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You, Alexandria, enter the stairwell, then launch yourself at the stairs, taking them two at time. Reaching your flat in no time, you are soon inside, locking the door behind you. Shedding your clothing, you move through the flat. Freeing your long, dark hair, you shake your head back and forth gently, causing the ends to caress the soft skin at the small of your back. Shivering slightly while your nipples harden, you make your way to the phone. Dialing, Ashley, your best friend's number, you start singing as it is answered.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you-", you bellow out.

"Okay, okay!" Your best friend laughs. "I get it! When will you be here?"

"I'll meet you at the bar," you say, "by eleven; i want to take a nap first." Saying your goodbyes, you hang up the phone satisfied and smiling. This provides you four whole hours before you'd even have to leave the flat; plenty of time. Still full from a late lunch, you head for the shower. Stepping inside, you turn the hot water on full. Slowly you add cold water until the stream from the faucet is just slightly cooler than too hot to handle. Redirecting the water, you jump slightly as it flows out of the shower head cold. Your nipples harden further. Soon, the spray soothes your body as your mind drifts. Thoughtlessly, peacefully, you lather your luxurious hair, breathing in rosehips and jasmine. Twenty minutes later, you emerge, bright red and scrubbed clean. Feeling refreshed, you are relaxed, even sleepy. Rubbing at your scalp with a soft, fluffy towel, you squeeze your wet hair nearly dry. You pat your warm skin and then hang your towel. After reaching for your moisturizer, you massage it into your arms as you pad through the kitchen to the bedroom.

Surveying the tidy room, you consider picking out your clothes for the night. 'Nah,' you ponder, 'time for that later,' and press play on the CD player. The Sound of Silence from Disturbed fills the room as you roll your yoga mat onto the floor. Technically, the music should be soft for stretches, but you do not care. You love Disturbed; besides, it is not so loud that the neighbours will hear it, though they would not be surprised if they did. Often you play music loudly, but only before nine pm. The waves of sound ebb through the room and you believe you feel every voice, every instrument, washing over your body. You sit, cross-legged, closing your eyes and allow yourself to float with the sounds. You comb your hair with your fingers, enjoying the tugging on your scalp as you negotiate the tiny knots in your soft strands. When your hair is smooth, you go to your hands and knees, arching your back high. Tucking your chin against your chest, you stretch your neck, as well as the muscles down your spine to tailbone. You relish the cat stretch, always have and while not admitting it aloud (except to Khambrel); it always makes you slightly horny, reminding you of being taken from behind. Your sex dampens and then you arch your back forward, reversing the stretch. You sigh, counting the days, rather, months, since you last had sex. Sighing again, you decide that if masturbating counted, you were getting it more often than most married women you know. You giggle and reverse the stretch again; inhaling and exhaling deeply, you release what is left of the day's stress. A sense of calm floods your body and mind. You think again about being penetrated, enjoying the rush of warmth which floods your sex. 'Perhaps I'll pick up,' you imagine, then laugh softly. 'Perhaps not,' you choose firmly. You can not stand the idea of bringing a stranger into your home and there was no way in hell you are going alone to some unknown man's place. 'I must be really horny,' is your impression, as you suppose something brush against your ass. Chuckling again, you are halfway through reversing the stretch, your back is parallel to the floor. Unexpectedly a big hand lands hard on your bare ass. The slap resounds throughout the room. Too late, you fearfully realize what you had earlier missed; you are not alone at all.

A big hand twists in your hair and yanks you to your feet. Filling your lungs and diaphragm with air as you are elevated, you prepare to scream. With your projection, you are certain that the entire block would hear it. As you open your mouth, a second hand clamps around your throat, rendering your sound useless. It squeezes your windpipe, just slightly. Now you commence clawing at the arm which holds your throat. Simultaneously you kick with your bare feet at the shins behind you, making contact, but in no way moving the assailant.

Your head is yanked back forcefully and you find yourself staring at the ceiling, while you are dragged backwards just a few inches against a chest in what felt like a cotton blend dress-shirt. Renewing your struggles as your firm ass comes to rest against a hard erection, barely contained by a pair of men's dress pants. A cold belt buckle meets the small of your back, which you arch forward, trying to get away. The hand at your throat tightens and you feel a pair of lips touch your temple, then your ear.

"Shut your mouth unless I tell you to open it," the voice tells you, calmly demanding. "And stop kicking me." Each word delivered as though he expects, implicitly, to be obeyed. "Do you understand me?" He asks, as the hand closes more tightly around your throat. Nodding quickly, repeatedly, you begin trembling. You are anxious to breathe once again. Your assailant must be satisfied, though, because the hand loosens. Taking advantage of the break you gasp, gulping for air.

"Turn it up," he instructs you, shoving you forward until you stand before the stereo. After aiming for the volume knob, you comply immediately. The hand at your throat nearly flies through the air only to land low on your left ass check, stinging it hotly. "Louder than that," he demands still calm, in control, but irritated. Hurrying to oblige only rewards you with being half-flung, have-shoved across the room to your bed. Landing hard on your stomach, the air rushes out of your lungs as he comes down atop you. Grabbing your wrists tight and pulling them behind you, he pins you with one hand as he raises his body weight off your back.

He drags you back against him until your ass connects with his groin once again, his erection even harder now. For some reason you note somewhat dully that he must not be wearing any underwear as he pushes down on your back, sinking your torso slightly into the mattress. With his free hand, he snaps open his belt, quickly undoing his pants. Your suspicion is confirmed as his black dick springs forward, resting against the crease of your ample ass.

You try to dance away, embarrassed. 'Embarrassed?' You rethink, 'What the hell? I should be mortified! Horrified! Angry!' Starting to fight wildly, you struggle against him as a myriad of thoughts float to your consciousness. These, you battle even more wildly. He bends over you while slipping a hand under your face, covering your mouth and blocking your nostrils. This cuts off your air once again.

"Relax," he demands, speaking into your ear. "Relax," He repeats. As you do so, he moves his hand to allowing you to breathe through your nostrils. You do, gratefully, deeply.

"Get used to the feeling, slut." You wince as you thrill at the word. "This nigger dick is going be all over you and everywhere inside of your body before I'm done with you. You might as well deal with it now." He stands once again, removing his hand from your mouth and yanks your ass against him. "And nice height for your bed, by the way, slut."

You almost laugh out loud when he mentions that. You had designed it and had a friend custom-build the bed frame expressly so that when you stand, legs straight and spread wide, you could rest your torso and chest comfortably on the bed. This would make it easier for your lover (you were planning on taking another one, eventually) to take your from behind. Or, in the event that he wishes it, when you straighten your firm legs, drawing them together, your ass would be a few inches higher than your shoulders, giving him easy access to your sex. The headboard and footboard of the bed frame, which appeared to be collections of thick beams and dowels placed randomly and vaguely artistically, are actually specifically designed to suit a number of bondage positions you had always imagined you would try. Your friend does not know this, of course, as he was building it. In your dirty mind you suspected somehow, that he should known. Even in your embarrassment over that thought at the time, you simply had to have it built. The irony of this being your first sexual encounter in your dream bed does not escape you.

The sound of his belt snapping fiercely in the air brings your attention back to the present. His pants are off. You feel his hard, naked thighs shoving their way between your own. She Clenching your muscles, you are trying desperately to disallow him access. You bounce on your toes, thinking to make it up onto the mattress and somehow escape this assault. He laughs as you squirm. In time you realize that your futile efforts to get away are only causing him greater pleasure, the tip of his dick thudding hard against your sacrum while his heavy balls mash against your cheeks. Once you still, he leans into you once again. This time you make way for him, grudgingly, to stand between your thighs. His own legs are parted slightly, when yours, are parted wide. The balls of your feet and your toes linger barely gripping the floor.

"Now there's a good little slut," He tells you, chuckling, as he rests on your back to speak in your ear once again. "You do learn quickly, whore." Stiffening, you are dismayed at the wetness in your sex as he says such things to you. His tone is alarmingly familiar, as though he has known you all your life. You wonder if they could have been lovers, had you met him, in some other way. Then you quickly and harshly chastise yourself for even thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Your conflict rages on as he wrenches at your elbows, extending your arms, pinning your wrists easily with one hand against the mattress. You observe how pliant you had become, struggling again, just on principle. You kick your legs wildly and twist your sexy torso, jostling him back and forth atop of you.

Unexpectedly, he steps from between your legs positioning himself beside your thigh. You cease struggling a moment, in your confusion and he starts raining hard blows on your ass. Spanking you hard with his open hand, you leave stinging welts all over your bottom. Crying out, you resume fighting. Aware you that you have been betrayed by your own sex. It is wet, slick and convulsing as he continue to beat your ass soundly. You are desperate that he should not know, but somewhere in there, your hips too, betraying you. Your own voice, which you believe you had mastered, does as well. A cry at one point, turns into a moan and the jerk of your hips, an undulation. He persists in spanking and you are sure he missed it. Relieved, you resume struggling against him; your ass on fire and warmed by his hand.

He inserts his knee between your thighs, applying pressure against your pussy as he reclines over you once again, laughing in your ear.

"You like this, you fucking whore," he exclaims, derisively, but not overly so.

"I do not!" You scream, "You're a b**st! You're a fucking a****l! Let me go!" Now you fight harder than you had ever fought, as though your very life depends on it. And just as you shake him off of your back and maneuver your way out from under him, he throws his weight atop of you. Removing his knee from between your toned thighs, he plunges two fingers swiftly and deep into your soaking, bald cunt. Gasping loudly, you issue a shuddering two-part breath, as much from the sensation of his thick, long fingers crashing in and out of you pussy, as from sinking into the mattress beneath him.

"No!" Again, this time violently, you cry from somewhere deep inside. Despite bucking, kicking and twisting futilely, you are impaled upon his hand. Something within begins to crumble. Still you feel you need to protect that something, though you could not have name it. As a result, you continue fighting him, harder still, as tears set about streaming, embarrassment overcoming you.

"Please," sobbing, you plead, "Stop," as hot tears spilling across your cheeks, soaking into the mattress. "Stop, stop, stop," you persist in pleading, "Please, please, please stop." He does not stop, although he slows his movements, keeping them just as hard, lengthening the intervals between his knuckles, curled thumb, and other fingers slamming against your outer labium lips. They, by now, are all coated with your own reviled wetness. Tugging his hand from your snatch causes you to accidentally whimper. He replaces his knee between your thighs and brings his glistening fingers to your mouth. Witness him rubbing the wetness on your lips, forcing his fingers past your teeth. Pushing them down, onto your tongue, which flattened, results in you baring your teeth. Viciously you bite down. He releases your wrists. Feel him drag your head back against him by your hair. Before you really sink your teeth in, he is speaking in your ear softly. His tone is dangerously clear.

"Don't you fucking, dare." He punctuates every second word with a small slow jerk of your otherwise still head. You cease biting down immediately, but do not remove your teeth, your breathing fast and feral. Swallowing hard, you unwittingly licking his fingers as your tongue convulses. Your frown is deep and menacing, even desperate. Your face contorts with a rage you do not understand. But despite your intensity, you realize with surprising clarity that this is the first time since the ordeal began that you feel you are in imminent danger.

"Open... your mouth," he directs, "Now." He speaks commandingly, slowly; barely containing a grievous anger. It is an outrage that crushes you more succinctly than his weight. Complying quickly, you removing your teeth from within the flesh of his fingers. They are just nanometers from breaking the skin. You swallow again, hard this time.

"Now clean them and do it well, whore." He mutters menacingly, all the while jamming his knee into your pussy. It is a reminder that he holds all the cards. You hesitate marginally, which he assumes is a cue, tugging straight up on your hair with it trapped within his fist. The follicles pop as they release their strands, giving them away to the strength of his hand. Swallowing again, you move your dry, cold tongue against the invaders, his right index and middle fingers. Your breathing eases as your mouth moistens again, without the fast wind in and out to dry it. Your juices have glazed hard on his fingers. The stickiness requires many licks to remove. Somewhere in there you detect the faintest flavour of blood, the metallic sensation causing the muscles in your jaw to tighten. Afraid, or perhaps just wiser now, you force the convulsion to open rather than close your mouth. Not much of a fighter, you are no fool. You will not risk this man's wrath with another attempt to crush his control. 'Not right now,' you reckon, 'at least, not like this,' stoking your rebellious fires for some later, more effective use.

Rising swiftly, he releases your hair. Plus, he frees your mouth from his presence there. You cringed as you realize just hairs before, what is about to happen to your poor ass.

He attacks viciously this time. Too late, you comprehend, he has been holding back. Your ass is treated to a series of welts upon welts. Your blood rises fast to the surface, swelling and heating every place that he punishes.

"OWWW!!" You yell as he lands his fingers, just curling against your wetness. He grips the fattiest part of your ass, a cheek in each hand, and hauls you up to a kneel position on the bed. Scrambling to follow his lead, you offer no resistance as he pushes at her knees. This exposes your glistening gash. He vaults atop the mattress. Discerning in horror, you figure what is about to happen. Struggling in a frenzied fashion, you feel him straddle your back, facing your ass. At the same time, he clutches your arms where they meet your shoulder blades, squeezing with his knees. Elevating his hand high above his head, he slams the hand down with such accuracy and speed that the stinging in your sex nearly allows you to jump from beneath his weight. Tears erupt into your eyes. As a result, you renew your pleading, somehow believing, or needing to believe, that there is something you could do to stop this.

"Please!" you wail out, "Owww! NO! No! Please," you whimper again, "No." Your howling falls on deaf ears though, or so it seems. The punishment drags on and on, each slap landing exactly where the one before had. They turn your damp lips crimson, setting your whole sex ablaze. His slaps rock you right through your core. You rock back and forth, but is otherwise still. The tears and crying are punctuated now, with great, heaving sobs from your gut. The mattress is thoroughly soaked with tears, your eyes brilliantly blue in their crying. By the time that he travels to your thick thighs. Again, each slap is painfully hard. He moves around more, setting fire to the tops of your legs. As he realigns his blows to connect with your reddening ass, they are delivered in a wild offbeat staccato. They varying in impact, as well as in placement. You soon register feather light taps that light upon welts to deliver the fire deep inside. Occasionally, he cup your ass, or your snatch, which is still burning painfully, but slick once again with your juices.

You are unable to describe it, you refuse to try. The diatribe, otherwise incessant within you, is finally quiet, at rest. Your sobbing continues as the cupping increases and soon it is more of a shuddering, convulsive pattern of breathing, than an outright cry. Just as you take your deep breaths, to calm yourself once again. He climbs off your back, grabbing your long hair in a folded fist's length from the ends and tug. Jerking your head back, he departs the bed. Since the alternative is having your hair ripped from your head, you follow. You try your best to keep up. Getting off the floor just a second after he does, you obligingly follow him the few steps from the bed where he stops. Releasing your hair, you are pushed to your knees before him, eyes level with his long, hard sex. You avert your gaze, eventually finding yourself looking up into a dark, handsome face.

"That was your punishment for biting my fingers," he state, his voice vaguely shaky, looking for the first time down in your shimmering, blue eyes, "and now, you are going to say sorry." You look up at him, slightly confused, opening your mouth to apologize. Opening it wider as immediately, he spear your mouth with his rigid sex. Plunging fast, past your molars to the back of your palate, gliding swiftly across your gag reflex. With a minute angle adjustment, it delves deep into your well surprised throat. Cupping your head in his hands, he holds it there a second. Surprised, you try swallowing, but gag. Next you attempt shallow breathing through your nose. As your sinuses reel, the scent of him fills your consciousness. Pulling you away, he allows you a moment. Quickly, he spears you again, deeply, repeatedly, as you gaze into his brown eyes.

A part of you wants to place the face and the eyes, thinking you know. Another part simply enjoys having your jaw open as you get lost within those eyes. You locate nothing you expect there. Those brown depths offer no trace of malice, no rage, no bitterness, not even judgment. You are wondering at his motives for being in your flat, for taking you like this. Noticing him watching you back, assessing you; you feel the stare is much too much, his scrutiny too intense. It is like he is gauging your soul. Blinking rapidly, you cast your eyes downward, breaking the gaze, confused. You miss the successive flashes of emotion passing through the umber depths: pleasure, protectiveness, pride, even a brief glimpse of possessiveness. Staring at his retreating groin, you seek answers to the many questions you suddenly possess for your wildly leaping heart. Sensing his hold on your head shift almost imperceptibly, you know something important had transpired between them. You just can not say what it is....or will not; you are not quite sure.

Losing coherent thought to the sensation of him sliding you rapidly onto and off of his black, hard dick. Of course, he is engorged. He fills your throat each time he thrusts you down upon him. Rapidly, you obtain the hang of inhaling sharp breaths each time he pushes you away, exhaling only shallowly, so as never to run out of air. Your gag reflex settles, so your mouth and throat relax. Your jaw seems heavy, and drops, rather than forced as wide as it was. Recognizing a wave of passion, washing through you, you are slicking the bare, swollen lips of your pussy. You must remind yourself of the fact that this intruder had broken in, that you had not consented to sexual relations. He, in fact, forced you.

His fingers curl in your dark hair. Once again, he fills his fists with your strands. Pounding your soft mouth down hard on his erection, he roughly slams her into you. Resisting the urge to scratch at him, you recall with a tiny shift of your wide hips, the spanking your snatch had taken. That garnered a totally unexpected reaction. Yet you are noting how you gush wetly in response. While your cunt's muscles clench and unbidden, you relive the memory of his fingers inside of you.They flood your clouded mind. Moaning in your throat without meaning to results in your assailant picking up his pace. Now he is using your mouth recklessly.

Clinging on as best you can, you inhale whenever his thrusting allowed. He wrenches your hair hard, twisting large handfuls painfully, meanwhile his hard manhood still collides with your open mouth. Realizing his balls are tightening against your chin and lower lip, you know he is about to cum. Not prepared for the way that he rams you, keeping you pinned against his crotch, you are impaled. Witness his dick leaping and jumping in your warm, wet mouth and convulsing throat. He plunges himself, deeper and deeper still, forcing you to swallow his considerable load. Your throat twitches in unison with his climax as semen slides into your stomach. In addition, it floods your cheeks around his dick, the pressure within your mouth increases. He seems to have no intention of letting your stuffed mouth free until you gulp his gift.

Slackening your mouth permits more cum to slip past his head, down your abused throat and into your belly. Schooling yourself on swallowing purposely, your mouth and throat undulate along his meaty length. Satisfied, he forces your head away, sliding you off of his semi erect dick. Catching yourself gasping for air, for the second time that night, you are once more jerked up to your feet your hair. Completely surprised when he kisses you hard, you have no choice as he explores, no ravages your mouth with his tongue. Sagging against him slightly, you but then remember you are being ****d. You flail your arms, pushing against his chest as he breaks the kiss. Chuckling, he clutch you still as you resume your futile struggling.

"Good apology, slut," he laughs. With that he forces you backwards, knocking you off balance. Falling on you as you land on the bed, he releases his hands from your tangled tresses to trap your wrists. His hands easily encircling and dragging them over your head. This time he restrains your thumbs together, wrapping his index and middle fingers around them. This pins them tightly together, holding you there. Insulted by the ease at which his two fingers immobilizes both your hands and struggling arms, you kick your legs wildly and thrash with your torso as best you are able.

Chuckling, he drags his index finger firmly, but gently from your forehead across the corner of your eye, down your cheek and to your bottom lip. He rubs you there gently while you still struggle. Your body eventually slows its fighting without permission. Still chuckling, he absorbs the perplexed look in your eyes.

"Still think that you don't like this, slut?" Gasping another sharp double intake of breath, you renew your struggle. Your focus is on breaking your thumbs free of his fingers' iron grip. He laughs low in his throat, sounding irritatingly self-assured.

"You should relax a bit, whore, you might enjoy this even more than you are already," and with that he plunges the same two fingers from earlier on back into your pussy, which is running, wet with cream. Forgetting your struggle a second, you arch yourself up to him as he penetrates you swift and deep, pounding in and out. This churns your juices up to a thick, foamy froth while whipping your lust. Lust you so try to hide. It leaves you panting and moaning, whimpering loudly as his hand slams against you. His fingers curl inside of you. Yelping, you jump as his thumbnail presses into your swollen clitoris. It pins your sensitive bud between the tip of the nail and the tip of his two fingers lodged. For a second, you are absolutely still. Your eyes burst wide open with bewilderment and disbelief as you recognize the feeling that shoots through your abdomen and violated sex. You need to cum.

"DO NOT fucking cum, you little whore." He whispers threateningly into your ear. Jerking your head away, at him you then frown and glare. Your eyes narrow, full of one question.

"You think I do not know when a slut needs to cum?" He laughs at you, softly, just barely derisively, but worst of all knowingly. Again you resume fighting as his thumbnail digs deeper into your tender clit. He inserts his fingers into you harder, in time adding a third and curling that one, too. You could not decide which sensation to focus on; the pain in your clitoris as he ravages the tender bud, which is seldom even touched, let alone manipulated roughly. Or do you focus the pleasure radiating through your G-spot, which eggs you on. It has you ready to beg yourself to give in and cum. Settling on fighting both for the moment, you are walking the edge of some unexplored precipice within yourself when he suddenly shifted gears.

Arising quickly, he drags your hands by the thumbs down to rest on top of your pubic mound. Simultaneously he plants himself firmly between your knees, which had at some point, lost their fight. He pushes your own hands against your mound as he quickly releases your clit from beneath his thumbnail. Screaming, you buck as the blood rushes to engorge your most sensitive spot. Skillfully he spreads his fingers wide inside of you, still curled and pushing against that irritating spot deep inside. The sensation quickly turns back to lust and you obtain reached for your orgasms, without even thinking. Hunching yourself further, you moan and bawl out loudly, almost there, just touching the edge of a release you know would curl your toes.

"I told you no already, slut". He snaps, annoyed and frowning. You actually grunt at him, low and angrily as he removes his fingers. Your glare into his bemused brown eyes as he brings his fingers again to your mouth speaks volumes. He hovers, his fingers just out of reach of your mouth, which is full of gritting and bared teeth.

"And now you know, little slut," he exclaims, as he paints your lips, chin and neck, "what not to do. Do you not?" Once more you coldly contract your eyes and glare harder. You also are breathing heavily, smelling yourself on his fingers and on your own face.

"Do you not, whore?" He asks, as he squeezes your cheeks on either side of your mouth. You decide to save your fight and nod at him quickly, still flaming him with your blue eyes.

"You are such a smart little slut, a good whore." He teases, his voice filled with the timbre of actual praise. You feel a part of yourself thrilled at that; a large part, in fact. "More enthusiasm this time, whore," he instructs you. Shocked, you discover your enjoyment in doing his bidding. Sucking greedily, you are lapping with your tongue, as he inserts one big finger at a time into your wet and willing mouth.

"You are such a good slut," he chuckles. "I knew you would love being a whore." Still glaring at him questioningly, your mind races as you attempt placing his face again. However the only answer you obtain is his hands digging into your hips as he tugs your ass to the edge of the mattress. By now his engorged erection rams deep into your wet cunt.

Embarrassed, you feel yourself squirt as he pounds you. In fact, he is no longer even holding your hands captive. You fling them out to reach and pound at his chest out of sheer pretense, now.

"Stop," he commands you, as you roll the small of your back into the mattress to reach for him. Again, to your own surprise, you comply.

"Be a good whore," he taunts. "Curve your back the other way. Slip your hands under there like a good slut." Doing everything he instructs you to, you do not even question your desire to obey. The entire time your thoughts are basic as you gasp loudly as the head of his shaft pops through the mouth of your cervix, pushing deeper inside. He rams in and out of you hard, digging into your hip with his right hand. The curved bone is beneath his thumb. His left hand snakes under your ass as he hoists you up. You are not prepared for him plunging even deeper as you scream out, in pain and pleasure. Grasping your thumbs again, he traps your hands, and forces you to bend even further. Now you are resting on your shoulders and neck. Your round ass is supported by your hands trapped in his. He releases your hip and throws your left leg over his shoulder. He is now permitted to push in further, harder and faster. Shocking you, you relish the mixture of pain and pleasure. Screaming out again and again, you tightened around his prick.

"No, slut! No cumming!" He yells, punctuating each word with a deep hard thrust. You think he is crazy for a second, but bear down hard anyway. Still you are doing your best to obey. Your eyes squeeze tightly close. Grimacing, you clench your teeth while growling from low in your throat.

"Now," he informs you, as he reaches around your leg and squeezes your clit tightly, "Now you can ask me if you can cum." Your eyes pop open, you stare at him incredulously. He stares right back, challenging you, daring you to ask his permission. Growling again louder, you glare at him defiantly. Working your newly strengthened torso muscles, you undulate on his thrusting dark dick. You are intent on finding your own release. He twists your aching clitoris painfully between his thumb and side of his forefinger.

"I told you NO, whore!" He raises his voice slightly, foreboding and forbiddingly as you howl and jump in pain.

"Oww!! Stop! Okay! Okay! Please stop, please stop, I'll ask!" you plead, your ragged breathing deep and fast. Her voice approaches a shrill tone. He releases your clit. With confidence he watches your face as the pain and the pleasure of the blood rushing back in writes itself all over your pretty features.

"You think it will be that easy, slut?" He asks incredulously, laughing when you have calmed a little. "I do not think so, whore. You will call me Sir when you ask this time, just for good measure, so you do not forget who's running things here. Do you understand that, slut?"

"Yes I understand!" You resume pleading, still undulating. You are reeling from the pain in your clit and cunt. Or from the pleasure; you are not sure which. But he knows what you have not admitted to yourself yet; he knows it is both.

"I don't hear any begging, slut, you must not want to come," he retorts, grabbing your engorged clit and crushing it. At the same moment, he is ramming your juicy pussy as rough as he is able without pushing himself over the edge.

"I do! I do! Please!" Weeping,you are amazed at the wave of wetness that crashes within your vulva as he pinches your clitoris even harder. "Sir!" you shriek, "Sir!" It is stunning how easily the title slips from your mouth. You desperately crave a much needed release; you need it so bad that you reiterate, just to be sure. "Please, Sir, let me cum!" Sexually, your vagina is clenched around him as he steadily ramming your unused cunt with his hard nine inch length of black dick. Squeezing your muscles, with breath held; you do everything you can to fend of the orgasm you are so, so close to.

"Good girl, you may cum, my little whore." He demands in a debasing fashion. As soon as the words leave his full lips, you quit struggling. You let your bruised body do its work. Rhythmically engulfing his hard shaft, feel how your clit pulses beneath his fingers. Meanwhile the muscles in the small of your back tighten then release. A glorious wetness washes through you, from head to toe, it seems. It rages forth, carrying you to a dizzying height of awareness of your body And of the man who possesses it. Nothing else matters, or even exists as you crest the first wave of your welcomed orgasm. You feel your muscles relaxing minutely.

Letting go of your clit, he pummels your deep gash harder. Howling in surprise as a fresh wave propels you upward. You surrender to your muscles tightening, toes curling and mouth working soundlessly until you reach your pinnacle and cry out from the depths. Tears escape your eyes as your body trembles violently. Your every nerve is alive with pleasure. Your breath catches in your throat repeatedly. By now you are only able to babble incoherently between gulps of air as you battle to calm yourself. But he is not done with you yet.

"This time," he grunts, punctuating his rhythm by slapping your tender ass, "You're going to thank me, whore." With that he unleashes himself, fucking you hard and deep, in utter abandon, continually slapping your plump ass with his hand. Your perineum is being assaulted by his heavy, aching balls.

Moaning, you notice him tightening within you. Being speared aggressively, the walls of your pussy constrict. You feel every vein straining within his penis. The head pulsates and shudders within you. With little warning, the current roars as he cums inside you. Your wild spasms are beyond your control. As your wide hips buck against him, the mouth of your cervix seizes around his head convulsively. Spraying him inside and out as you climax, you enjoy him erupting mightily. Clutching your leg, he continues pounding. Well lubricated, his manhood glides smoothly, riding on their combined wetness. He grumbles hard as he sprays semen. His movements shove further the penetrating fluids into this woman who writhes, bucks and wails out triumphantly beneath him.

Finally, his load is spent. He collapses, but rides out your aftershocks. Alternately pulled and pushed by the mouth of your cervix hammering down greedily, you feel it lapping up your cum. Exhausted, he drops onto his elbows over top of you. He nudges you gently until you provide room for him to get his wobbling knees up onto the bed, where you both slowly catch your breath together.

"Ah, what a sweet and wonderful slut," he breathes heavily, content; sated for the moment. He swipes the tears from your cheek, the sweat from your brow gently with the side of his thumb, and darts his tongue to your lashes. This captures the tears. Then he kisses you deeply, sharing with you gently. Now you are breathing deeply while keeping your eyes closed.Of course, you are unsure of what one says to a man whose both has ****d and yet has given you the best sex of your life all at once, fulfilling two fantasies in one short evening. Resolving not to think, you float gently into his strong arms as he pulls you both onto your sides. Slipping from you, you spill a wetness that spreads a huge damp pool beneath you. Sighing, you drift off to sleep without intending to.

Awaking an hour later in a cold wet puddle, you are covered with the afghan from the couch. A single tea candle floats languidly in a glass bowl half-full of water. In front of the bowl, you glimpse a note and jump off your bed. Wincing at the pain, you cross the room.

"You have a birthday party to get to, my darling, little whore," It reads. "And here are your spare keys and wallet which you left in my store on Tuesday night. My number is on the back of this page and you are to ring me when you are ready for more, which you will be within a few days. Take an Epsom salt bath before you go out to remove a bit of the swelling, if you like. This is the last time you will be allowed this luxury, so I would suggest you do it now, before an evening of dancing, when you have been offered the first and last chance. Enjoy your evening, slut and ring me soon."

The note is unsigned. Although you now recall where you had seen him, you have no idea what his name is. The number on the back is no clue, so you set it back on the shelf with the candle. It casts a flickering light and shadows on your darkened bedroom walls.

Glancing at the clock, you see that you have only forty five minutes before you are to meet your friends. Deciding to take the Epsom salt bath, you stop at the phone to ring your friends, letting them know would be a little bit late. You are unable to imagine dancing in your sore and swollen state, but you resolve not to miss the party. As you retrieve the mobile, you notice that crisp, grey dress shirt he had been wearing when you first laid eyes upon him, from on your knees at his feet. Another note lay on the shirt.

"A keepsake for you, sweet slut," it says simply, followed by "You forgot to thank me, whore, and we still need to fill that ass of yours." This time a single uppercase character completes the note. You read....

"- K."