I see you heading home, I already know where you live, I have been watching you, I follow you. You are distracted as you turn into your building and I follow you up to your apartment.
My pulse quickens as I watch you open your door, I catch up, step quickly in behind you and close the door. You turn and look at me… a tall blonde has followed you into your apartment and your mind can’t quite grasp what that means.
I look you up and down, you are wearing khakis, desert boots, a blue button down shirt, a cap, clothes familiar to me, you wear that uniform a lot as you go about your day. I give you a half smile and you cock your head, a quizzical look on your face. I am wet already.
I step towards you and you take a step back, there in the entrance way of your apartment. You look over my shoulder and I can tell you are looking for a way to get me out. I take two more steps towards you with a smile and your back is to the wall.
“Hey…” you are genuinely puzzled.
“Shut up!” I retort quickly.
You start to laugh, a nervous laugh, until you see the expression on my face, which makes you stop.
“I said shut the fuck up!”
I show you the knife in my hand, small, evil-sharp and still your look is confused, you don’t understand what is going on. I grab your throat and shove your head back and it hits the wall with a thud. I apply some pressure and watch your eyes widen and I want to fuck you so bad, I can taste it. With the knife at your neck, I bring handcuffs out of my bag.
“Hands behind your back, boy,” I hiss, and I quickly fasten them before you can get your bearings.
I pull you from the wall and shove you into your apartment. I can see that you are still not getting it. Maybe you think I am here to rob you, who knows what you think, who cares. I knock your cap off your head and rip your shirt open, buttons flying. You are looking at me and I see the lights go on.
“What the fuck…??!”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?”
I slap your face and see the shock register. I slap you again, and again, full strength, your face flying from the force of it. I streak my nails down your chest, hard, leaving trails of red. And again and again I tear at your skin. You are flinching, stepping back away from me until your knees hit the couch and you can either sit or stand. You choose to stand; your eyes are racing around the apartment, looking for something, some way to get me out of there, to distract me.
“You make a sound and I will fucking cut you,” I hiss, the knife still in my hand and at your ribs.
I undo your belt, the button of your pants and take down your zipper. I laugh when I see you are hard.
“You fucking slut, you want this, I knew you would.”
You start to protest, “No, I fucking don’t you crazy bitch!”
You sound angry, but you are blushing, embarrassed, hard. I shove your pants down, along with your boxers, and your cock is rock hard, leaking precome and I smack it, once, twice. You wince and cry out and I grab your pubic hair and pull it hard.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?”
I grab you by the neck and shove you around the other side of the couch, your pants around your knees, you nearly fall over. I push you over the back of it, forcing your face down into the cushions, your ass up, inviting me. I want to fuck you so bad and I am angry-aggressive and I start to hit your ass, smacking it hard, over and over, finding a rhythm, watching it redden, and your hips start to move with my smacking, and I realise you are rubbing yourself against the couch, and it makes me fucking crazy.
“Are you getting off on this, you fucking slut? I haven’t even started with you yet!”
I shove your shirt up to expose your back and again I scratch you, from your shoulders to your hips, feeling your skin come off under my nails, red streaks left behind, your back arches under my fingers and you start to make little mewling sounds as I hit the same spots over and over.
“Don’t fucking move,” I whisper, and I press the knife into your ribs for emphasis.
I quickly take my t-shirt off, my belt, jeans, panties. You don’t move, waiting there, your back and ass now reddened, blood seeping from the deep scratches, your breathing heavy.
“Please, please, please, pleaseplease,” you keep repeating obsessively and I have no idea what you are pleading for, but nothing is up to you anyway.
I can feel the wetness at the crotch of my panties in my hand. I lean over you, and god, the contact of your hot skin makes me ravenous and I press against you, my thighs against yours, my pussy against your ass, my breasts on your back, your cuffed hands between our bodies. I pull your head back and shove my panties into your mouth.
I rip your belt out of your trousers and move quickly to the front of the couch and attach it to the couch leg in front of you. You watch me as I am doing that, my panties in your mouth, your wide eyes scanning my naked body, but they keep flicking back to look at the knife in my hand and you shake your head. I quickly undo one of your cuffs, bring your hands down to the seat of the couch and reattach them to the belt.
I look into your eyes, “I’m going to fuck your ass, you fucking slut, and it’s going to hurt. You’re going to like that aren’t you?”
You shake your head violently at me and I see real fear for the first time. I slap your face.
“You’re going to like me fucking your ass, aren’t you?” I ask again.
You shake your head again, your eyes pleading with me. I slap your face again; you are still shaking your head. I slap you over and again until you stop shaking your head and your eyes are filled with tears, from the pain of the slapping or from the acknowledgment you have to make I don’t know.
“I said, you are going to like it, aren’t you, you fucking slut?”
You nod, slowly. I want to fuck you so bad.
I move back to your ass, I have the strap-on in my bag, and I slip it on.
“It’s not so very big,’ I say to you as I run my fingers over your ass.
You flinch away from me, which makes me want to shove this cock into you in one hard thrust and listen to you scream against my panties in your mouth. I gather some wetness from my pussy and I play my wet fingers around your asshole, wanting to laugh as you lift your ass towards my touch as I rub against you, and you start again, grinding your cock against the couch as I play my fingers around your ass.
I shove a finger, two fingers into your ass, no longer playing, no longer gentle, and you cry out into your gag. You pull away from me, but there is nowhere for you to go and I fuck you with them. I press against you as I move them in and out of your ass, my thighs against yours, my cock resting on your ass. When you start to push back against me, I lean down to your ear.
“You greedy fucking whore, you love this don’t you?”
You moan, I think you are shaking your head again. I want to fuck you so bad.
I place the head of my cock against your asshole, I slide against you a little, I apply a little pressure, feeling the push of it on my clit and I wait.
“Fuck me,” I demand.
You make a sound into my panties. I smack your ass, already red, over and over.
“Fuck me, boy,” I say again.
You push back against me and it’s so fucking sexy it makes me growl deep in my throat and I hold my position, watching my cock press against your ass. You are moving against me, and I thrust hard into your ass, and the head of my cock pops in and you make a high pitched sound. I wait there, circling my hips against you, but not pushing any further, teasing myself with the pressure on my clit.
I lean forward over you, grab your shoulder and thrust into you in one hard movement and I hear you scream into the gag. I lie against you, all that skin on skin, my cock inside you. I want to fuck you so bad.
So I fuck you, moving so that the strap-on hits my clit over and over, and I grab onto your hips to hold you right there and I stop now and then just to circle my clit against the pressure, rubbing, and adjusting the position, and when I stop, I feel you shoving back against me even though your sounds of pain are continuous.
“I knew you would love this, you dirty fucking slut,” I gloat.
It feels like I am fucking you forever and the force makes your cock rub against the couch and you make muffled grunting sounds through the gag and they feed my hunger. You push back against me, fucking me and I wonder if that bucking against me and that groaning meant you had come, but I don’t care, I just want that pressure that rubbing and finally, with the thrusting and the fucking, I come in your ass, hard, shoving my cock into you as I prolong the pressure against my clit, and it’s so fucking good, I collapse against your back, catching my breath.
I undo the straps, and leave my cock in your ass as I step back. You are making some strange wet snuffling noises as I quickly dress, minus the panties. I move around to the front of the couch and kneel down in front of your face. You look up at me, your eyes wet with tears, your nose running, my panties still in your mouth.
“You loved that didn’t you, you fucking cock-slut?”
Your face shows resignation as you nod your head wearily. I rip my panties out of your mouth.
“Tell me,” I demand.
You lick your dry lips with your dry tongue and your eyes can’t meet mine.
“I loved it,” you whisper.
I hold your chin up, “Look at me, you fucking slut and tell me again, say it.”
You look into my eyes, your lips moving without a sound and I wait. You flush a bright red and you let out a sob.
“I loved it, you fucking my ass, I loved it,” you whisper, barely audible.
“I know you,” I say.
I throw the key to the handcuffs down on the couch and I walk out, leaving the door open behind me.