Paul stood a few feet away from the woman who sat on the bed, looking her over again. She had strawberry blonde hair that reached almost to her shoulders before curling up. Green eyes, light brows and long lashes, these slightly darker then her hair. Her skin was light, and on her cheeks and button nose he could see freckles. She had good teeth and almost pouty lips, which were opposed to her nature, which was cheerful.
This was Trish. She was wearing tan slacks and jacket, and a white button down blouse. This was her bedroom, with family pictures on the wall and dressers. None of the furniture matched, and there was peeling paint. Her family barely made it. Watching her he could detect that her breath was quickening, a slight sheen of sweat showed both on her forehead and at the base of her throat. Not the first woman like this that he trapped, a wife and mother, but perhaps the best; so cute and innocent, on the PTA and Church Auxiliary. He was going to make sure she carried today for the rest of her life. Finally he spoke.
"Well Trish, you know the rules, right?"
"Ah, yes, I do, I understand, I, I can quit anytime, but then, well that would be it."
"Yes it would. What else?"
"I, I must answer your questions, no nodding, or anything, and, and I will do anything you want, and, and I need you to know, well, that, ah, I want to, that I, I like it...right?"
Tears were welling in her eyes, her long lashes batting them back.
"That's right Trish, so let's start. Do you undress in front of your husband?"
"No, well when we went on our honeymoon, I guess we did, but no."
Again her voice was trembling.
"Have you ever stripped in front of any man Trish?"
His eyes bored on her.
"No, I never did...anything like that."
"But you want to take off your clothes now, right?"
Now she knew she just had to do it, she had no choice, her family, and she, was on the line. Everything. She stood up.
"Yeah, yeah I do, can I Paul, can I undress now?"
She was trembling, tears welling up; any woman would be reacting this way right now, but he had boosted this effect. He nodded.
She took off her jacket, placed it on a nightstand. Then she started unbuttoning her blouse. As he told her, she kept her eyes on his. As the blouse fell open he could see her white skin, and her bra. She pulled the item out from the pant's waist band, unbuttoned the cuffs. Then she pulled it off one arm, then the other. Then she pulled it off her shoulders, placing it on top of her jacket. Next came her slacks. Now she stood in front of him in her bra and panties. Both were white and conservative, no Victoria's Secret gal here.
Her breath was coming quicker now, and Paul could she sweat beading up on the top of her cleavage, which showed above her bra. She didn't have a flat tummy, but it had just a slight roll of flesh, and her navel was perfect. He had her stop.
"You're fucking hot, Trish, I bet your husband must want to fuck all the time, right?"
"Ah, we, we you know, we have...I mean we fuck, maybe not a lot, but..." she was shy now.
"But today you going to fuck aren't you?"
She switched, remembering the "rules."
"Yeah, yeah, we're going to fuck, yeah Paul, you're going to, you'll fuck me, right?"
"Go on then, let me see those fucking tits."
She reached behind and unclasped her bra, shrugged the straps off her shoulders, and let it fall to the carpet. Her breasts were 36D, ripe, not pointing out, but no sag. And large aureoles, the size of saucers, with nipples as thick as her thumb, flaccid right now. Her skin was creamy white, with scattered freckles. Belying her words she was obviously nervous; Sweat ran down her cleavage, he could see her hands trembling.
"When you were in high school did you have big tits Trish?"
"Ah yeah, yes."
"And you let the boys feel them?"
"Well, yeah, I guess, I, I..."
She almost was panicking. Then, for whatever reason, maybe he knew? He knew everything. She answered him.
"I got drunk once at a party, and, and well, somehow I ended up in the basement, and I, well there were a bunch of boys."
"Go on."
"They, they took off my, my sweatshirt and bra. I had to dance for them, and they all took turns feeling me up."
"But they didn't fuck you?"
"No."
"How many times in school did you blow a guy Trish?"
She swallowed, fighting back tears. What did he want?
"I had a boyfriend, we would make out, and after we were going for awhile, well at first I would you know, give him a hand job, but then, well he told me I had to, blow him."
"Did he cum in your mouth?"
"Sometimes." Sometimes on my clothes."
"Well, but today you want me to cum on you, right?"
"What, oh, yeah, can we start, fuck, Paul, come on, I want, you know, everything."
She spoke now in a husky low voice. She had found a "talk dirty" blog, and even asked a girl friend about "spicing things" up with her husband.
"Yeah, well leave your panties on for now."
"Ever take a man's clothes off?"
"No, no Paul." Again, everything she valued was at risk.
"But can I take off yours?"
He nodded. She stepped forward, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, then knelt down and unbuckled his belt, and pulled his pants down, then his boxers. Now his cock was right in front of her. She looked up at him. She struggled to control her emotions. She hated this, this trap she was in, but there was only one way out. She got closer, then set his cock in her cleavage, and started to pump on him. Her girlfriend had told her how her husband loved this.
"How's that Paul, I, I ...I love doing this"
"That's good..." He looked over to her dresser, on which was a picture of her daughter, Sandy, who just turned eighteen. She was in shorts and a T-Shirt, her legs and arms were tanned and fit, the loose fitting shirt didn't show her tits, but he had followed her and knew she was built. Her hair was a shade lighter than her Mom, but longer.
"I bet Sandy would do a good job of this, right Trish? She's got a good set, right?"
Trish froze at the mention of her daughter. Then, quickly.
"Oh, fuck, I, come on Paul, fuck me, I, I want, I need you to fuck me, really hard, you know!"
"No I don't Trish; I don't even believe you..."
Trish fought back panic. She wasn't even sure how Paul had taken over her life, but he had taken time to show her how he could ruin it, sending her kids away, losing her job.
"Oh, don't Paul, fuck, I need you, you know, come rape my ass, come on..."
"Go get on your bed...good, now take off your panties...there, good, with both hands, good, yeah, lift up your ass...that's it wiggle out of them"
She arched her back as she did what he instructed; when she got her panties off her hips she lay back down and lifted her legs up to finish. Once off she held the underwear in one hand, not knowing what to do with it.
"Just throw it on the floor."
His eyes devoured her now, as she lay there; her bush was small and light, her legs well formed; he had given her a mix of libido inhibitor and a nerve surpressor; almost no woman would be able to respond to the sexual activity she was about to experience in these circumstances; the notion that "their bodies betray them was bullshit; but the "cocktail" in a wine cooler would re-enforce this, in effect making her frigid. The idea of fucking this woman against her wishes, while making her act like she "wanted it" and then turning her body off, so that it would be that much harder to act, it actually turned him on.
He got the bed and climbed over her, squatting over her face.
"Now eat my ass..."
Four hours later Trish lay on her bed, in effect passed out. Her hair was matted to her head from sweat, the spread she lay was soaked also; her lips were swollen from Paul chewing on them. Her 36D breasts showed bite marks, red splotches', even high school hickies; her nipples, as thick and big as her thumb, he had bitten raw; her ass and thighs were all but covered with bright red welts from open palmed slaps. All of that had produced cries of pain from her, but when he told her she could quit she would beg for more. And she got more. The fantasy of a woman actually getting turned on, cuming in spite of herself when in taken like this was bullshit.
