. You shuddered and moaned louder.

Suddenly, he pushed two of his girthy fingers deep into you and started pushing them in and out; his pace was slow, but he was fucking you roughly and deeply. Your head banged back against the wall, and you wailed out your pleasure.

"You've clearly gone far too long without a real man. You're drenching my hand". His voice had gotten deeper and rougher, he was nearly growling every word. Your wailing had become a constant noise - rising and falling with the rhythm of his fingers.

He changed tactics again. He curled his fingers tight against your g-spot and pushed his thumb down just above your clit. He had your pussy in a vice grip. He then pulled hard enough that your hips came off the wall. Then he slammed you back. He repeated this over and over. Your wails turned into screams. Your pussy felt so charged with pleasure and violated at the same time.

He abruptly pushed your hips against the wall and drew his fingers from within you. He then pushed the knuckles of his first two fingers alongside your clit and started roughly rubbing them up and down with firm pressure.

You lost it completely. Your whole body convulsed several times, pushing against him forcefully enough that he moved a bit. Your eyes rolled back, you were wailing like a banshee, and you felt yourself explode against his hand and your juices splash back against you and run down your legs.

Just as you started to come back to earth, he stuck his two fingers back in you, curved against your g-spot and fucked you vigorously. You thrashed, yelled, and squirted again, and then you must have passed out.

You woke up sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Your skirt was still bunched up above your hips, and you were sitting in a cold puddle of your own juice. You could still smell his cologne overlaying the smell of your sweat and orgasm and the musty dirty smell of the staircase. Your whole body felt spent, but your brain was full of endorphins and your heart was pumping loudly against your chest.

Mustering up your strength, you got off the floor and climbed the rest of the way to the 4th floor. You stumbled into your apartment and straight into a hot shower. You stood there in a daze for a while until the water started to cool down. Then you washed your hair and scrubbed your whole body clean. You put on your soft, fluffy, and warm robe and comfy slippers.

You went out to the main room and saw that you had dropped your purse on the table. You opened it to get out your panties. Your phone was blinking.

Unlocking it, you saw a text message from a blocked number. Opening it up, you saw a photo of yourself collapsed against the floor of the stairwell, with your legs spread wide and your inflamed and dripping pussy in full view. Below the photo was a comment -- "You did very well. I will find you again sometime. And thank you for the spare key."