The Realtor

I walked into the house, all too aware of his presence behind me. Palpable. Like he exuded some sort of heat, or vibration. I could feel him at my back, as tangible as a touch. He was closer than I was comfortable with.

"So, uh, this is it, Mr. Grady," I said, turning around to face him as I gestured to the room. He was right there—I almost bumped into him and I took a step back. I felt his eyes on me. He didn't look at the room for one second as I settled my nerves and pointed out the arched doorways, the ceiling fans, the fireplace. "It's got a lot of open space," I said, trying to ignore that coal-black stare. "Plenty of room for entertaining. Will you, um, be doing much entertaining, Mr. Grady?"

"I prefer more intimate get-togethers, Miss O'Neal," he answered with a smile. His teeth seemed very white amid his swarthy face. He looked like the pirate on the cover of one of my romance novels, with his dark, slicked back hair and solid, muscular build. The thought made me flush, and I hoped he didn't notice. "But yes, this room has its charm." He gave it a casual, indifferent glance before turning his gaze back to me.

"I'd love to see the rest of the house," he said in a way that made me think of oil, all slippery and smooth. "Please," he purred, holding out a hand, "lead the way."

"O-okay," I stammered. I clutched my folder to my breasts and turned, heading down the hall. I was suddenly wishing I hadn't agreed to this last-minute appointment. My intuition should have warned me, but I was too fixated on the thought of my possible commission if I made a sale. I could use it, but maybe I should have thought better of meeting a single male client out on this secluded property. The closest other house was miles away.

I showed him the kitchen, the dining room, the little rec-room that I pointed out might be great for a game or TV room. I was trying to feel him out, get an idea of the sort of man he was, but he was frustratingly vague. "I can think of a different use for it," he'd murmured after I chirped something about a pool table.

The previous tenants had left some of their furniture behind; I pointed it out to him as we walked back toward the living room and the stairs that led to the second story. "You're welcome to keep it, if you like. Or sell it. If you want it out, I can arrange for someone to come pick it up, naturally." I was nervous and being overly chatty—overly obliging. As I led the way up the stairs, I could hear his footsteps and feel his presence at my back, and I suddenly wished I hadn't worn a skirt. Slacks would have been more business-like. And maybe my heels shouldn't have been as high. I wobbled a little on the top step, and he caught my elbow.

"Careful," he said solicitously.

"Th-thanks," I mumbled, peeling away from his touch. I was in a hurry to show him the rest of the house, and I grabbed the doorknob of the nearest bedroom, swinging it open and quickly heading toward the window, gesturing to the view. "Just gorgeous, isn't it? You can see the lake from here, through the trees."

"Yes, gorgeous," he murmured. I turned, but he wasn't looking at the window. I swallowed. I was suddenly all too aware that the previous owners had left a bed in the room. It was stripped bare, just the mattress—somehow that made it seem obscene. Like the bed was naked. My eyes flickered over to it and he caught me looking. He smiled.

I started to head out of the room, to show him the second bedroom. He was standing next to the door, and oh so casually, he reached out and nudged it. It swung serenely closed. I blinked, too astonished to do more than glance from it, to him.

"I think I've seen enough of the house."

"But there's—I--what--what are you doing, Mr. Grady?"

He was coming toward me, pulling something out of his pocket. I must have been too shocked to really react; it felt like I was moving through molasses as I stumbled back and put a hand up to hold him off. In his hands was a piece of rope. His fingers clamped around my wrist and he started winding the rope around it with the other; deftly, precisely, like he'd had practice.

"Oh god!" I cried, and I started to struggle. I tried yanking my hand free but he was too strong. Instinct took over and I whipped my other hand around to strike him, but he let go of the rope and grabbed my wrist. He wasn't too much taller than me, but he more than made up for it in strength; I might as well have been caught in a vise.

Before I knew it, he'd spun me around, and now he had both my hands behind my back, and I could feel him twining the rope around my wrists. I fought and bucked against him, tried kicking him, but he shoved me forward and I stumbled a few steps before falling face-first into the mattress, with him on top of me.

"That's better," he oozed in that oily voice, and I felt him thrust his crotch into me. I think that's when I finally realized where this was going. I flared with heat and started squirming and writhing on the bed, trying to throw him off. It didn't do any good. My hands were tied and he was pinning them against my back. I couldn't believe this was happening. And deep down, I didn't know if I was more afraid of what he'd do, or more afraid of my reaction to it.

He was holding me down, and I could feel the hard length of his cock pressed against the cleft of my ass. My skirt was thin; I could feel his heat right through. Or maybe that was mine. I was horrified to realize that my pussy was pulsing, and when he snaked one hand around to grope for my breasts, pressed against the bed, my pussy throbbed harder.

"Let's see what we've got here." He grabbed a fistful of my silky shirt and yanked. Buttons burst open and he wormed his hand inside, burrowing it beneath my bra. Roughly, he groped my breast, still grinding into me. I let out a strangled moan. I heard him chuckle, and then the weight of him lifted; I no longer felt that heated length nestled against my ass. He grabbed my shoulder and flipped me over, and I heard cloth rip as he tore open my shirt.

"I knew you'd be luscious," he said as he jerked my bra down and my breasts spilled out. I felt my nipples harden at the exposure. He seized one, squeezing it tight. I made some startled yelping sound, and then he angled his head down and I felt the slick slide of his tongue against my sensitive skin. Then the pinch of his teeth. Then the hot wetness of his mouth as he closed it around my breast, suckling hard at my nipple. Moist heat thrummed between my legs. I tried to protest, but all that came out was a mewling moan.

He just sucked harder. I was pinioned awkwardly on my back, blouse ripped open, my skirt hiked halfway up my legs from our struggles. My hands were pinned beneath me, and I couldn't move—couldn't really do much other than squirm beneath him. His mouth ravaged my nipple; he moved from one breast, to the other, than back again. I squirmed in vain. The feel of his teeth and tongue on me was driving me wild; I'd never been this aroused. He must have noticed that my struggles gradually slacked off.

"What's this, Miss O'Neal?" he asked, lifting his head. My breast was slick with his saliva. "Not really putting up much of a fight, are we?" He skimmed a hand down, from my tits to my thighs, and then started sliding it up underneath my skirt. "I knew you were a slut."

"No!" I protested, but it was too late. My struggles only threw my legs open wider, and I felt him worm his fingers beneath the silky fabric of my panties. He could feel the wetness there, I knew he could. I was damp with arousal, panting and flushed from my exertions. He chuckled as he stroked me.

"Yesss," he hissed. "Just like I thought. You like that, don't you? Probably wanted it the second we met. But you'd never admit it." He was lying partway atop me—now I could feel his erection against my thigh, and he kept probing with his fingers. "You're so delightfully wet, Miss O'Neal. Just like a good little slut."

Then he started sucking on my tits again as he finger-fucked me, sliding two fingers down between my slippery cleft and into my cunt. I groaned and writhed, and he quickened his rhythm, gliding those digits in and out. I whimpered, appalled at how turned on I was. Even the smack of his lips on my tits was a turn-on. I put up a token resistance, but all I wanted was the feel of his mouth on my nipples and the thrust of his fingers in my sopping pussy.

When he finally scooted downward and kissed and licked his way down my belly, I didn't even try to fight back. He roughly jerked my panties off my legs, then grabbed my thighs and pushed them open wide. When I felt his tongue against my pussy, I outright moaned with pleasure. He started licking and sucking with as much vigor as he'd shown my tits, and I went wild. I ground my hips against him, splaying my legs as wide as they could go while he tongue-fucked me.

"Yes... yes," I breathed, delirious with need. He kept at it, plundering my pussy with that agile tongue, then employing his fingers again, thrusting them in and out of me until I was moaning and panting like a bitch in heat. It was a shock when his mouth finally left me; I gave an agonized little cry before I heard the telltale slide of his zipper.

"Let's see you return the favor, Miss O'Neal," he said, climbing up on top of me again and straddling my chest. "Suck it."

His cock hove in front of my face as he pulled it free. It was thick and dark and mapped with veins. He thrust it toward my lips and my mouth opened of its own accord. I tasted its velvety tip, then more, and more; he thrust it so deep I choked, and I just heard him chuckle.

"Too big for you? Why, I bet you like them big, Miss O'Neal. The better to fuck you with."

I moaned and shuddered around my mouthful, but I sucked. He started pushing his hips forward, in and out, and I learned to accommodate, letting my gag reflex relax whenever he thrust particularly deep. His thighs were on either side of my head, pinioning me in place, and at some point he gripped my hair and held me fast while he throat-fucked me. I choked some, but mostly my sounds were inarticulate "Mmmms" around that meaty mouthful.

"That's good, you nasty little cocksucking slut," he breathed. "Suck it real good. Ahh, just like that." He thrust so far in that my nose was buried in his thick, black pubic hair and I was gagging around his shaft. He held me there for a minute, hands cupping my skull, then rotated his hips and let out a ragged, satisfied groan. "Now you're my slut. All... fucking... mine."

Suddenly, his hands were gone. My head was free, and so was my mouth; he pulled his cock out and clambered off of me. I was disoriented and dazed, and all I could do was lay there for a second, breathing hard, my legs still spread wide and my blouse ripped open. Then I felt him grip one of my ankles. I was sliding across the mattress. He pulled me to the edge and then flipped me over so I was pressed face-down again. He grabbed my bound wrists, pressing them down into my back. My feet hit the floor; I'd lost one heel in our struggles, the other clattered against the floorboards as he positioned my legs apart and pulled my ass upward.

When I realized what he was doing, all I could say was, "Oh, god... oh god..." When he thrust his thick cock inside my pussy, taking me from behind, doggy-style, there on that obscene mattress, my voice rose to a scream. "Oh GOD!"

"Like that, you fucking whore?" he sneered behind me. "You're wet enough." It was true; despite his thick girth, his cock had slipped into me with ease, and when he started up a vigorous pace, the friction was pleasurably slick. The shame of it was almost as strong as the ecstasy. If I'd had any lingering intentions to try to fight him off, they died then, as he fucked me brutally there on that bed.

"Yes, yes..." I panted, arcing my ass up a little higher, my face pressed against the mattress. "Oh, god, yes... please..." I felt the soft slap of his balls against my pussy, heard his animalistic grunts as he pistoned in and out of me. Rough, hard, primal; he just took me. Like it was his due. Like I was a prize—some booty he'd scored as if he were a pirate out of one of my romance novels. The thought just made me moan harder. I was insensible with the pleasure of being fucked; heedless of anything other than the rigid length of his cock inside me.

"That's it, bitch, that's it," he grunted. "Like that, fuck-slut? You wanna be my slut? Let me fuck you like this whenever I want?"

"Oh god," I cried out again. "Yes, please... please, fuck me. Fuck me." I realized I was drooling on the mattress. I didn't care. "Oh, so goooood...."

"So good you're gonna come, aren't you, bitch?" He quickened his pace still more; now he was slamming into me so hard my whole body jerked. "You wanna come for me, slut? Come for that big cock?" He leaned over me, still holding me down on the bed. My arms ached but I hardly felt it. He slapped my ass with his other hand and I cried out from the sting, but that only encouraged him. He spanked me some more, still calling me his slut, his bitch, his whore, until that's all I wanted to be.

I felt a crescendo building within me, and when I finally came, it was sudden and explosive, and so all-encompassing that my vision blurred. I screamed, voice hoarse and strident, tasting the musty mattress, my cry muffled against it. He jerked his cock deep inside me a few more times, letting me ride the waves, my whole body limp now; limp and weak as a kitten. I couldn't have moved if I tried.

He rolled me over and I felt the hot splash of his come on my tits. He grunted and jerked his thick shaft with one hand, his face a rictus of pleasure. I was still insensible; all I could do was lie there as he jerked off on me like I was no more than a pin-up from a magazine he'd just used and discarded. My pussy was still twitching with the after-effects of my own massive orgasm.

"I think I will take the house," he said, looking around the room now as he casually tucked his cock back inside his pants and zipped them up, nodding with a satisfied little smirk. "It's perfect. I will be contacting you, Miss O'Neal."

He leaned down and picked up my black panties that had been discarded on the floor at some point during our struggles. He tossed them over toward me, smiling as he said, "Count on it."

Then he walked out, leaving me there on the bed, shamed, humiliated, thoroughly fucked, and still delirious from the most intense orgasm I'd ever had in my life.