Fucking Men I Hate Terry

For reasons I've never been able to understand plain, ordinary sex has never been enough for me. While I like the thought of making sweet tender love to an attractive man, that alone can't satisfy me. Every so often I just need to have an experience that is kinky, erotic, and uncomfortable at the same time.

There is something so very erotic yet uncomfortable in the thought of coupling with a man I hate. Not just a man I am annoyed or irritated by but someone I absolutely despise. It's a turn-on to think of giving myself to a man like that - how repelling and yet arousing it would be to be completely at his mercy, used and degraded by him.

But I don't need to speak in hypotheticals. I've done that before. Multiple times. It was great. I go back to my memories of those experiences regularly when I masturbate.

I didn't just let these men fuck me. I let them humiliate me as they wished. I did whatever they asked. I said every degrading thing they told me to say.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Right now, I just want to write down the story of submitting myself to Terry, a construction worker I walked by on the way to work every day. After I'm done telling about Terry, I'll write down the rest of the stories, all the men I hated that I submitted to sexually. One day soon, when I've scratched this itch of mine - when I'm ready to be monogamous for life - I will find a wonderful, nice guy who will love me. And I will show him these stories.

I hope he gets a thrill out of it, my future husband. I hope he enjoys the thought of his demure, professional wife as a slut for other men. I hope he accepts my past, and in turn I'll reciprocate by fulfilling all his fantasies - there is nothing I won't do sexually for this dream man of mine.

But let's get back to Terry. He was an average looking man in his thirties, crudely muscular in that way most construction worker are, strong arms which make the body look mis-shaped. What set him apart from the other construction workers was his habit of yelling obscenities at the women that passed by the construction site in mid-street. The women in our office all hated him.

I hated him too. I'd sometimes go to the window in my office on the fifteenth floor, and there I could make out Terry, as often as not yelling something obscene at a woman who happened to be walking by. What a prick. Why are there so many men who don't respect women? What the hell is wrong with them?

And yet...wouldn't it be delicious to give in to him? To let his dirty hands run all over my body? To let his cock enter me without any concern for my pleasure?

Every once in a while such thoughts would overcome me. I'd lock the door to my office, sink into my chair, and start rubbing myself, thinking about being fucked by this horrible brute. He wouldn't take me gently, I knew that much. If he got the chance, he'd fuck me as if I was a cheap twenty-dollar whore.

I began to make sure to walk by close to his construction site every morning. Most of the other women in my office kept their distance from it as much as possible. He'd always yell something disgusting at me and I'd think about it later in the office as I was touching myself. I began to wear shorter and shorter skirts - as much as I could to stay within "business casual." And then one day, I took the plunge.

I was already quite turned on that morning, and so when Terry yelled "Nice ass, sweetheart" as I walked by, I stopped and looked at him. He laughed and said "Why don't you hike that skirt up and show it to me?"

The street seemed relatively empty - there were people farther away who weren't paying attention to us. Most of the other construction workers seemed to be on the other end of the site. "Yes, sir," I said simply. It was as simple as that. He looked floored. I'm pretty sure this is the first time his catcalls ever accomplished anything.

I walked over behind a bulldozer, where the two of us weren't directly visible from the street, and hiked up the skirt. "Holy fuck" he said, and in a second, he was all over me, feeling me with his rough hands. He tore the buttons off my blouse, forcefully pulled down my bra, and ran his hands over my tits. I felt my panties being moved to the side as he his fingers ran over my cunt.

"I'm going to give the fucking of your life, you arrogant slut." He unzipped his pants. "Please," I said, "there is a condom in purse. Please." After hesitating briefly, he nodded.

His cock slid into me a few moments later. He began sliding in and out of me, grunting "take that whore" as his hands mauled my tits.

So how did it feel?

Amazing. It was the best sex of my life. Not because of how endowed he was - I don't think he was very large at all, in fact. But because I loved being used by this filthy man who had come to represent the worst of mankind to me. I lost count of how many times I came as he thrust in an out.

And then I felt him coming inside of me. It couldn't have been more than a minute later. He sure was quick. I blushed thinking of how many orgasms I had in such a short time frame. Then the thought of him shooting his load into me caused me to come one more time. When my tremors were over, I saw that he had pulled out of me and zipped. I quickly got dressed, hiking my skirt back up, buttoning whichever buttons were remaining on my blouse.

I wanted to run away as far as I could from him, from that place. But he wasn't finished. As I began walking away, he grasped by hand and brought me face to face with him. "One last thing honey," he said, "something to remember me by." And then he took the used condom and dumped its contents all over my face.