She unbuttons her shirt slowly and wonders if she’s moving too slow. Maybe it isn’t sexy and it seems like she’s bad at buttons. So she moves faster and now it feels too fast so she slows down again. Suddenly she’s afraid that she looks like a crazy person with her buttons. And he grabs her hands and pulls them from her shirt. He unhooks the last two buttons and spreads the fabric like he’s opening a pair of double doors. The cool air in the room rushes across her stomach and chills run up her spine.
She won’t look at him even though she can sense he wants her to. He has deep brown eyes and his pupils are like volcano rock. She has them memorized because she always tries to figure out what he’s thinking. But he never gives any hints. If anything, he intentionally acts like he’s thinking of something when he’s thinking of something else. Gliding his fingers under her collar he slides the shirt off her shoulders and it slips down her arms. She lets it fall to the floor.
She doesn’t know if she wants him to be gentle or rough. She thinks she wants him to hit her and then kiss her immediately after or maybe it’s the other way around. Or maybe she wants to have him in her mouth before he fucks her. The moment she decides she knows he will do the opposite so she tries to keep her mind blank but instead it’s full.
He moves his hand to her throat and the instant his grip tightens all the noise vanishes. His thumb and fingers massage into her soft flesh and when she swallows the gulp struggles past the pressure. Violently, he turns her body so her back is against his chest and she’s facing the wall. She throws her hands up and braces herself. He never lets go of her throat. He squeezes as he yanks her panties down around her thighs. He spits disdainfully into his palm and moments later his wet fingers are inside her. She gasps but pushes her body into him and he pushes his fingers deeper into her. He practically lifts her feet off the floor.
Even though it doesn’t feel good on her pussy she likes that he can’t control himself- that he needs to handle her as if she has wronged him and now he wants to take his pound of flesh.
He wastes no time rubbing his cock on her. He forces it in and pushes her body forward until her cheek is mushed into the wall. The plasterboard is cool on her overheated skin. And he thrusts and grunts. All of him fills her up. He stretches her. He squeezes her throat. Every time his body slams into her she meets his weight by leaning back into him. And the friction grows. At first, she moans to let him know she wants him but soon she moans because she can’t help herself.
When he’s all the way in it’s like she has everything. And when he’s pulling away there’s a moment she fears she’s about to lose it all. This goes on and on, over and over again, feeling filled and the fear of being empty, and his hand squeezing harder and harder, blood fights to get to her brain and each breath becomes more labored. Her eyes shoot open and she looks at nothing. She stares into the blur of unconsciousness. She slips deeper into his control, powerless to stop him, powerless to stop herself from wanting him, acquiescing to all of his violent whims. She is nothing but the vessel for his pleasure.
The harder he fucks her the more he grunts- salty sweat dripping from his brow onto her back and trickling down her skin like the first drops of rain. Her eyelids flutter and she’s not sure if they’re open anymore or if she’s hallucinating. Bright flashes of light come in and out of existence and she thinks she goes limp. She thinks he’s holding her up and fucking her like a soulless rag doll. When she comes to, there’s an explosion inside her cunt, and warmth falls on her. He’s panting and his breath burns. He’s still unloading his cum and it’s leaking out around him. And she hopes that he doesn’t pull out. She hopes that he holds still for as long as she can and this feeling of being full never goes away.
The Cerebral Sir 