This wasn't a story I had on my radar but it came from my wonderful wife's kinky mind. It was hot pillow talk so I decided to write a story of it. As always with things like this, the depiction is meant to titillate not be an instruction manual. While many man and women have these fantasies, you should talk to your partner and enjoy them together AFTER discussing with each other. With that being said, enjoy the fantasy.
*****
Strangely, I don't remember the movie. All I remember is the scene, burned into my brain. It's a scene that changed my life forever and I sometimes wonder if it was for the better or not. My husband... boyfriend at the time, and I were seated on the couch of our crappy, tiny post college apartment. 900 square feet, one closet, thin walls. It was our first home. We'd been dating for about a year at that point and we'd hit that wall where our sex life had diminished from the nova hot level it had been. I would say it was still a pleasant simmer... certainly not routine. But didn't quite have the same needfulness that it used to.
So there we were, watching this crappy, early 90s movie. The heroine was this super sexualized girl... barely a woman really. She ran around, being the "hero" of the movie by making all kinds of bad decisions and then getting bailed out by luck, men or both. The movie had just had a particularly steamy sexy scene with the girl's boyfriend and my boyfriend, Ethan, had noticed my arousal and started playing with me. Teasing me. He knew how to push my buttons and I was already anticipating a good fucking.
A few minutes later and our idiot heroine is trapped in the gym by her ex boyfriend and three of his friends. They'd established this antagonistic backstory for them. This unhealthy relationship that she'd had the strength to break off. But her ex always wanted more. The way he looked at her sent shivers down my spine. It was predatory and merciless. Clearly the screenwriter had decided to take a stand against racism by casting a white guy, black guy, asian guy and hispanic guy in this hypothetical, almost comically diverse, gang of young men.
The cheesy lines aren't what I remember. What I do remember is the look on the girl's face as they cornered her. The fear but also the little smirk. Something about it titillated me and my arousal was obvious to my boyfriend. His fingers slipped into my shorts and felt along my slick cunt. When the first man hit the girl on screen I gasped. He had slapped her so hard that she'd spun around, placing her hands on the bleachers. She started to protest as one of the men lifted her skirt and smacked her ass again. It left a huge red hand print. Then one of the men pulled his belt off and I lost it. My cunt gushed. This was my fantasy. My secret perversion. The dark place that my mind went to that I could never let anyone know. But my cunt knew.
I watched the scene, barely aware of my boyfriend's fingers teasing me, as the girl was beaten by these men. She had her ass, tits and thighs smacked while she struggled in their grip. I watched at how the girl predictably became aroused at her treatment. The way women always are in movies. The way that I shamefully am in private. The way I was at that very moment. When she stopped protesting and started begging, I felt my clit throb. My boyfriend kept teasing me, barely grazing my ready, swollen bud. The scene didn't last long. Even in the 90s, screenwriters had some standards. But it lasted long enough to make its point. Our heroine liked it rough. She liked being used by a group of men. She liked being treated like trash and called all manner of degrading names. She was a slut.
I looked over at Ethan with glassy eyed need. The movie continued playing but we didn't even watch any more. I was riding his cock so hard that I thought I'd lose my mind. I kept picturing that girl. Bent over. Exposed. Used. I came so hard that night that I nearly blacked out.
As we lay on the couch, panting, Ethan rolled over and held me, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I said simply, turning away from him.
"Did you like that?"
"I said I didn't want to talk about it!" I snapped. The silence that followed filled me with regret. He was trying to be a good boyfriend. "I always like sex with you, honey."
"I know," he said softly. "But I meant the scene in the movie."
I clenched my jaw. He couldn't know my dark secret. I wasn't going to tell him. "The scene with her boyfriend? It was pretty sexy, yeah."
Again, more silence and then, "Not that scene, Kate. The scene in the gym."
"Eww... no... it was practically fucking rape," I said, trying to force horror into my voice. "I was just so worked up from the other scene and your fingers... that's all."
This time, the pause was almost unbearable. What was he thinking? What was going through my lover's head? "OK, Katie, sweetie. I love you."
"I love you, too," I said. We didn't talk any more about it that night. I didn't want to. He didn't press. I simply went to sleep holding myself. Ashamed that I couldn't get the image of the girl's striped ass and tits out of my head. And it wasn't her face that I was seeing. It was mine.
---
The next couple days we walked past each other like ghosts. I couldn't stop my perverted imagination. My cunt wouldn't let me. But eventually, after a few days, life found a way of distracting us. Something broke our rhythm and the movie was forgotten. We went back to our routine and I stopped dwelling on it... at least until it was late at night and I was alone with my thoughts.
Then, one night I came home and the apartment was dark. I tended to work a little later than Ethan and I worked further away so it was unusual that he wasn't here. I checked my phone for messages but there was nothing.
"Ethan?" I called out.
"In here," I heard him call from the bedroom.
