He had me up for a glass of wine. I should have known better, should have thought the night through. Should have kept an eye on the door, should have kept on my shoes. He was attractive, and interesting, but I hardly knew him, and sex was not on my agenda. But I could feel it on his the whole night, and I just wanted to spend a little more time next to the heat of his lust, and that was my mistake.
He asked me into his room to show me a painting. I should have asked him to bring it out to me. I should have called it a night. But I was warm with wine, and I went.
I stood close to him to look at the brushwork, and honestly that was the only thing on my mind. But he was close enough to scent, and I could smell that oak and iron smell of men I hadn't had in my nose in months.
Suddenly I realized if I could smell him, he could smell me. I snapped my head to look at him, and the flame in his eyes told me I was in deep trouble.
I slid the empty glass onto his bureau, not too frightened to be careful, and made for the door without a word. But he wasn't confused. He snatched me by the waist of my skirt and pulled me back, driving his erection into the back of my thighs, easing up the hem of my skirt with both hands...
"Please don't," I said, clearly. And I'm strong and fit, and I tore his hands away and made another lunge for the door.
He seized me by the shirt and threw me on the bed with terrifying ease. I was strong – how could he be so much stronger? I rolled onto my belly and crawled fast for the other side of the bed, but he was on top of me in an instant. Two-hundred-twenty pounds of flesh above me – I could have pressed myself up, on a bench, in the gym, but he pinned my arms like a wrestler. All I could do was squirm, and every movement lifted up my skirt a little more...
"Let go... let go of me..." I whistled
"You know you want me. You want me inside you."
"I don't."
"You don't?" he asked, pausing. I breathed with relief. He was going to let me go...
"No. Please, no."
"If you don't want me, you won't be wet, will you?" he asked.
I shuddered. His weight bearing down on me, it was difficult to breathe. He shifted his weight to one side to pull my skirt around my waist, leaving one thigh exposed to the air. I whimpered... I felt his hand travel the inside of my thigh, and I knew what it would find...
He arrived at the thin fabric of my panties, and he laughed out loud. I hated him for laughing, and I bucked hard, taking my chance to escape. I barely shifted him an inch, and his hand stayed right where he left it.
"You're soaking wet," he said, and I was. My face burned with shame, and a thread of tears snaked down the side of my nose.
"It doesn't matter. I don't want you..."
"You don't?" he asked again. He petted my sex, gentle as a kitten, from the crest of my clit to the seam of my ass, in a great, sweeping oval, again and again. I began to burn, and ache, and as I struggled I could feel the lips of my sex slipping against each other. I was so wet... maybe as wet as I've ever been, and I ached for relief.
"You want it," he said.
"No..."
"Ask me for it."
"Please don't..."
His hand slipped to where my thigh joined my sex, at the little lace border of my panties, and he hooked a gentle finger underneath the cotton crotch, completely soaked. He threw an arm under me as easily as if I were a bag of groceries, and I couldn't move a muscle. I could only lie and shiver as he touched me... let his fingers explore my panties...
I felt his fingertip approach my clit, and I longed for it. It seemed like only a few strokes would bring me to climax, if he would just touch me, just touch it...
The hand disappeared, and my heart sank with disappointment. Disappointed? The shame of wanting him made me wetter, hotter, and I eased my legs together just to contain it.
He shifted upward and I heard that zipping sound. Despite my desire, my belly ached with fear. I wasn't ready... I couldn't handle it...
The thick and slippery tip of his cock sprang against the fabric of my panties. Through the crotch it strained my hymen, begging for entry. I squirmed against it, but it only bunched my panties to the side. His cock was now touching skin, though still barred by my panties... the tiniest thread...
"Don't do it... you don't have to..." I pleaded.
"I do... I have to..." His hand underneath me shifted me up again, and suddenly it was down the front of my panties. He teased the short fur of my sex, inching down. I bore down on his hand, trying to pin it, but it was too strong, and moving... moving steadily down...
His fingers landed on my clit, so slick I could hardly feel them at first. But he rocked his hand against me, working off the wetness, until the slow ache of pleasure began to build.
I struggled against his cock again, wildly, unsure if I was trying to get him away or inside me. Either way would be a relief... either way would be a way out of this awful agonizing limbo...
