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Forcing Angela

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It was getting to the end of one of those, long, miserable winter days. All day the storm clouds had been building up; black, threatening monsters heavy with rain. Although it was bitterly cold outside, the temperature inside the office that I shared with Angela was warm, even slightly too so. I watched absently out the windows as the first of the thick, heavy raindrops began to splat onto the pavement outside.

I noticed Angela’s movement in the reflection of the glass. The harsh, fluorescent globes of the office and the darkening light outside meant the reflection was good – I admired the view of her breasts snugly tucked under a plain white singlet as she leant to collect her bag, the small, round nub of her nipples not quiet concealed under the thin cotton.

I turned back to my desk. It was time to call it a day. All the students had left an hour ago, and the halls and classrooms were mostly deserted in the frigid evening air. I sighed.

“Well, I guess that’s it then. Another day at the office, another week done.” Angela said, smiling as always as she shrugged into the light cardigan she always wore outside the student free sanctuary of our office. Although she was an otherwise petite woman, Angela’s breasts were impressive and she was rightly self conscious of the adolescent leers she inevitably received whilst teaching. Thankfully for me, she was much less concerned out of the student eye.

“Guess so,” I replied, trying not to peek too conspicuously as she stretched up to slide her arm into the sleeve of he jacket. “Looks like it’s going to be a crappy weekend though”

Angela laughed, her whole face lighting up with her green-blue eyes. “We have a saying back home: ‘there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes!'” Angela had been born and raised in Scotland, and her fiery highland humour matched her hair.

I smiled, pleased for the laughter lightening an otherwise dark afternoon.

“True, I suppose. But in the meantime we’re still going to get wet.” The rain outside was starting to get heavier. There was the briefest of flashes through the window, but no thunder could yet be heard.

I picked up my briefcase, a battered leather number Dad had given me years before, stuffed in a handful of essays to mark over the weekend, and beat Angela to the door by half a pace. Smiling, I held it open so she could pass. “Ladies first,” I said, in an exaggeratedly chivalrous tone.

“Why thankyou sir,” she replied in the same spirit it was delivered. “Such manners!” She waited for me in the dim hallway as I wrestled with the stubborn door lock, and we walked together past the empty classroom toward the exit to the teacher’s car park.

“What’s on tonight?” I asked, genuinely interested.

“Netball. We play at six,” she replied. I glanced at my watch. Four fifty.

“You’ll be cutting it fine, won’t you? To get home and out to the courts by then? In this weather the traffic’ll be shithouse,” I said.

Angela didn’t seem concerned. “Nah, I’ll go straight there. All my gear is in the car, I’ll change when I get to the centre.” With that comment the image of Angela’s naked body floated unbidden through my mind. I held onto it for a second, savouring the image of the firm, pale curves of her athletic body, the light smattering of tan freckles spread across those firm, beautiful breasts. Quickly I banished the thought as it became harder to comfortably walk. I changed the subject.

“How’s Dave these days?” I asked. Dave, Angela’s husband had immigrated with her a few years ago. He worked for a large bank – I had never particularly cared which one – and was often working long hours.

For a moment, Angela’s light, happy aura darkened somewhat. She was silent for a second before answering with a sigh. “Away. He’s been in Sydney all week. He was meant to be home last night, but called yesterday. Now he’s staying until Monday.” Something about Angela’s demeanour suggested there was more to the story, something left unsaid. I briefly considered pressing the issue, but we ran out of hallway.

The rain was really coming down now, and worse, the wind had picked up, blowing the huge drops sideways into the small alcove that contained the exit door. Again, I opened the door for her and she passed, silently this time, out into the cold. We stood close in the negligible protection of the doorway as we both furiously searched for our respective car keys.

Angela found hers first and with a faint jingle, bid her farewell.

“Well, see ya Monday. Don’t play to hard!” It was probably a dig at my single lifestyle. More than once I had turned up Monday morning wearing dark glasses and a throbbing headache, begging he always energetic and bubbly woman not to speak so damn loudly. She had always accepted my condition with a patient, even slightly maternal, sympathy.

“Yeah, see ya. Don’t you work too hard!” I replied, giving as good as I was getting. Angela was a renowned workaholic. Angela smiled again, and took off into the downpour toward her green Ford, annoyingly on the other side of the carpark. She had jogged about six paces before I called out to her: “Hey!” She paused and turned.

The wind was blowing her cardigan open wide and even the brief exposure to the rain had started to make the white cotton cling tightly to her breasts. The outline of the grey and white lace bra she wore was already plainly visible underneath. “Good luck with you game!” I shouted over the wind, she flashed a wincing smile in the storm, waved, and continued off toward her car. I watched her retreating form vanish into the mist and rain, noticing not for the first time that her figure was equally impressive from behind.

I sat in my car in silence on the way home, soaking wet from the downpour. The images of her naked form returned quickly to my mind, this time writhing in passion under my own thrusting body. Once again I started to get hard, but this time I allowed myself a quick stroke and readjust, keeping the memory strong. A memory stirred, old plans that had long been dismissed as an abject and absurd fantasy began to resurface and appeal once more.

I had been right about the traffic. The highway home was bumper to bumper as water ran down the road in torrents. Up ahead a tram stopped periodically, allowing soaking and miserable passengers on and off. The traffic ground to a halt each time the clunking relic squeaked to a stop and the ancient doors rattled open. I rubbed my eyes and, checking that there wasn’t an unmarked patrol car sitting behind me, opened the traveller I had stashed in the car for just such an emergency. The beer was good and cold, like the rest of the car, and I pointedly ignored the accusing glare of the old bird in the car next to me. Screw her, I thought, satisfied.

I soon gave the highway up as a bad joke, making a quick left and heading down the back streets. I carefully told myself that it was just a way to avoid the traffic, an if not quite short cut, certainly just an alternate route. I was still telling myself this as I pulled into Angela’s street. It was a long boulevard, lined with the magnificent green elms that characterised this somewhat affluent part of town. Large, mostly modern, two storey houses lined one side of the street, the other was lined with a narrow band of shrubs before dropping off into the cutting for the train line.

I cruised the street casually, not sure of the street number, but certain that I’d be able to recognise her house when I saw it. I had been here twice – once for a faculty dinner the benevolent woman had graciously hosted, the second for a staff Christmas party. Evidently, Angela loved to entertain.

I stopped the car with a jolt and pulled over to the side of the road, the wheels covered to the rim in overflow from the gutter. The rhythmic whump-whump of the wipers, failing miserably to keep the water off the windshield, and the insistent blatter of the rain were the only noise. Yes, this was the place. I frowned. Yeah. There had been a tree there, a small Acacia, and the native creeper on the front wall was bigger, but this was unmistakeably the house.

Older its neighbours, Angela and Dave’s house was set back on the block, so the driveway stretched some distance from the road to the double garage. The ground floor was brick, but the second floor was made of weatherboard – a sure sign it had been added after the original house was built. A narrow walkway lead around the side, presumably to the back yard.

I leaned over and opened the glove box, searching its depths for something that I’d had made when I had first started considering this madness. I found what I was looking for and slipped it into my pocket, before sitting back and breathing deeply. I closed my eyes.

Angela had haunted my dreams for years – but I’d never had the nerve to do what I was now considering. It had just remained a sweet fantasy, something to think about while I pulled myself to sleep at night. But now all those old fantasies and plans had surfaced again. I had planned it out to the last detail, years ago, and had run through it so often that they all came quickly back to me.

First, I had to move the car. I looked around, but the street was deserted. Nobody in their right mind would be out in this weather, I realised with a smug confidence. I started the engine again, and slowly cruised off down the street, finding a nice, secluded space a way down the road. I’d get drenched walking back to the house, I realised with a frown. I figured it couldn’t be helped.

Slipping out into the rain, I made sure to lock the car, glancing around again to make sure nobody was paying too much attention. I jogged back off the way I came, keeping my head down, my hands buried deep in my pockets.

When I got back to the house I looked around again, trying to ignore the slight paranoia I was feeling, before ambling up the driveway in what I hoped would look casual and innocent to anybody who may have been watching. I reached the short gravel path that led to the front door, but at the last minute veered to the other side of the garage, and, with a last quick look around, slipped into the narrow pathway.

The slight overhang of the roofline provided some shelter from the rain, and the tall boundary fence blocked the bitterly chilly winter wind. I quickly strode the length of the garage and let myself through the garden gate at the end, belatedly hoping Angela hadn’t bought a large dog in the last few months. I held my breath for a second. She hadn’t.

The backyard was a compact, neat native garden with a small lawn. Making my way through the shrubs and grasses to the back patio, I was relieved to be in the shelter of the veranda, taking a second to shake off whatever water I could, I removed my long rain jacket I’d grabbed from the car and carefully stashed it, hidden, in a small space behind the barbeque. After a moment’s consideration, my soaking wet shoes joined them.

I fumbled in my pocket for the small item I had retrieved from the glove box earlier. It was a small, ordinary key; the kind used on door locks everywhere. Getting it had been easy. Months ago, I’d taken Angela’s keys from her bag whilst she’d been in class, and had a copy made during the lunch break. I’d slipped the keys back later that day, and she’d never noticed them missing.

The key worked perfectly. I let myself in and locked the door behind me. Standing in Angela’s deserted kitchen in the semi dark, with the rattle of the rain of the steel roof was a surreal experience. I was committed now, I thought, sombrely.

The sudden chime of a grandfather clock made my heart leapt into my throat. I forced myself to breathe deeply and tried hard to slow my racing pulse. Six chimes. Angela’s netball match was just starting, so I had plenty of time to settle.

Opening the fridge, I examined the contents, and helped myself to a beer. It opened with the same, comforting crack as always and I downed half the can. My nerves started to settle. I began to wander the house, looking at Angela’s photos on the mantle, opening cupboards, savouring the exhilaration of being where I shouldn’t. In the dim light, I found the stairs and made my way carefully to the master bedroom.

The door was open when I got there and I stepped inside. This was Angela’s inner sanctum, her most personal of space. The thrill of the trespass was electric. I remembered the last time I had been in here. I had the same, exhilarating feeling then, too.

It was during the Christmas party. Angela had been running around, chatting, being the hostess, deliberately ignoring her husband’s best efforts at chatting up the liquored up slut from admin. I had given myself the tour, wandering away from the main party, slipping upstairs when nobody was looking. I had found the bedroom by accident then. It had been tidy, not a thing out of place, the bed covers pulled tight, no clothes on the floor.

Barely anything had changed. The bed covers had been a plain apricot then, but now, in the darkness, they looked mostly blue, with faint horizontal stripes. They matched well with the dark timber of and wrought iron of the bed head, I thought. Everything was tidy, the drawers closed, no clothes spread on the floor.

I breathed deeply. I could smell her, as if she was in the room with me – the faint odour of her favourite perfume lingered in the air. I wandered into the bathroom and opened the cupboards. Amongst the mundane sameness that makes every bathroom cupboard identical, was a small bottle of French perfume. It’s beautiful odour filled my nostrils and I started getting hard just thinking about her.

Indulging myself, I padded over to the bed. Careful not to disturb the pristine covers, I opened the drawer on the bedside table. It was nearly empty except for a mens belt, a tie and a golfing magazine. Dave’s side then. I switched sides. Angela’s contained a couple of issues of Cosmopolitan, an unopened packet of tampons, an eye mask, and a small, casual looking handbag. I sat down on the edge of the bed, slightly disappointed. How boring. At least I’d have something to read while I waited. I pulled one of the Cosmo’s from the drawer and flicked through a few pages.

Turning to toss it back, something caught my eye that I’d missed before. At the bottom of the drawer, hidden by the darkness was a long black satin bag, pulled closed with a drawstring. My eyes opened wide in anticipation, and I reached in a grabbed it. It was long and heavy, and I struggled to undo it with trembling fingers.

The thick glass dildo slid out and balanced easily in my hands. Jackpot, I thought to myself. I hungrily pictured the lithe Scot lying naked on the bed I was now sitting on, firey red hair spilling over the crisp cotton pillow, back arched with a dildo the length of my forearm buried up to the hilt in her undoubtedly perfect pussy. The aroma of womanhood lingered on the glass rod, and I let the smell fill my nostrils. Perfect.

Replacing the phallus, happy I knew where it was if I wanted it later, I spent the next half hour fossicking through drawers and cupboards, a voyeur into the most intimate parts of Angela’s life. She had an amazing collection of exotic and expensive lingerie, everything from corsets to g-strings. I almost blew a load sorting through it all.

There was a flash of blue from outside, followed immediately by an enormous clap of thunder. The storm hadn’t let up at all, it seemed. Wandering to the window, I peeked out from between the blinds. It was nearly totally dark outside, and I had resorted to the small LED torch on my keys to see by. I dared not to turn on the light.

As I was standing there, staring out into the storm, a pair of headlights, muted and washed out by the rain, slowed in the street and turned into the driveway. The familiar green Ford slowed as the garage door slowly opened, before the car disappeared from view. I realised my heart was racing again, a deep solid pounding in my chest. Once again, I forced myself to be calm. I was just about to pull away and hide, when everything came crashing down.

Another set of lights slowed and cruised up the gravel drive. Christ! I thought. Dave? Panic set in, as I belatedly realised I didn’t really have an exit strategy. A third car pulled in behind the first and a forth stopped in the street.

“What the fuck?” I squeaked to myself. I heard a car door slam from somewhere downstairs, and a key rattling in the front door lock. It was high time to hide, I knew, but my eyes were riveted on the yard below, trying to work out who the newcomers were. A tall brunette stepped out of the first car in the driveway, the unmistakeable outline of a netball skirt visible in the darkness. My pulse slowed slightly. Not her husband.

A light flicked on downstairs, and the squeak of wet runners on polished floorboards. It was time. I quietly stepped away from the window, and slipped quietly into the walk in wardrobe, concealing myself behind the door a couple of Dave’s suits. I had a good view of the bedroom through the crack on the hinge side of the door.

The faint sound of Angela’s bubbly, melodious accent drifted into the room from downstairs. I couldn’t make out the words. Gradually, it was joined by other women’s voices, giggling and laughing. There was the unmistakable pop of a champagne bottle being opened. After game drinks then, I decided.

One of the voices was getting louder, and the sound of footsteps on the stair caused me to nervously hold my breath for a moment. Somebody called something out downstairs. Angela’s voice answered from the top of the stair:

“Of course, Honey. Sandy’s using the downstairs shower, but you can jump in after whoever is done first.” There was a pause as the woman downstairs said something else, followed by very feminine giggles all round. “No, you may not share with me! Later after some more wine maybe!” Laughter.

I stiffened slightly as the light flicked on and I gave a quiet prayer to whatever Gods might condone what I was doing that I hadn’t left anything out of place. Angela stepped into view, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. Just seeing her again made me hard. She wore what was plainly the team uniform: a simple white polo shirt and a red netball skirt over black lycra shorts. Her red hair was tied back into a tight ponytail.

Placing her glass of champagne down on the bedside table, Angela stood and pulled the white t-shirt up over her head. Her normally perky breasts were held firmly in place by an elastic sports bra, but after some struggling she wiggled out of the tight garment and it joined the t-shirt on the floor.

My breath caught in my throat as I peered out through the crack. Her tits were perfect. Two beautiful round mounds, the large, pink nipples standing out of small, pale areolas. Her the pale skin was broken with a light sprinkle of tan freckles, spread across her chest and neck. They dangled perfectly as she lent forward to step out of first her skirt, and then the thin, skin tight shorts.

Picking up champagne, Angela took a sip. Standing there in nothing but a black, cotton g-string, she looked amazing, and, as I ogled her from my hiding spot, she pulled out her hair, letting the thick curls cascade down her naked back. There was a knock at the door, and Angela moved to answer it, disappearing out of view. I was surprised then, given her virtual nakedness, to hear the door open.

The person on the other side made no sign that anything was amiss.

“Hey sweety,” said the woman’s voice. “Amanda finished the all bubbles. Are there any other bottles around, or do we need to go get more?”

“No, there’s plenty,” came the reply. “Try the fridge in the garage.”

“Thanks babe.” A pause before: “Damn bitch! Your tits just keep getting better! I’m jealous.” There was a brief giggle by both women before the sound of the door closing and footsteps faded down the hall.

Angela remained out of sight before the sound of the shower running came from the adjacent bathroom. I took the time to prepare the equipment I’d scrounged, mostly from Angela’s own drawers. Firstly, I pulled one of her stockings down to cover my face, a temporary measure until I could get the blindfold on her, taken from her bedside table. The gag was a pair of silk undies, and a couple of her husband’s ties would do the rest. I waited silently.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before the noise of the shower stopped. In my mind, I pictured her as she moved through the ritual: the metallic click as the door opened and closed, and the rumble of a towel being pulled from the rail. The silence that accompanied the time she spent rubbing down her wet, naked body with the thick cotton bath towel. A few more minutes passed as I heard the bathroom cupboards open and close, the almost inaudible snick of lipstick being slid back into its cover, and a vague plastic sound that I assumed to be roll on deodorant being applied. Angela emerged, wrapped in a towel, seconds later.

I forced myself to relax as the wardrobe light flicked on and Angela entered. I held my breath – the woman was less than half a metre away, her back to me as she flicked through a selection of skirts and shirts. She had left her hair loose, the thick, wet strands clinging together and sticking to her shoulders and back. I noticed immediately the aroma of her perfume as it filled the wardrobe. I let out my breath as the light flicked off and she left. I closed my eyes. It was time.

I waited a few seconds more, before peeking through the crack into the room. She had her back to me, laying her clothes out on the foot of the bed, examining her choice for the evening. I silently let the door swing closed and I stepped out from behind it, soundlessly opening it again. I was now exposed; I had to move quickly. If she turned now, she would see me, undoubtedly scream and everything would be a disaster.

She heard something at the last minute, and began to turn as I crashed into her from behind. She gave a small cry of surprise as we crashed onto the bed. I heard the sharp intake of breath as she got ready to scream, but I already had the gag to her face, and stuffed it in her mouth as she opened it. Her wide green eyes open wider in surprise, turning quickly to fear as she realised what was happening.

She started fighting, thrashing around the bed, but she was face down and my weight was on top of her. I gradually managed to get both her hands above her head, pinned to the sheets. I bound them together with one of the ties, using the second to tether them to the bed head. The thrashing began to settle down as she realised she was trapped, and then I added the finishing touch – the satin eye mask I had taken from her bedside table. Blinded and bound, Angela lay there, breathing heavily and managing the occasional, muffled sob.

I collapsed next to her, pulling the stocking off my face. looking over the captive woman, lying still on the bed, I couldn’t help but to admire my prize. Miraculously, the bath towel had remained tightly fastened throughout the struggle, although it had ridden up somewhat, allowing an exceptional view of her milky smooth thighs. I run my finger along the skin. At the touch, Angela began bucking and thrashing with renewed enthusiasm. Waiting impatiently for her to tire, I resisted the urge to speak, knowing full well that she would recognise my voice in an instant. Nor did I want to have to hit her.

Angela began to tire. I could hear her deep, long breaths as she breathed through her nose, occasionally mumbling tirades or sobs through the gag. When she was still I kissed the milky skin on the back of her thigh. The skin was fragrant and damp, the delicate perfume of the shower wash still evident as I kissed her again and again, from the back of knee up as high as was uncovered. Angela muttered something.

“Shhhh…” was all I dared reply. She was silent again.

Carefully, I rolled her onto her back. She lay rigid, her legs hard together, hands still stretched and tied high above her head. Softly, I untucked the free end of the towel, and the end came loose. I held my breath, savouring the moment before I exposed her. I opened the towel, slowly, from the top.

Her breasts were the first things that struck me; again I was taken with their perfect form and the beautiful soft nipples. They were even more impressive up close, sagging slightly to the sides as gravity had its way. I ran my finger from the nape of her neck, gently along the line of her collarbone, over the freckled chest to her right breast, circling the nipple. It quickly became erect with my touch. Leaning forward, I took the delicious nub in my mouth, circling it with my tongue and gently sucking it. I repeated the process with its partner.

A soft noise that may have been a low, suppressed moan escaped through the gag, and Angela’s muscles seemed to relax slightly.

Giving each breast a last lingering caress, I began tracing my finger down, separating the towel until I reached her navel and the delicate, sensitive, skin above the pubis. I softly ran the tip of my finger back and forward, delighting in the small involuntary squeak Angela let slip as the caress tickled the delicate skin inside her hips. I breathed deeply and opened the rest of the towel.

Surprise ran over me like a freight train. Where I had expected to be met with a tangle of fiery pubes, (to match the curtains, so to speak) I was faced with the clean, immaculate lines of a freshly shaved pussy. The perfectly smooth surfaces of her womanhood were a prize I had been wanting for years and I resisted the powerful urge to force her legs apart and plunge in like an animal.

The labia formed two perfectly smooth, round mounds, with just the faintest hint of the moist, pink treasures concealed between. It was along the soft mounds that I continued tracing, gently, along the round ridges of the outside, skipping the slit between them with just the barest of touches, and back up the other side. I continued tracing in silence down her leg to the toes.

Angela, long silent, had begun to relax. Her legs, that had first been so tightly clenched they might have been one, now rested, slightly apart, still afraid to submit. I noticed, however, the unmistakable sheen and thin line of moisture appearing on her lips. I smiled, and slipped off my shirt.

I kissed her neck, starting along the jaw line and working my way down. She tilted her head slightly away, allowing me to better taste her supple skin. Again my tongue found her nipple and I gave it a pinch – pinning the swelling nub between my tongue and teeth. Her head tilted back and the sound that escaped the gag was unmistakably one of pleasure. I rubbed the orbs of her breasts, the heavy, soft weight rolling in my hands. Again I pinched the nipple. A spasm ran through her body as her head rolled backward. I rubbed her delicate skin, all the way down her leg – also freshly shaved – and, lifting the limb, separated it from its partner.

Angela offered no resistance as I planted the first kiss on the labia of her pussy. The dusky skin contrasted strongly with the milky white of the rest of her body, and it was already slick with moisture. My tongue ran the length of her slit, my eyes never leaving her covered face, watching her expression.

I pushed past the outer flaps, and the deep, wet warmth washed over my face. The feeling was electric. Angela, her legs now wide apart, let out a deep, ecstatic moan, arching her back and driving her hot, wet pussy into my face. Spreading the flaps wide with my thumbs, I exposed the pristine pinkness of her vulva, and found the soft wet fold of the clitoris with my tongue. Massaging it hard, I pressed my mouth into it, devouring the sweetness of the act. Angela’s moans became louder and more regular, the thrusting of her hips rhythmic and deliberate. Finally, her whole body became tense, a soft, muffled squeak escaped through the gag, before she sagged back onto the bed. I planted a parting kiss on her lips before appraising my work.

She lay, breathing heavily through her nose, the freckles on her neck and chest mostly covered by a deep cherry flush. Her muscles, just seconds ago tensed like steel, were now relaxed and supple. There was a sheen of perspiration covering her skin, and a widening wet patch between her legs.

I sat up, leaning over her and quietly and sliding open the bedside drawer. I pulled the dildo from Its satin cover and examined the green glass phallus closely, the wide ribs running down its length, the thickness of its girth, the symmetry of its length. In the back of my mind, the significance of the symmetry drifted, and I vaguely wondered why Angela owned a double-ended sex toy.

I let the tip of the glass touch her cheek. The coolness of the glass obviously surprised her, as she gave a slight start with the contact. I again let the touch linger, running the toy down along her body, over her hip and down to her inner thigh. Angela obviously recognised the object; her legs immediately opened wide, hungrily demanding the penetration. I let the tip rest lightly against her, twisting it slightly to part the lips, letting her moisture cover the glass. Angela groaned with disappointment as I pulled it away.

Instead, I grabbed her hips and rolled her over, momentarily lamenting the loss of the view of her breasts. Now face down, I raised her hips into the air and pushed her legs forward, so that her pale arse was pointed skywards. Needing no further encouragement, Angela spread her knees wide. I reached around her and cupped her dangling breasts, savouring the bulk.

I again let the tip at the opening, the soaking cavity now spread wide, and gently pressed it forward, letting the tip stretch her vagina. A clear moan escaped her lips. I pushed it again, letting the full tip penetrate before withdrawing. The woman let out a frustrated cry. Thrusting again, the toy slid in two ribs deep: I let it sit for a second before I began to pull it out.

“Oh God!” Angela whispered. “Just fucking put it in already!”

I froze. As I had rolled her the gag had fallen out, the black satin panties, I could see, now lay under her chin, covered in saliva. In a panic I moved to replace it, but stopped. She could have already screamed, but she hadn’t. I watched her face, her mouth was bent in ecstatic concentration, waiting impatiently for the next intrusion into her body. I twisted the toy, the movement bringing a smile to her lips, and pulled almost all the way out, so that the lips pulled outwards as if loathe to release their grip.

A second passed. Then another. Angela was just about to open her mouth again, when I thrust it in, deeply and hard. Her back arched, her face raised toward the roof, with a breathless smile of satisfaction on her face. I withdrew the toy before slamming it home again. Angela let out a quiet cry – biting her bottom lip as I slammed the dildo home again and again. I reached around and found the clitoris with my free hand, rubbing it manically in time with the thrusting.

Again Angela’s breathing became faster, her muscles tensed. The small cries escaping her lips became more rapid as she got closer and closer to climax. There was the brief pause as she missed a few beats, before a long, loud moan of pleasure filled the room.

I had no intention of giving her body the luxury of rest. I pulled glass toy free, throwing it aside. It rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a dull clunk. Grabbing her hips, I lifted her, flipping her body onto her back again. She squeaked in surprise, but offered no inkling of protest as I pushed her legs apart and plunged my tongue in while I furiously yanked at my belt. I pushed my pants away and pulled my aching cock free of my boxers. In one fluid movement, I came up onto my knees lifting her hips as I did so.

I didn’t wait. I pushed my cock past her hairless labia, sinking its full length in one stroke. The forcefulness was apparently appreciated.

“Oh fuck yes!” Angela moaned before gritting her teeth and straining against her bonds. “Yes, yes yes, yes, yes!” The cries came in time with my pounding.

I watched my cock slide in and out of her perfectly rounded mound. I watched those immaculate freckled breasts, still covered in a mottled pinkish tinge, bounce wildly with each stroke. I saw her biting her lip, forcing herself not to cry out. The thin sheen of perspiration covering her body. Her damp, fiery red hair clinging crazily to damp skin. The slickness of her juices covering my pounding tool.

The pressure built, a slowly mounting ripple that grew to a tsunami. An incredible crescendo.

I came in her like I had never come before. Gripping her hips so hard I didn’t even notice I was holding her well off the bed, I felt stream after stream of semen pushed deep within her. I held her like that for a moment, both panting with exertion, before withdrawing and slumping onto the bed next to her, too spent to care that I wasn’t meant to be there. I could hear Angela’s breathing coming in short, ragged breaths next to me.

I was just at the point of deciding what the fuck I was going to do now, when Angela spoke:

“You know, Mitch, it’s traditional to buy a girl a drink first.” Her tone was almost conversational. My breathing stopped. My heart pounded in my chest, and suddenly the room seemed to close in on me. Oh, Christ. I thought. She knows.

Angela continued, answering my desperate, unspoken question: “Your car, Mitch. I saw your car parked up the street. And I could smell you, downstairs.” I lay there, speechless, staring panic stricken at the wall. The patter of the rain at the window, and the faint rumble of retreating thunder the only sound, aside from the thudding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I did the only thing I could think of, reaching over and tugging off the blindfold. Her wide eyes blinked in the light, before focussing an accusing, venomous stare on me. Her bare breasts rose and fell with her still rapid breathing. I numbly untied her hands.

Angela sat up slowly, rubbing her red wrists where the skin had been chaffed by the ties.

“So,” I began slowly. Leading with an apology seemed so hollow and meaningless as to be absurd. “Now wha-” I was cut off by the stinging slap that crashed across my face with force of a truck. Off balance, I tumbled off the bed, landing on all fours. I looked up, and my effort was rewarded with another, stinging blast. I waited, but no other assault came, so I gingerly climbed to my feet, standing with my bare arse leaning against the dresser.

Angela sidled off the bed, naked, bare breasts jiggling as she moved, semen seeping from her abused pussy. There was a fire in her eyes as she stood in front of me.

“You raped me.”

I swallowed. “Yes,” was all I could manage.

“Like an animal, you tied me and fucked me.”

“I did.”

Angela was close now, so close I could feel the barest rub of her nipples on my chest. My cheek stung with a white-hot burn, so that when her hand darted forward I cringed slightly. Instead of landing the anticipated blow, she grabbed the hair on the back of my head, yanking my face down to hers. The pain was as intense and the deep passionate kiss, the heat of which made me forget the pain in my cheek. Angela kissed long and hard, her tongue exploring every corner of my mouth.

After an eternity, she broke off, none of the fire having faded from her eyes.

“Rapists will be punished, Mitch,” she stated, matter-of-factly, as she picked up the skirt she’d selected earlier. “And your dues will be paid.” Angela took a bra from her drawer, tightening the hot red lace around her swollen tits. She dropped a low cut blouse over the top and fastened the black, knee length denim skirt around her waist. I stood there, naked, as she disappeared into the bathroom. She emerged a moment later, her hair neat and brushed, tied away in a fiery ponytail.

I couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t put on any underwear.

Wordlessly, Angela stepped toward the door. Without turning she said:

“Clean up.” She opened the door, the sound of music and women’s laughter drifted up the stairs. “I’d better not see you when we come back.” And with that, she flicked off the light, closed the door, and I was left standing, naked and alone in the darkness.

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