Anger Fuc

His dark, glittering eyes surveyed the room, flicking from body to body, his lips curled in a snarl of disgust. It had been a bitch of a day, and all he wanted now was a quick drink, a hot fuck and a few hours of sleep, preferably in that order. Too bad the only things out on a Saturday night were the college teenyboppers. With a snort he reminded himself that while they might look good, they generally didn't know shit about how to really please a man, how to take a good hard fucking and make him come back for more. All they wanted was their own pleasure, and if they didn't get their rocks off, they became incessantly whiney. Thank you, no. His head already hurt enough without that shit.

No, tonight was all for him. If the world was gonna fuck him, he was gonna return some of the favor. Spread the wealth a little. He chuckled darkly, ordering his drink and slamming it down. He didn't really drink much, but he was entitled this time. And one drink, the limit he'd set for himself, would take the edge off his day, and off his conscience, while ensuring he was far from drunk. He quietly hissed as the liquor burned its way down his throat, then turned to browse the offerings again, halfway resigned to fucking one of the barely-twentied bubble-butted bobble-heads, as he liked to refer to them.

Almost growling his frustration, he started to step towards a table of co-eds when a soft voice seemed to cut through the fog of noise and slither over his eardrums. Soft, slightly sad and definitely older than the rest of this college crowd, the tone was entrancing, even while the words were lost to the clatter of a busy bar. He stiffened, every sense on alert now, scanning the crush of revelers to find the owner of that sexy voice.

At the end of the bar, he found her. Head dipped dejectedly, she bit her lip and stared into her drink, stirring the ice with a cellophane-topped toothpick. With a sigh she pulled her sleeve back and looked at her watch. Dropping some bills on the bar by her still-full glass, she slipped off the stool—and right against him. Her elbow jostled his arm, and the amber fluid in his hastily purchased second glass splashed his shirt, drenching him, plastering the light silk to his body in a cold rush, making him hiss in anger.

Mortified, she fumbled an apology, face beet-red, even in the dim light. Grabbing some napkins, she tried to swab off the mess, tears filling her eyes, trembling on the lashes and threatening to slip down her flushed cheeks. With a low growl, he grasped her hand in his wrist, fingers easily encircling her, feeling her pulse pounding as she whimpered in distress.

"Just...stop," he ground out, teeth gritted in frustration even as his dick hardened. Sad, vulnerable and just a little frightened, she appealed to his mood as nothing else could. Her eyes held a world-weary wisdom, and in other times he might have tried to ease her obvious pain a little. Tonight he just didn't damn well care.

"I'm sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Here, please... let me pay for... Oh, I'm so sorry," she stammered, mindlessly riveted by his dark, piercing, infuriated gaze. Trembling slightly, she brushed some errant curls back from her cheeks, breaking his stare and taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, obviously gathering her composure. His eyes dropped to her obvious charms as her bid for control pushed them against her plain white shirt, showing an enticing amount of cleavage as her chest swelled, much too briefly for his liking..

"Here, let me give you some money to pay for that to be cleaned," she stated in the smooth, firm voice used by teachers on recalcitrant students.

Squeezing the wrist he still held, the very edges of his lips curling up at her gasp of pain, he slowly shook his head, watching as she bit her lip, obviously trying to figure out how to handle this situation with both dignity and effect. The small furrow between her brows and the sight of her teeth indenting the full smoothness of her lip sent a quiver of desire through him. Oh yes, she'd definitely do, with her heady combination of confidence and vulnerability.

"No? What do you mean, 'no'? If you don't want me to pay for your shirt, then kindly let me go!" She tugged at her wrist, as if to remind him that he was still holding her captive. The feral grin he shot her at her actions sent a shiver of apprehension along her frame, visible to his discerning eye.

"A couple of bucks won't pay for this... this

rag

.... Thanks lady, this is now the most expensive dustcloth you've ever seen. Not to mention my skin is sticky and my pants are wet, too." At his low, growling tone, her eyes scan his chest, waist, hips, widening in dismay at the saturated fabric darkened by her clumsiness.

Tilting her chin, she stiffens her spine, causing his vision to once more lock on her assets. Tossing her hair, she icily decrees that if he'll follow her out to her car, she'd be more than happy to write him a check to cover the damages. Swallowing his grin of triumph, he merely nods, motioning her to precede him through the crowd, still glaring at her. Once her back is turned and the click-click of her heels tells of her own rising temper, he openly smiles, admiring the straight line of her back, the swing of her dark red curls against that white shirt, the sway of her hips wrapped in a snug black skirt, and those long, sexy legs that he can just picture wrapped around his waist as he explodes inside of her.

As they work their way through the crowd to the door, he is caught between his growing lust for the curvy figure in front of him, and his rage at how this day has gone. Exiting the bar, the cold air on his wet clothing makes his breath hiss, a sound that makes the woman flush again even as her step quickens. He lengthens his stride to match hers, and glimpses her nipples visibly hardening in the winter night air, her jacket having been forgotten in the bar. The chirp and flashing lights of her disabled alarm let him know which car is hers..

Opening her door, she sets one knee on the seat and bends over, fumbling for her purse where it's wedged under the passenger seat. Her skirt is hiked up some, pulled tight against her shape as she struggles to retrieve a checkbook. When she braces a hand against the dash, he is treated to the alluring shift and wiggle of her breasts as they press against her shirt, shifting and swaying as she mutters curses at purses and men and life in general. Her balance slips and she stretches to adjust, which pulls her skirt up more and affords him a nice look at her purple silk garter belt where it clips onto her lace-topped stocking. His response is immediate and he has to adjust himself behind his zipper.

"C'mon lady, I don't have all night," he bites out, his frustration boiling over.

With a gasp of outrage, she finally yanks the checkbook out of the purse, stumbles out of the car, slams the door and turns on him, irritation evident in every line of her body. Sparks shoot from her eyes as she hisses her request that he go fuck himself, temper overriding caution. It is only when he slams his body against hers, pinning her to the car, that he sees the realization of her situation flood through her eyes. It's late, they're alone in the darkened parking lot of a noisy bar, she just shut the door on her only means of escape, and her damn cell phone is resting on the seat, mocking her. As the thoughts flood her mind, he feels her freeze with comprehension before she begins to struggle, full of fear and angry at herself. She's smarter than this, wiser than this.

Kicking, wriggling, she struggles against him, pushing at his shoulders, twisting her head away as his lips draw closer, breath flaring over her skin. She is breathless, unable to scream as he nips at her jaw, groaning as she leans back away from his touch, inadvertently pushing her hips harder against his own. She gasps at his obvious arousal and he begins to grind it into her, rubbing himself into the cradle of her hips. Squealing, she jerks her hips away, bringing her face close to his. Too close. He grasps her chin in his hand, holding her still, squinching her mouth, lips puckered, eyes filled with fear. She desperately looks for a way out, but there is no escape, and they both know it.

With both her wrists held tight in one of his big hands, he wraps his fist in her shirt and jerks, buttons flying and material ripping, her soft white skin exposed in the dim light. He is able to make out the satiny glimmer of a purple bra that he's sure will match that sexy garter he already saw. Her whimper excites him even more, as do her shivers in this cold air, making her breasts tremble invitingly.

Enervated at how easy it is to dominate this woman, to dominate

anything

after the day he's had, he begins to breathe hard, losing his grip on what little control he had. Grasping the silky purple material of her bra, he yanks it down off her breasts, moaning at her whine of pain. Pressing tight against her, he forces her against the car, her own body pinning her hands, freeing his to maul her breasts, twist and tug and pull her nipples while he ravishes her mouth, nipping at her lips when she refuses entry, drawing blood with the pressure of his mouth on hers. With a sob she relents, feeling his tongue sweep through her mouth, and before she can think to close her teeth on this invader, he squeezes her breasts hard enough to make her see stars behind her tightly closed eyelids.

When he steps back, she is still pinned in place, trembling, whimpering in both pain and fear, tears coursing down her cheeks, splashing onto the full curve of her breasts, glimmering in the light before trailing away. Her lips are swollen, bruised, with blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her hair is a wild mess of curls, her eyes huge and blue, magnified by the tears. But even under the warmth of his palm, her nipples are still hard, a fact he points out with a hard, feral grin. Her resulting, whiplashed "

bastard

" earns her a palm across her cheek, and her head hasn't stopped spinning before his hand is shoving her skirt up, ripping the satin panties and shoving them in his pocket, feeling the heat of her barely moistened pussy against the brute force of his invading fingers.

Grabbing her arm, he shoves her toward the back of her car, bending her over the trunk, pinning her hands behind her shoulders, breasts crushed into the cold metal, making her gasp. When she starts to inhale for what would surely be an ear-piercing scream, he shoves her own panties in her mouth, making her taste her juices, effectively silencing her. Pushing her tear-stained cheek to the metal, he kicks her ankles apart, shoving a knee up between her thighs, using his own weight to spread her legs wider until he's pushed right up against her, intimately aware of her heat against his hardness.

Pulling his zipper open he presses his hard length against her, hearing her inadvertent moan. She tries to pull away, but he applies a little more pressure to her already aching arms, making her sob in frustration. In seconds he is sheathed deep inside of her, his ears filled with the heady sounds of her whimpers and screams as her barely-moist pussy stretches and adjusts to his girth. She arches on tiptoe, trying to relieve the burning stretch of her pussy, but this just gives him even more room to push deeper inside, until he's filling every part of her warm, wet center, fluttering and pulsating around him.

With a shudder, he starts slamming in and out of her, concerned with nothing except the pleasure of his own cock, enjoying her gasps as they turn into moans, feeling her body accepting him, getting wet for him, despite what her eyes are saying. One hand easily holds her wrists, while the other grasps her hip, holding her pinned between his hips and the cold metal trunk, the only sounds that of their breathing and her wetness as he slams in and out of her.

Harder, harder he fucks her, growling his pleasure as his frustrations are released on her body, the body whose wetness betrays her own arousal at his treatment of her. Her soft, smoothly shaved pussy fits his cock like a glove, and he can feel her begin to tremble, quivering against him. Her soft moans turn to cries of lust, and as tears pour down her cheeks at her response to this rape, her pussy gushes cream around his length, splashing against the car, his balls, his fingers where he's released her hip to rub her clit instead.

Feeling her explode, feeling her quivering and clenching around him, he strangles his own cry of frustration and pride and flips her over, slamming back into her with one spearing thrust, her juices still gushing. Pounding her, he lifts her knees on his elbows, grasping her sides just below those trembling breasts, and sinks even deeper into her, making her writhe in pain as he stretches her even further. Her nails dig into his arms, his shoulders, the expulsion of cream on the metal trunk making her slip and slide against him.

Ceaselessly pounding her, he reaches up, rips the forgotten panties from between her lips and grins as she shrieks her pleasure. She wraps her legs around him, pulls him tightly to her, mashes her lips to his and rakes her nails down his back, scratching him, grasping him, marking him. The sweat burns in those scratches as his tongue tangles with hers, tasting her pussy where her panties had been. Her pussy still gushes and clamps around him, her moans and cries echoing in his mouth as he fucks her, slamming her, the car rocking on his springs as he takes out his day on her unwitting pussy.

Finally, with a groan of relief, he explodes inside of her, filling her sopping with pussy with his cream, saturating the deepest reaches of her ravaged pussy. He growls that with this much cum, she's sure to end up pregnant. Thrusting, grunting, he makes her accept every drop, before pulling out and quickly redressing. She still lays there, eyes closed, tear tracks visible on her flushed cheeks. Between her splayed thighs is the shimmery evidence of their mutual pleasure, and he notes that her nipples are still hard. She turns her head and looks at him, all big blue eyes and mussed up hair.

Slowly she sits up, body bruised and aching from the pounding she just got. Still their eyes are locked, volumes unspoken between them. She leans her head against his shoulder, and he rubs her back, gently, unsure what to say. Finally she speaks.

"You owe me a new shirt," she says, pouting, plucking at the frayed material.

"It was mine anyway," he grins, relieved, kissing her temple. He puts an arm around her waist. "Now, did you happen to bring money for the babysitter, or do we need to hit the ATM on the way home?"