(Again, this one is one i originally wrote for another site; it’s a bit darker and nastier than my usual approach – read “Winston’s Witch” for a contrast. One important tag is intentionally left off because it would be a spoiler. All of the potential squicks i see are tagged, though, and i promise you this is not a snuff or similar story…)

(I really need to get around to explaining who Nikki is, precisely, and why her sex shop/boutique seems to be bigger on the inside than the outside…)

He’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting, nursing a couple of beers, watching the Saturday night crowd swirl in and out of the bar. His eyes kept coming back to one woman in particular — a tall, slender redhead with firm tits under a tight clinging top and legs that went on forever up to the skirt that shaped her round ass and barely covered her cunt. He wasn’t exactly sure, but he thought he remembered trying to talk to her and being completely ignored by the yuppie bitch. Thinking about that, he vaguely wondered why he couldn’t remember how long he’d been here, or when he’d come here. But he wasn’t drunk, so it couldn’t have been too long… and the thought faded from his mind.

Guys kept coming on to the redhead, and the bitch just brushed them off like flies. Oh, sometimes she’d dance with one, but not more than once with the same guy, and she managed to get rid of them pretty quickly after the dances were over.

God she was hot out there on the dance floor — she only danced the ones that gave her a chance to strut her body and shake those braless tits, and sometimes her skirt would ride up enough that he thought he could see her bush…


Jesus, it was a boring night. There wasn’t a guy in the place that I liked, and I was tired of turning off the creeps who kept coming on to me. There were a couple who were okay to dance with, but then they wanted to talk, and I wasn’t interested in anything they had to say.

It was a real turn-on, though, out there on the dance floor, letting the would-be studs get a little feel, shaking my breasts in their faces.

I had decided that I was going to be naughty tonight; I stopped by Hot Rags on the way home from the office and spent way too much for the sluttiest outfit Nikki had on sale that was still just this side of making me look as if I planned to peddle it on the street corners. The tight knit top showed off the fact that my 36C tits were still high and firm and didn’t need any artificial support; the tight black buttery-soft leather skirt made it clear that the only thing under it besides me was a sheer pair of pantyhose, and the red fuck-me pumps with their straps and clunky four inch heels completed the outfit.

And then I headed out to the Kumaniwanalea Lounge, the sleasiest pick-up joint near ESU. I was going to find me some college stud, a jock, and take him home and fuck him till he couldn’t move.

At least that was the plan.

But they were all so boring.

Suddenly, I couldn’t take this crummy joint and all the phony studs out to score, strutting their muscles and money for the girls on the meat rack. The hell with it — i was going home and use my vibrator.


She was leaving. Alone. None of the guys were good enough for the stuck-up cunt, it seemed. Huh. Someone ought to teach her a lesson.

Without consciously deciding, he set down his beer, shoved a ten across the stick, and began working his way through the crowd toward the door.

By the time he was outside in the cool air, she was half a block down the street, her heels tapping a rhythm on the pavement as she briskly walked toward the parking garage. It seemed as if his feet stepped out in the same direction without his volition, not quite running, but moving fast enough that he could see that he would overtake her near the entrance to the garage.

He looked around. There was nobody else in sight; it was too early for the early crowd to be heading out, and not late enough that the after-hours bunch were arriving yet.

Good, he thought, there’ll be no-one to see or hear… And then he wondered why he cared.


I hadn’t realised just how dark it was in the streets around here in the evenings, or how deserted. Not that I was worried; the area around the University was one of the safest parts of town — aside from the occasional cheerleader gangrape by ESU football players, that is.

And it wasn’t far to my car in the garage.


Someone was behind me.

I reached in my bag and pulled out a mirror, pretended to check my makeup.

It was that weird guy from the bar. The one who sat and stared at me the whole time I was there. Even when I wasn’t looking his way, I could feel his eyes on me; and it was as if I was naked in front of him.

I hurried a little. Once I was in my car, I would be safe.


She’d seen him. She’d speeded up.

Good. The bitch was afraid of him. It gave him a sense of power to know it.

She’ll be even more afraid soon, he thought. And then wondered what he’d meant by that thought.

She hurried through the garage entrance, and managed to duck into the elevator. The door closed before he could catch it and the elevator started upward.


I cowered against the back of the elevator as I saw him lunge to try to stop it. But he was too late; I was on my way up to my car and safety.

The elevator was slow but steady; the floors clicked away on the indicator above the door — two, three, four… five. It stopped, the doors sighed open and I could see my car. I stepped out.

“Got you, bitch,” a harsh voice growled in my ear as a powerful arm wrapped around my waist and a rough hand clasped itself over my mouth. As he spun me around into the shadows behind the elevator shaft, I heard him panting for breath and saw the open stairway door.


She struggled ineffectually as he dragged her into the shadows. He snatched the scarf from around her neck, shoving it into her mouth as an improvised gag. He snapped the handcuffs (Handcuffs? Why was he carrying handcuffs?) from his back pocket onto her wrist and to a standpipe as he shoved her roughly down onto a litter of sacking and discarded carpeting in the shadows.

She tried again to kick him, then lay still in wide-eyed terror as he opened a folding hunting knife, flashing the razor-sharp blade in front of her eyes.

“That’s right, bitch — lay there and enjoy it,” he grated out, reaching forward with the tip of the knife to touch her belly just below the edge of her top.


I knew that my legs were splayed wide open as i fell, and that my skirt was riding up onto my hips. I tried to fight, tried to breathe around the mass of cloth that he jammed into my mouth. Then I felt the cold metal on my wrist, felt my arm wrenched above my head and shackled to a pipe.

He pulled out that huge knife, and I was suddenly afraid that this might be more than rape — suppose he was a psychotic killer. What was he going to do? Would my mutilated corpse be the front page in tomorrow’s papers?

I felt the cold metal of the knife against my belly, and I sobbed in terror, then lay still as he slashed upward between my breasts, completely slashing through my tube top. I lay there, tits exposed, as he stood back and looked down at me. Wind blew across my breasts, and, despite the terror I felt, I could feel my nipples rising a bit in the cold air.

Reaching down, he clutched my left breast in his hand and brutally squeezed it; not so hard as to herm me, but painfully. He pressed his palm over my nipple, rubbing it back and forth, then twisting and tweaking it with his fingers. I was astonished and angered to feel my flesh responding in spite of the situation; to feel my nipple rising and hardening even more.


He grinned humourlessly as he felt her nipple pressing against her palm; they were all alike; all sluts, bitches in heat. All it took was a real man to get them panting for it.

He let go of her tit, reached down, under her ridden-up skirt, and roughly clutched her mound through the sheer pantyhose. Despite his weight pinning her and the cuff binding her arm to the waterpipe above her head, her body bucked as her eyes widened and she made garbled sounds of protest through her nose and the gag in her mouth.

“Like that, do you?” he grinned, deliberately misinterpreting her reaction. As she frantically shook her head and twisted her hips, trying to escape his hand, he let one middle finger trail slowly along the lips of her cunt, back and forth. Leaning forward as he did so, he bit at her erect nipple, sucking it into his mouth and roughly attacking it with his tongue.

Her eyes widened again, but this time in surprise. Moist heat began to make itself felt through the crotch of her pantyhose; he felt her pussylips beginning to open under his rough touch.


I couldn’t believe it — my body was beginning to react to his attack; I could feel heat beginning to rise in my belly and every time his teeth grazed a nipple, little jolts of something confusing, a mixture of pleasure and pain, shot through my entire body. I had to stop this somehow.

I twisted my hips, trying to get away from that hand that was probing at my pussy, stimulating it in spite of me, bringing more and more heat and more and more wetness between my thighs as my body began to ready itself for what was to come, whether I wanted it or not. I tried harder and harder to force out protests past the silk gag in my mouth, tried to turn my chest away from that maddening mouth that brought my traitor nipples even more throbbingly erect and hard, tried to jerk my self away from that hand…

Then he stood up and stepped back a bit — I couldn’t believe it — was it over?

He spoke again “Having a little trouble breathing with that thing in your mouth, aren’t you?” I nodded frantically, hardly daring to hope that he was going to take it out of my mouth… He reached down, grabbed one corner of the silk, and acted as if he were going to remove it, to let me breathe fully and talk again.


With a grin, he made a gesture as if to remove the gag, then let his hand fall away, relishing the disappointment in her eyes as he did so.

“Oh, I’m going to take it out,” he said. “But we can’t have you screaming — not yet, anyway.” He reached to his own waist, unbuckling and unzipping his pants, letting them fall, exposing his throbbing cock to her suddenly comprehending eyes. He reached out, grabbing her hair, and pulled her up to a kneeling position, her cuffed hand still behind her, bound to the vertical pipe.

With one hand he took hold of the corner of the scarf; the other one remained tangled in her hair. Jerking the silk from her mouth, he pulled her face forward, forcing her to face his massive cock as it jutted toward her, a drop of precum already oozing from the tip.

“Suck it, bitch,” he hissed.

“No… please, no…” she whimpered.

“Yes!” he barked. “Suck it, damn you!” he ordered as he forced her face forward, the head of his cock pressing against and then between her lips as she gave in and opened her mouth, letting it begin to slip inside. At first he was content to simply pump it between her lips into the warm wetness of her mouth, but soon he ordered again “Suck my cock, you lousy cunt!” When she still didn’t, he slapped her face once, then again. “Suck, bitch!”


The pain of the slaps cut through my panic and confusion — they didn’t really hurt a lot, but they stung and left my cheek burning, reminding me that he had me at his mercy; that he could do anything he wanted and I couldn’t stop him.

Using the hand in my hair to move my head back and forth, fucking my mouth relatively gently, he raised his hand again for another slap. Sobbing quietly around the huge cock filling my mouth, I began to do as he said, sucking at the head of the thing as it pushed in and out, even using my tongue to pleasure him more, trying to make him happy, hoping he wouldn’t hurt me seriously if I did what he wanted.

His free hand reached downward, and he began squeezing and manipulating my nipples and breasts again, and again, though I was sure that there would be bruises on my breasts if I survived this, I began to feel a perverse stimulation from the combination of pain and pleasure his hand brought me.

I thought that this humiliation was the worst my body’s traitorous reactions could bring me, but I hadn’t reckoned with my captor’s perverse imagination.

“Reach down and play with yourself, bitch,” he ordered me. I gagged on his cock, and looked up at his face as well as I could with his hand forcing my head down. But he was serious; I could see that he wanted to degrade me before he took me. “Reach down inside your goddamn pantyhose and play with your slut cunt, bitch!” he ordered, hand again raised to strike.

Slowly, hating myself for giving in, even though I had no choice, I reached downward with my free hand, touching the waistband of my pantyhose, then slipping my hand inside them, reaching still lower, till I felt my pubic hair and then the swollen lips and the warm moisture between them. “Do it!” he hissed, shoving his cock further into my mouth till I choked.


Gloating at his power over her, he watched her fingers begin hesitantly to stroke at her cuntlips, then saw one slip tentatively between them. He could tell from the jerk that she gave that, despite her position, she felt some stimulation from it. “Deeper, dammit. Get yourself off.”


I could hardly believe it. It felt good. I was getting turned on by my helplessness and the fact that I had yielded to his demands; given him control. As I stroked my fingers deeper and deeper into my hot, traitorous pussy, I began to actually — not enjoy, exactly — but to feel more and more pressure and heat building up inside me.

Like a lot of women, I suppose, I had fantasized about rape; about being totally out of control in a sexual situation. And now here it was, and I was beginning to think that if I kept this up much longer — I gasped as my fingers found my clit for the first time, and my hips bucked as a jolt of pure pleasure shot through my cunt — I might actually get off, as sick as that sounded. I was disgusted with myself and with my body, reacting mechanically to stimuli, getting ready for sex whether I wanted it or not.

Suddenly his hand in my hair jerked my head back, his wet shining cock slipping out of my mouth as he forced me down again onto the rubbish at his feet, his other hand jerking my hand from my crotch. He raised my hand to his nose, sniffed mockingly. “Turned on, huh? I suppose it’s time,” he said.

Again he waved that big knife, bending forward over me. I was afraid he meant to stab or cut me, but instead he grabbed the soaking crotch of my pantyhose, pulled it away from my pussy and with one quick slash, ripped the crotch seam out, leaving my obscenely gaping, drooling cunt completely exposed to the cool air. I gasped at the sudden chill, then gasped again as his hand clutched at me, driving two thick fingers up into my hole, pumping them in and out.


She gasped and her hips writhed in combined pain and pleasure, her face twisting with the conflict, as he pumped her hot snatch with two, then three, fingers and kneaded and twisted at her tits with the other hand.

Then he grabbed her hips, raising her ass up to his crotch level as he knelt there; with one thrust of his hips and jerk of her hips toward him he drove all ten inches of his thick cock deep into her greasy hole. Her eyes popped wide open, and she made a sound somewhere between a grunt and muffled scream as he began savagely plowing into her only-partly-ready cunt.

At first it was almost too tight, and semi-dry; but as he thrust relentlessly into her depths he could feel her cunt relaxing to give him easier admittance, even as her internal muscles began to squeeze at him. She began to moan under him as he pounded her cunt.


I couldn’t believe it. He was the biggest man I had ever been fucked by; the stretching was almost painful at first, but then, as he continued drilling into me, I could feel my pussy adjusting to him. I felt filled as I had seldom felt before, and I could began to actually enjoy the sheer hot mechanical monkey sex. I moaned and tossed my head as his relentless attack brought me nearer and nearer to orgasm despite myself. My body had come so far in response to his attack that I felt as if I would go insane if I didn’t manage to cum… I was going to cum. I could feel my orgasm beginning to build. It was close. So close… I was just about to cum…

And suddenly he groaned, stiffened, and I could feel his hot cum jetting up inside me, filling me. NO! Not yet! I wasn’t there yet! I needed to cum, and I wasn’t going to get to! I could feel him sliding out of my hungry cunt, leaving me unfinished and needing. As soon as he was out of me, I began frantically frigging my cunt and clit, trying to bring myself off. I was close — so close! — but I couldn’t — quite — get off. My fingers squished in the cum oozing out of my stretched hole; I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting off…

And then his hands were on my hips, rolling me face down, raising my hips toward his crotch, and I gasped out “NO!” but it didn’t stop him…


He was still almost painfully erect as he pulled his cock out of her clasping hole, slimy and glistening with a combination of his own cum and her cunt juices; as excited as he was, he showed no signs of losing his erection.

Savagely, not caring if the shoulder of her pinioned arm was wrenched painfully or if her bare tits were abraded by the stuff under her, he rolled her over, pulling on her hips, raising her round ass toward him, yanking her skirt up onto her back, out of the way.

Even as she realised his intentions and protested, he found her brown hole, and with a brutal thrust that brought a scream of combined protest, pain and surprise from her, jammed his massive tool up into her ass.

Her tight back hole clutched at him even more strongly than her hot cunt had, he lost all control and humped her butt savagely and relentlessly, drilling his big cock again and again into her asshole. As he pumped her, one had reached down under her and began a new attack on her cunt, three fingers driving in and out of her gooey, dripping cunt and brutally playing with her clit.

And she reached down and her hand joined his, as his other hand grabbed handfuls of tit ad squeezed and twisted at them; together they mauled and stroked and pumped her slimy, clutching cunt until he felt his second orgasm of the night coming, as he slammed his meat even more deeply into her ass, as he came with a guttural roar of triumph and she matched it with her own cat-howl of pleasure and pain as she finally came and his cock pulled out of her convulsing asshole and his white cum sprayed all over ass and her back as she fell limply forward, almost fainting with the intensity of her sensations…

Standing over her limp body, as his cock finally began to shrink and become limp, he looked downward at her and gloated over her complete degradation and submission.


“Happy now, bitch?” he asked.

And suddenly, as he heard his own voice say those words, everything seemed to change…

The Tradesman’s Entrance

It was Friday and Felicity was feeling decidedly wicked this morning. Simon had taken the bait and had become her little plaything―he just didn’t realise it yet. Poor lad has no idea what I have in store for him, she thought, as she considered him across the table.

Five days had passed since they last played the game and Felicity had watched Simon’s spirits steadily sinking. Each night the Taker would come to her room and try the door, each night it would be locked, and each night Simon would be forced to make the long walk back to his room, mumbling under his breath as he went.

Little did Simon know that on the other side of the door Felicity was lying on her bed fingering her slickness, waiting until she heard him check the door handle before she allowed herself to cum. She took a perverse pleasure in the cruel torture. After pleasuring herself, Felicity would sneak down the darkened hallway to his doorway and watch Simon wank himself off.

Simon was sitting across from her, at the kitchen table, gorging himself on the full breakfast that Felicity had prepared for him. Most mornings, Simon only had time to grab a piece of fruit and a bottle of orange juice before he rushed out the door, so this was indeed a rare treat.

“How’s the food?” Felicity asked.

“Mmm . . .” Simon mumbled through a mouth full of mushrooms. “Delicious,” he said. “Kudos to the chef.”

“You’re welcome,” Felicity said. “I love to take care of a man, especially a man with a healthy appetite like yours. More juice?”

“Yes, please.”

Felicity refilled his glass, deliberately bending over so that Simon caught an eyeful of her breasts, which were spilling out of her loosely tied dressing gown.

“Any news of the burglar?” Simon asked, between spoonfuls of beans. It was the same question he had asked every morning this week―each time with just a bit more desperation.

Felicity pretended to scan the headlines of the paper. “Thankfully, no,” she replied, “not a word of him.”

Simon stabbed the rasher of bacon with his fork and sliced off a piece. “Haven’t heard much from him lately, have we? Do you think he’s been caught?” Simon asked, before shoving the bacon into his mouth.

“No, I think we would have heard of something if that were the case.”

“You reckon he’s given up?”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said, and then paused for effect. “What do you think?”

“I think I . . . Um . . . I think he wants to rob again. He’s just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“You may be right,” Felicity said, taking a sip of her tea. “I guess it’s all just speculation at this point. Isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” said Simon, no closer to finding out his fate.

“Are you going to be home for supper tonight?”

“No, I’m meeting my project team after class,” he replied. “We’re having a little get together at a pub near school to get to know one another.”

“That sounds like fun. Are you going to be out late?”

“I’m not really sure.”

“Well, I hope it’s not too late. All of this talk of the burglar is making me worried. I have a feeling you may be right, he might strike again. I’d hate to be home alone―alone and vulnerable―when he strikes.”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Simon promised her. “I’m late. I better get going,” he said and hurried off.

“Bye, Simon. Don’t forget your mobile.”


“I’ll see you tonight. Have a wonderful day,” she said with a grin.

Later that morning, when she knew Simon would be in class, Felicity sent a video to his phone. It was the video the Taker had recorded the last time the game was played. She included a little bonus footage of her playing with herself―a little reminder of what he was missing out on and perhaps a hint of things to come.

Felicity Hammonds nèe Scott was born into money and married into more of it. They had met at a dinner party when she was nineteen. Reginald Hammonds was a successful venture capitalist and was twenty years her senior. She was immediately attracted to him despite the difference in their ages.

Felicity soon realized though that what she had been attracted to was his image, his lifestyle, and most importantly of all his money―and definitely not the man himself. Their sex life quickly became routine and boring. It was always missionary and it was always over too soon. Reginald Hammonds saw no reason for foreplay. He knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. He wasn’t interested in pleasantries or the needs of others.

On the nights when he wasn’t working late, or away travelling on business, Felicity would find herself underneath him, faithfully performing her wifely duties. Three minutes later, Reginald would roll off of her and fall asleep, leaving Felicity to finish herself to the sounds of him snoring. That was all the sex that she ever knew.

Since she had been a little girl, Felicity had been groomed to be a lady of society. “Prim and proper is the way a lady should behave, Felicity,” her mother would always say to her. Felicity was sick of prim and of proper. She wanted wicked. She wanted wild. She had spent twenty years in a loveless, sexless relationship. And to add insult to injury, Reginald had left her, on the eve of her fortieth, for a younger version of herself.

Her ex thought it was dirty and would have nothing of it. Felicity thought it was dirty and wanted every bit of it. She liked dirty. She wanted dirty. Felicity wanted to abandon her inhibitions and experience the taboo. If things went to plan, she was going to get her arse fucked for the very first time tonight.

It was ten o’clock, Felicity was lying on her bed masturbating whilst she waited for him. One hand was gently stroking her wet pussy, the other was sliding a well-lubed toy in and out of her arse. The blue dildo was slender in the middle and tapered out to a rounded bulge on each end, one end larger than the other. Felicity had never tried the larger end and was a bit worried because she knew that Simon was even thicker than that.

The bonus footage she had shot, made it clear what she wanted from the Taker, but Felicity wanted to leave nothing to chance this time. Taped onto the Harrod’s bag was a note that read:

No means Yes, Stop means Go, Don’t means Do, Now means Now!

Take me! Now!

Felicity heard the heavy oak front door of the mews house close shut. Simon was finally home. She stashed her toy in the drawer of the nightstand and waited for him. Her bedroom door was purposely left ajar. Candlelight spilled from her room into the dark hallway―a beacon, a signal to Simon that the game was back on.

She heard his footsteps in the hallway, her heart was beating loudly in rhythm with them. As they approached her doorway, the footsteps suddenly stopped, as did her heart, only to start again and accelerate rapidly towards his room.

The Taken was wearing a French Maid’s outfit―one that she had bought especially for this occasion. High heels, a garter belt and seamed, black silk stockings completed the ensemble. She didn’t have any knickers on―they would only get in the way.

The idea for the maid outfit came to her one day when Felicity noticed Simon ogling the housekeeper, who was an attractive nineteen year old Lithuanian girl. Felicity sacked her the very next day and replaced her with someone who wouldn’t cause such problems.

Her back was to the door; she was bending over, pretending to make the bed, offering up a peek of her lovely round bottom, when the Taker entered her room. The masked intruder forced the Taken down onto the bed and secured her wrists behind her back with the handcuffs that Felicity had left in the Harrod’s bag.

She was bent over the edge of the bed. “Please, Sir, no!” the Taken pleaded. “I only work here. I’m not the one you want.”

The Taken felt his probing hand on the soft flesh of her inner thigh, as it crept its way up to her wetness. “Oh, but you are the one I want,” the Taker said. “And I’m the one that you want. You just don’t know it yet. Spread your legs apart.”

“Please, Sir, I can’t. I’m married.”

“Married? Does your husband know that you come to your job dressed like this?” the Taker asked, lifting her dress up to give himself a better view of what he was about to take.

“Yes, he is the one that makes me do this. He wants me to do things― things with a stranger, things I am not comfortable with, things I would never do.”


“And he wants me to tell him about them. That’s his fantasy.”

“And it’s not yours?”

“No, Sir.”

“And yet you show up dressed, or should I say undressed, like this. You could have shown some modesty and put some knickers on before you got here.”

“I used to do that, Sir. I would keep them in my handbag and put them on first thing when I got to work. And I would take them off at the train station before I went home. But . . .”

“But what?”

“But I started having thoughts―bad thoughts. I started feeling things I have never felt before, things a married woman should never feel.”

“What sort of things?”

“Shameful things.”

“And if I fuck you, will you tell your husband?”

The Taken didn’t respond.

The Taker shoved two fingers into her sopping wet cunt and started stroking them in and out. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” he asked. “You want me to do shameful things to you?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Answer me!” The Taker demanded. “I know you want it,” he told her. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” the Taken finally admitted. “Yes, I want it, but you can’t fuck me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m not on the pill.”

He pulled his fingers out of her. “I suppose you’re right. I’m not ready to be a father, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t fuck you,” the Taker said, as he rubbed the swollen head of his cock against her puckered little arsehole.

“Please, Sir, not in the arse, anything but that.”

The Taker looked down upon her. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands,” he said, and then he pushed inside her.

The Taken screamed out, “No, please, Sir. It’s too big. It’s too much. I can’t.”

“Oh, but I think you can, if you try,” he said, pressing further into her reluctant hole.

“Sir, I beg you. Please take it out,” the Taken said, praying he would do the exact opposite.

“Okay, I’ll take it out, but not till I’ve finished first,” said the Taker, and then he buried his cock balls-deep in the Taken’s arse. She screamed out as she started to cum on his cock.

“You’re awfully tight,” the Taker said. “How many times have you done this?”

His cock felt huge in her arse. The Taken wondered if she could indeed take it, knowing full well that she had no choice―she had to. “Never, Sir. You are the first,” she replied through tightly pursed lips.

He pulled out a bit and pushed back in. “Really?” the Taker asked. “Are you trying to tell me your husband has never done this to you?”

“No― Ah!” she cried out, as he made another small stroke. “Never.”

“And why is that?”

“He― Ugh!” Each time she tried to speak the Taker would plunge into her, breaking her speech and breaking her in. “He thinks it’s dirty.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think―” The Taker pulled back and pushed back into her again, taking her breath away. “Ah― fuck! I think― I think I like dirty!” The Taken finally blurted out.

The Taker started fucking the Taken’s virgin arse in small, slow strokes. “Yes, I think you do. You’re starting to open up for me. Does it still hurt?”

“No, Sir,” she admitted, “not anymore.”

“You like it, don’t you? You dirty girl.”

The Taken didn’t reply.

“Don’t you?” the Taker said, increasing the pace of his penetration.

“Yes!” the Taken finally screamed out. The pleasure she was feeling was insane, intense, incredible.

The Taker paused for a moment. “Are you going to tell your husband that you let a stranger fuck you in your arse?”

“I didn’t let you, Sir, you took it.”

“I suppose you’re right. I should probably stop then,” he said, and he started to pull out.

“No, Sir. Please, Sir,” the Taken begged. “Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

“Very well then, you asked for it.” The Taker grabbed her firmly by her hips and began to unleash the pent up sexual desire that had been building throughout the week, pummeling her helpless little hole.

The tight muscles of the Taken’s arse, which had at first resisted the intruder, had now surrendered and were relaxed, welcoming the pleasurable pounding. She had never been filled like this, never been fucked like this. “Fuck me hard!” The Taken cried out. “Make me your whore!”

Every thrust of his cock brought her closer. The Taken could feel a massive orgasm building inside her, like a powder keg about to explode.

With one hard thrust the Taker released inside her, pushing her over the edge. The Taken came hard, harder than she ever had. The orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure through her trembling body.

The Taker left her lying there, breathless and light-headed, basking in the afterglow.

July 2018
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