My name is Melody and I have always enjoyed struggling, with men. In fact the more intense physically, the better. Not violence, just the battle of his irresistible lust versus my immovable resistance. Perversely it turns me on. I get all wet and stimulated.
My first boyfriend sweet-talked the pants off me. At 19, I lost my virginity in a cloud of lust and naivety. My second lover spent over a year of bedroom wrestling to get into my pants. Even after the first successful consummation, I sometimes resisted and more often than not, with success. My short-lived third boyfriend had his bed broken. Such was the intensity of our struggle. My fourth and fifth boyfriends spent many days of intense, sweaty frustration. Sprinkled in-between these men stand a succession of guys encountering failure and defeat.
In short, in all my bedroom battles, I never lose, except I want to. My 5 losses and over twenty victories attest to that. (At 5' 10" and stats of 36-28-39,) I am a tall, well-built girl. My successful scalps have made me ready to follow any man anywhere, confident in my physical ability. Anytime I hear of rape, I laugh. Such nonsense never happens to me and I have over twenty scalps to prove it. Let me tell you the secret. People think I am crazy when I say I enjoy struggling and the amount of my victories. The truth is, I am not fighting against a man's strength but the strength of his erection. A man will lose his dick-strength long before he loses his physical power. Frustration and mental exhaustion will drain the blood out of his tool. So in a contest between me and a man's desire, I win hands down insofar as I don't succumb to arousal.
When Emman invites me out, I go without a second thought. He is smooth and exudes confidence. What is another date? But my confidence misleads me.
I like tall slim men, preferably around six feet. Emman is SIX-THREE AND HUGE. Chitchat follows a dinner, by then bye. Ditto for the second date. He makes no move; no kiss attempt or fondle try. I begin to wonder when he will strike. I know he finds me attractive. I can see it from his surreptitious looks when he thinks I am not looking. Or should I say more accurately the way he looks at my figure, specifically my ass. More facially attractive than beautiful, God blessed me with great curves. My legs, ass and hips are to die for. Below a slim waist, my jutting ass in jeans is my most captivating feature.
Or so the numerous admirers tell me over the years. Men drool at the creaminess of my curves, at the fullness of it, especially the extravagant way my buttocks swell into twin mounds of succulent flesh swaying and undulating in unison with my gait, which took two years to perfect back in the day.
When down to pant and bra, my apple-shaped bottom is so sexy that my panties usually sink into my ass cheeks. But at twenty-five such voluptuousness has a down side; the ceaseless struggle to remain sexy and the constant battle with weight. Name the diet and the kinds of exercise to make my hips and ass smaller. I have tried them all. But no matter how much weight I lose, my ass and hips remain defiant. When Emman calls for a third date, I happily accept. He is not really my kind of guy, being too large, but he is good company. And I have nothing better to do. My fifth boyfriend is a dead-end relationship. We just fuck from moment to moment with no future in prospect. I cut the feet from under him after two months and ten bouts. At my age, a girl has to start thinking about settling down before I go to pot.
The day of my third date with Emman unfolds into a sunny dry afternoon. Wearing wrap-around stretch jeans that cling to me like a second skin and sleeve-less blouse, I am just begging to be fucked. Or at least open to an attempt.
For under my jeans is a very tight girdle panties and a chemise covers my breasts, is a sports bra. My standard battle equipment when going on dates. Mid afternoon arrives, when he drives up to my apartment in a SUV wearing sandals, three-quarter trousers and a red shirt over a singlet. Isn't he a bit too old for those clothes? I wonder.
A visit to the beach and a plate of roasted fish, chips and a few drinks later, he suggests we visit a friend of his. I give him a big smile. Who does think he is fooling? You are in for a shocker mate!
I like him as friend but frankly, I see nothing more. Except for the eating, drinking and chatting, this is going nowhere. I will end this after this date. If he tries to impose himself, a dose of humble pie would make it easier to drop him. Guys with deflated egos can always take a hint. We arrive at a modern two-storey house in a new development. When he uses a key to open the double doors, my heart starts to pound. Here we go. All I need now is to tip him over the edge. He holds the door open for me. Rolling my hips in my best sauntering strut, I walk forward. I hear his deep wheezing breath as his eyes doubtless follow my full rounded buttocks sway enticingly, each cheek making a provocative circling motion as I glide on. He follows. We are in a sparsely decorated apartment's living room.
"What a lovely place," I say.
"Let me show you around." He replies with a timbre suggestive of a stone stuck in his throat.
The click of a door being locked greets my ears like a Michael Jackson melody. Let the rumble begin! My heartbeat rattles my chest. Will or won't he?
As I look around for which couch to park my ass, I feel a large hand gently stroke my ass cheeks. His heavy breathing brushes my ear as he fondles my firm behind.
"Hey," I say.
The smell of cognac escapes his breath. "Your ass is so beautiful Melody. Its so firm and bouncy."
He palms each ass cheek while pressing me in a corner.
After a few moments, I spin around and push him away. "What do you think you are doing?"
His eyes grow wide in momentary surprise, then he closes in. "I want you."
"I am sure you do." I try to retreat, but my behind jams against the solid wall.
"You can try to resist, but you won't get away."
"I certainly will. Take me home."
"In your dreams."
"I want to leave now."
"You are going nowhere."
His hands shoot out, grabbing my wrists. He spins me around and pushes me towards a side door.
His grip around my waist tightens as he manoeuvres me through the living room to the door. I dig my sandals into the carpet, but he half-lifts me forward. Past the door, we stumble through. The room is bare but for a large king-size bed.
"You have such a lovely body."
"Keep your hands to yourself."
Again, I dig in my heels, and drop into a crouch, grinding my ass into his loins, hoping to stop our advance to the bed. His powerful hips ground against my ass and I feel the straining hardness under his pants aching with need.
"You can't stop me if I don't." With a grunt, he lifts me completely off my feet and throws me onto the bed.
I fall in a tangle, but he gives me no chance to get back up. Moving like a bear, he drops on top of me. "Get off me!" I trash under him but he smothers me.
"After I have you." His weight is crushing as it sinks atop me, his chest flattening my breasts against my ribcage. With he eye level with mine, he grabs my wrists and imprisons them in one huge paw.
"This is rape!"
He looks at me, his eyes aflame with lust. His face swells making him seem ugly. "Yes, the forceful taking of..."
I hate the gleam I see. Triumph? I haven't even started, you bastard! "That's what turns you on, isn't it?"
Horrified, I freeze but moan and whimper as his free hand strokes my back and kneads my buttocks. "Your body is so exciting."
Twisting my body I struggle harder, determined to get away. I have defeated worse, haven't I? I think I can, anyway. My hands slip out of his grip. "You bastard!"
"It's your sexy walk. The way your breasts jut against your tight blouse. The way your tight jeans moulds over your saucy hips."
