I Dont Want This Or Do I

I unlock the front door and wearily step inside. I work as a massage therapist at the local hotel spa and it's been a long week of hen parties. It always gets like this as summer rolls around.

But it's more than just work. It must be a couple of months since I was last fucked... and then it wasn't really anything to write home about. Usually I'm not that bothered, but this week has been hell. I've never been so fucking horny. I've never felt so wet without provocation. And massaging naked bodies all day - male or female - has only made the situation worse.

My own fingers just aren't enough to lay rest to this raging need deep in my body. I need the weight of a man on my body. I need a big, thick, delicious cock pounding my pussy. I need lips and teeth sucking and nipping at my nipples.

I unbutton the tunic of my uniform, shake it from my shoulders, and lay it across the back of a chair. I kick off my shoes and pad my way across the room wearing the black leggings and vest top that make up the rest of my work wardrobe. If I was wearing a bra, this would be the time I would remove it. My feet are aching and my whole body is exhausted. I lay down on the couch with my head on the seat, my body stretched along the length, and my feet propped up on the arm rest. I close my eyes for a moment.

I start to dream about someone massaging my feet. It feels so good, and I feel warm and comfortable in my sleep. I give a contented sigh. Those strong hands expertly rub every muscle, so much so that it feels like there are no bones or muscles left in my feet, and all tension has dissipated. Then the hands begin to work over my ankles and massage their way up my calves and shins, up to my thighs...

My mind starts to feel fuzzy, and things get a bit confused. I'm asleep and dreaming. And yet... those massaging hands feel strangely real. I come-to and realise you're there, standing over me and rubbing your way up my body. It feels good and is totally PG-rated, so I don't stop you.

We've been flat mates for two years, but friends for so much longer. There had been some level of sexual tension between us at one time. But since I moved into your spare room after a housing situation involving a rather unpleasant ex-boyfriend, we've fallen into "just friends" comfortably.

I haven't opened my eyes yet. Instead, I lay still, enjoying the sensation of having my muscles rubbed, with a slight hint of a smile on my lips. It's a nice change from being the one doing the massaging all day.

Then I feel the attention of your hands turning to my inner thighs, making their way upwards. I feel your knuckles graze my pussy lips through the thin fabric of my leggings, as your fingers move over my legs. My eyes open and my hands clench over yours and try to push them away. You're too strong for me in my still-sleepy state.

You hush me and tell me everything is ok and there's nothing to worry about.

Your hands work higher.

Your fingers brush across my crotch. Softly and gently at first. I think it's an honest mistake as your hands continue massaging my leg as if nothing happened. Then your fingers get more determined and start to massage a part of me you've never touched before.

Again I grab at your hands.

"No," I say softly, in almost a whisper.

"Hush," you soothe, like you would an upset child.

I try to push your hands away. You grab me by the wrists and, with one hand, hold my arms above my head. My mind starts to race. I'm not sure what's happening. Is this really happening? You're just joking around. Aren't you?

Again, your fingers are at my pussy. Brushing over the fabric of my leggings, and then massaging my clit. Softly at first, and then more and more firmly.

"No," I say again. "Please. Don't do that. Stop."

You act like you don't hear me. "You like that," you say. It's a statement rather than a question. Your voice is soft and low.

"No. Ryan. Please." I don't want this.

"I don't want to," I say.

"Let's get these trousers out of the way," you say. I'm starting to panic now. But I don't know what to do. My hands are still pinned by your big strong hand above my head. With your free hand you pull at the waistband and my leggings easily peel down my legs, leaving my pants in place. I'm embarrassed by the wet patch at the crotch, which must be obvious to you.

"Please," I say, "please don't."

"Might as well get these out of the way, as well," you say as you pull my pants down. I don't know how you manage it, but you get my knickers and leggings free of my legs and discard them on the floor.

"That's better," you say.

"Ryan, please... please don't. Stop. Please." I'm close to begging you now.

You ignore me.

I let out an involuntary gasp as the fingers of your free hand find their way back to my pussy, skin touching skin. You're rubbing and flicking my clit, and stroking the length of my cunt from clit to arse and back again. You rub my clit, slide your finger back, slightly dipping inside me as you go, circle my arsehole, and move your fingers forwards again, my body's slickness aiding your every move. I'm pleading with you, but you are relentless in your task.

"Doesn't that feel good," you say. Again, it's a statement, not a question. "God, you're so wet, Sam. You like it. I'm going to make you feel so good. It's ok, there's nothing to worry about. You'll like it, Sam, I promise."

I should kick out at you and yell and get away. I don't want this. And yet... there's some truth in what you say... it does feel good. My body is betraying me. My mind wants to run away, but my body is lost in excitement and fear and the sensation you're building between my legs. My eyes flutter closed as I'm lost to my senses.

You keep up your reassuring words, telling me everything is ok, over and over. And I repeat my pleas over and over, begging you to stop.

Then you spread my legs with your hand and position yourself between them. Your legs are so strong and easily pin my legs apart, one against the back cushions of the couch, the other over the edge of the seat. I'm really scared now. I don't know what you're doing. What you're planning.

"Ryan," I try to sound firm, "this has gone too far now, Ryan. Stop. Please stop."

"I hear you, you know. Late at night, when you're in your bed. I hear your ragged breathing, I hear your soft moans, I hear your climax, and I hear your frustrated sighs. It's not enough, is it? Your own fingers aren't enough to satisfy you."

A hot flush of embarrassment creeps up my chest, my neck, and my face. I thought I was being quiet. I had no idea you could hear.

"I get so hard listening to you," you continue, "So hard and so horny. Sometimes I join you in masturbating. I just can't help myself. The thought of you in the next room, playing with yourself and bringing yourself to orgasm, and still not being satisfied... it's sometimes more than I can bear."

I can't speak. My voice has left me.

I hear a zip being undone. I look down and see your cock standing eagerly to attention, and growing thicker and longer in your hand as you casually stroke up and down the length of your impressive shaft. I swallow hard. Still I can't move. I hate my body for betraying me like this.

"It's ok," you coo to me, "hush now, everything is ok." You position the tip of your thick cock at my pussy opening and gently draw small circles with it, teasing my cunt.

"No. Please." I don't seem to be able to form many other words. My head is spinning. What the hell is going on?

"You're so wet, Sam," you say, almost in awe. "Doesn't this feel good? It feels so good. You feel so good." You stop circling and push, just a little.

"No! I don't want..." my voice is shaking, my breath catching. You cut me off mid-sentence.

"Just the tip, Sam" you push a little further and the fat head of your cock is snug in my hot wet cunt. You let out a heavy breath. "See, it's just the tip. It's ok. Just the tip."

Your cock is so big. I feel is stretching my pussy walls. It feels so damn good. "Stop. Please stop. Don't. No. Please."

You stay very still. I think you're about to pull out and stop this craziness. Instead, you place your thumb on my clit, ever so gently, and move it up and down, side to side, round and round.

"No!" I say, getting more and more panicked. My body is abandoning me to your touch and I hate myself for it. My hips start to tilt, slowly, almost unnoticeably, to meet your ministrations.

"No," I say again. "No."

You carry on, ignoring my pleas. Your thumb merciless on my clit. Your thick cock snugly secured in my tight hole. And then I fear all is lost. I can feel the familiar tingling. I try to suppress it. To stop it in its tracks. I don't want this. I don't want to come. Stop. I try to talk myself out of coming.

"Stop. Please stop. Don't... No..." My pleas are ragged and desperate.

It's no use. As you continue your unrelenting massaging, the tingling builds and builds until it's game-over and I'm lost. My head pushes back into the seat cushion, my back arches, my eyes are tightly closed, and I can't suppress the wild moans and groans of pleasure as a tidal wave of orgasm crashes over me. My hips buck wildly, I strain against your hand at my wrists, every muscle is tense, my mind is a blur, and I'm completely out of it as I ride out my orgasm.

And, without me noticing, you slowly and gently push your cock further into my pussy, my muscles clenching around you as you enter, until you're all the way in and your balls are resting against my skin.

Both hands are on my wrists now, holding them in place, and you start to gently pull out of me. I think you've finished playing whatever game you've been playing as you pull all the way out. But I'm wrong. You pause with just the head of your cock at my entrance, and then you slowly and gently push back in again. I'm sensitive after my orgasm and every movement makes my pussy quiver.

"Please," I say, "Please, Ryan, stop now. Please."

"Don't you see," you say, still in that calm and quiet reassuring voice, "we can't stop now. Everything is ok. There's nothing to worry about. Everything will be ok. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be selfish. I'm sure you want me to feel as good as you feel now."

You continue your in-and-out motion, and I feel your big cock gliding beautifully through my come-soaked cunt.

"You want me to feel god, don't you, Sam," you say. Again, a statement rather than a question.

Your breathing is getting deeper. You start to pick-up your pace. Your cock feels so good in my pussy, stretching me beautifully. You're so big. I can feel every movement you make. Pulling all the way out and then gliding all the way back in again, your cock buried deep within my hot, wet folds, your balls pressing against my arse.

"Please stop." My mind is trying to keep up the pretence. But it's no good. I can't do it. And my body doesn't want to.