The category is Non-Consent/Reluctance. If you're against rough sex, fantasy rape, any type of bondage... I would just ignore this story. I don't want to hear comments at the end of how disgusting you thought it was, how insane my mind is, how perverted I must be, how my parents didn't hug me enough as a child. It's FICTION. And you are choosing, of your own free will, to read it. No one is forcing you to read the story.
Maddie J. Carter
*~***~*
"How long have we been together?"
She watched his face jerk up from where he had been sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. His eyes were intense. The hazel orbs boring into here amber ones. He released her flesh with a pop and she held back a moan as her tit bounced around gently.
"One year, eleven months, twenty-eight days. Because you're going to be twenty-seven in three days. And I asked you to be my girlfriend when you turned twenty-five... as I buried myself between your sweet thighs... And as you came you screamed out, 'Fuck yes I'll date you Dean,' I blasted jets of semen into your pussy. Why do you ask?"
"I've given you every fantasy you've wanted, haven't I?"
He nodded his head and she watched his eyes glaze over as he watched a mental slide-show of their escapades. There was the blowjob in the bathroom of the club, the time he licked her out in the closet at her parents' house while her family sat in the next room opening Christmas presents... anal sex in her back yard, in the moonlight.
Any of those things, she would've said no if she hadn't wanted to do them. He knew that. Now she wanted to ask him to play out one of hers. The only one that she'd never brought up. The only one that she thought he might not agree to. That's why she'd waited this long. To her, if he'd shove his tongue in her cunt with her grandma around, and she'd let him molest her against a wall at a club...
"I want to play rough."
"I will go get the handcuffs," he said with a smile. She stopped him, one hand on his shoulder.
"No... I mean... rough."
"You mean like spanking and stuff?"
"Kind of. I want you to force me. Make me suck you, make me fuck you. Slap my face, call me names... I guess I want you to... I want it to feel like... Well..."
"You want me to rape you?!"
"It wouldn't be rape. I want you to do it. It's consensual. I've just always wanted to..."
"To have someone degrade you and make you feel like shit... Stacy, you don't know what you're asking."
"Dean, I just..."
She couldn't finish what she was going to say, not that she even knew what that might have been. He leapt off of her, grabbed his jeans off the floor and threw them on as he stalked toward the bathroom. She was still sprawled, naked, on the bed a few minutes later when she heard the front door slam and tires squeal.
*~*~*~*
Stacy stood at the bar, looking out over the crowd of people.
There weren't a lot of men in the crush yet. But there would be. And when more showed up, she would find one to take her frustrations out on. She didn't need Dean to hold her back from her wants and needs. She had never said no to something he wanted. Sure, this was a little more... taboo... but she trusted him to do it properly.
With a sigh, she took another sip of her drink and let her eyes scan the mass of bodies once more. She didn't see the man in the corner who watched her intently. Didn't feel his eyes as he took in her strapless cocktail dress, her sleek, auburn hair that she's straightened for the evening, or her black stiletto heels. And she didn't see him lick his lips in appreciation before taking a swig of his beer.
A few hours later Stacy let out another sigh, this time in disgust, as she placed her fourth, empty, glass onto the bar and signaled to the barkeep to pay her tab. Five minutes later she was walking out the door and hailing a cab. And ten minutes after that she was fumbling with her keys, trying to unlock her front door. She had finally gotten the deadbolt undone, and was stepping through her doorway, when an arm snaked around her waist and half-pushed, half-carried her through into the foyer.
A scream was ready to tear from her throat as the fingers of a second hand wrapped around her throat. Said fingers flexed and the scream came out as a squeak.
"Don't scream again," came a gravelly threat and Stacy's brain went into a drunken frenzy of fear. She didn't know why this was happening. Her fingers were digging into the fabric of his shirt as she tried to claw and pry herself free. Her body twisted and turned as she tried to get out of his grasp.
"Stop it," he growled in her ear and it sent another trickle of fear down her spine. She attempted to stomp down on his foot with one of her heels but he chuckled darkly and kicked out her leg. She cried out as she started to fall.
Her knees hit the hardwood floor with force and she had to let go of her grip on his arm to brace herself from face-planting as well. His weight pressed her down and she felt shooting pains from all her landing points. Stacy heard the click of his tongue as a mocking reprimand and, incensed, she tried to buck him off of her.
All she got for her troubles were another squeeze on her throat, pushed down to the floor more fully, and the feel of something hard pressing into the crack of her ass. That stopped her movements like a flash. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she knew what was going to happen now. Was this really what she had wanted Dean to do to her? Was this something that turned her on?
"Why'd you stop squirming baby? That was the best feeling all night. Come on, grind that ass back against me again."
She heard the threat in the gruff voice. And she didn't want to know what would happen if she didn't comply. With a sniffle, and one of the tears falling to the floor, she moved hesitantly. Pretending this wasn't really happening, like it was a dream, and the man was Dean, she rocked back and forth, rubbing her ass against his groin. He groaned and lifted his free hand, reaching under her and ripping the top of her dress down so that her braless breasts spilled out.
The coolness of the night and the chill from the floorboards had her nipples puckering instantly. He lifted her by the throat and pawed at her tits, pinching the hardened tips and smacking them soundly so that they swayed back and forth. Biting her lip, Stacy tried to stamp out the sliver of desire that the manhandling produced.
