Warning: this story contains central elements of non-consensual penetration and insemination, as well as blackmail. If this is not your thing, please turn back now. You have been warned. Also remember, in real life, these actions are incredibly harmful, not to mention illegal.
Disclaimers: Just a reminder that in the "real world," consent should be explicit, unambiguous, and enthusiastic. :-)
The following is a purely fictional fantasy. Any similarity to real people, places, or events is unintended coincidence. All characters are over 18.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I stepped out of my steamy shower at 6:36 AM, and caught a quick chill as the morning air hit my wet, naked body. Instantly I got goosebumps all over and my nipples became rigid points at the ends of my large boobs. After a few minutes with a towel and a blow drier, I was feeling warm enough to drop the towel, weigh myself, and then examine at my naked self in the full body mirror on the door before getting dressed.
I love my hair--it's dark brunette, almost black, and forms large curls. Today it's somewhere somewhere between shaggy pageboy and pixie.
I've never really been happy with my body, but I guess that's typical of girls and women in America these days. I've always been on the shorter and heavier side. With plenty of curves. I developed hips and breasts well before most of my peers, so I had to get used to the leering male stares, and was eventually able to largely tune them out.
Today, I'm 164 lbs. For being 5'2" that puts me just at the border of "overweight" and "obese," according to the all-knowing doctors. But it's hard to be "normal weight" with a pair of 40DDs and hips to match. So what if I've got a 40" 36" 44" body? (Yes, I know my measurements, I take them frequently, even though they rarely change... please don't judge me).
Ten years ago, I sported some 34Cs on a 34" 28" 36" body and had long curly hair halfway down my back. Everybody expected me to be some hypersexual nympho slut. I hated the attention, and was really awkward about it. Now I'm 24 years old, with even bigger boobs, but my belly has nearly caught up to them, so I just feel fat. I do sometimes get some male attention, but it's always the wrong kind.
I'm half-way through graduate school, and lonely and so very horny. Yes, I'm still a virgin, and it bothers me often. So today I am taking a mental health day... a ME day. I'll be getting prettied up and focusing loving myself--both with my thoughts, and with my hands ;-)
I had the morning planned out perfectly. It was going to be my first day off in several weeks, and I was going to relax properly. First (well, after getting dressed), I was going to grab a latte and a pastry from the bakery on the corner, bring them back to my apartment, and have breakfast on my little balcony while reading to my most recent steamy romance novel. Then... well, actually there's no point going into the rest of plan, because that's as far as I got in my perfect plan before things went off track. As I said, it was the perfect plan... and yet, somehow, my adventure was more thrilling and memorable than my original plan would have been.
* * *
I decided that I wanted to wear a short (for me) skirt without panties on, both because I thought it would be sexy to be so secretly exposed while getting my breakfast from the cafe, and because it might be easier to access my womanhood later... I also had me period two weeks ago, so no worries there! I don't really shave at all down there, but I do trim it pretty short.
Unfortunately, there's no way my yabos would let me pull off the no-bra look, so I chose the sexiest black bra in my drawer. Plenty of support to maximize cleavage and comfort!
I shimmied into a soft and flowy chocolate-brown skirt that went down just below my knees, pulled on a low-cut cream and maroon blouse that billowed out a little it to cover my tummy, but showed off my bosom nicely, and pulled up some knee-high skin-colored stockings before throwing on my flats.
It wasn't the flashiest or most revealing outfit in the world, but I felt pretty in it, and I felt sexy in it. I could feel the breeze between my legs as I ventured out into the hustle and bustle of the city streets, and it turned me on a little bit.
At this point, it was 7:12 AM on a gorgeous sunny Friday in late August. The day hadn't gotten hot yet, and there was even that feeling in the air of autumn on its way. Most people would be getting ready for a busy day, so I assumed I would have a certain degree of isolation on my balcony, several stories above the bustle of the city streets I had strutted through earlier.
I was only about three pages in to the chapter--a particularly steamy scene in which the protagonist
finally
hooks up with one of the major love interests--I hadn't even started on my chocolate croissant yet, when a puff of smoke wafted by.... smelling very strongly of weed. "Ugh. Whatever," I thought, assuming the offender would take a few hits and be on their way.
Boy was I wrong. Puff after puff of skunky smoke drifted right over my balcony railing and over my head. If I had been standing up I might have gotten high off the second-hand smoke, it was so thick. Who the fuck actually wakes and bakes?
After a few minutes of being smoked out, I had finally had enough. My favorite character was getting passionately eaten out by the man of her (and my) dreams, and I was so distracted by the smoke that I was re-reading paragraphs. In a sex scene! So I stood up and looked around. I saw
him
, one floor down, and one balcony over, leaning on his railing, with what looked like a large cigar his mouth.
From the street it wouldn't have looked any different from a cigar. But I could see that he was not puffing it like a cigar--he was inhaling deeply, swelling his chest out, and holding it for a moment before expelling a long cloud of musky smoke.
The tip of the "cigar" glowed brightly as he took a long drag. He didn't notice me right away, so I got a good look at him. He was definitely rocking the rugged handsome bad boy look. Longish dark blond tussled hair sat atop his angular face. A scruff of 5 o'clock shadow softened his square jaw slightly.
He wore a black bomber jacket over a charcoal gray shirt which hugged his muscular chest tightly. Some dark and lightly distressed jeans, and finally a heavy-looking (gold?) chain necklace completed the look.
I couldn't really tell how tall he was from this vantage point, but he was definitely on the tall side (and everybody's taller than me), and he looked quite fit. He was also young. Probably 19 or 20. He might even be an undergrad at my school... he looked slightly familiar, but then again he was my neighbor. I'm sure I had seen him swaggering about in the lobby, now that I think of it...
My heart fluttered a little bit, and I'm still not sure if it was because he was so cute, or because I was gearing up to bitch him out, and feeling nervous.
Finally I shouted, "Hey! What gives?" And made a joint-holding gesture with my hand, and then pinched my nose, so he would be sure to know what I meant.
He looked up, shocked at being busted. Completely deer-in-headlights for a moment. I gazed directly into his deep blue eyes. They were red-rimmed, and perhaps a little glassy, but pretty nonetheless. After half an eternity of just standing there, returning my stare, he gave an embarrassed look, stamped out the smoldering spliff, and hurried back into his apartment.
His look of terror made me feel... empowered. No, powerful! And somehow very sexy. I had stared down the swaggering hunk. I had a taste of control, and it was intoxicating. I could feel moisture and warmth between my legs, and it wasn't from my book.... at least not much.
Marijuana laws in our state are quite harsh, and our apartment building also has a zero-tolerance policy on using illegal drugs, so he had a lot of good reasons to be terrified of the situation. I don't think weed is the devil. I would never smoke it, but wasn't about to ruin this guy's life because he inhaled the 'wrong' fumes.
On the other hand... I immediately missed that feeling of power. I don't know what came over me, but I had an intense desire to go confront him. In part, to feel that feeling of power again, in part because he was cute, and I was more than semi-wet.
I didn't have a plan, I just took a minute to freshen up in the mirror (in retrospect, I may have had an idea what was going to happen), and then I marched over to the elevator, down a floor, and then to the door which must have been his.
My heart was pounding. "This was so stupid." I thought, "He's a criminal, what if he has a gun? Why should I antagonize him?"
But I kept going.
I took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door. Knock, knock.