Becky
“Press your fuckin’ tits against the glass.”
There’s anger in his voice, making it shake. I feel fear prick me, but beneath the fear there is lust. I keep wondering how that can be, how I can be terrified and attracted to a man at the same time. But I don’t think about saying no. I want to put on a show for him. I want to make him horny. So I lean forward, water trickling down me, and push my breasts against the glass so that they flatten and spread out, fleshy.
Through the murky glass, I see him undressing, so that in a matter of seconds he’s completely naked, hand stroking up and down his cock. “I wanna see your slut ass cheeks against that glass, too,” he growls.
When he calls me a slut, I know he doesn’t mean it; I know he’s just horny and losing control. And yet I like it. I like being called a slut, as long as I’m his slut. Again, this confuses the hell out of me. And again, I find myself doing exactly as he says, turning around, bending forward, and pressing my ass cheeks against the glass.
“More,” he says. “Bend over more.”
I bend over all the way, so that my forehead is touching the opposite wall of the shower, my pussy bared for him.
“Now reach back and spread your fuckin’ ass cheeks,” he says. There’s that growl in his voice again, as though he wants to take out his rage and lust on me. I shiver, despite the warmth of the shower.
Reaching back, I pull my ass cheeks apart. I hear him jerking his cock fast now, a fleshy flapping sound as he strokes it up and down. Craning my neck, I manage to half-watch him as he touches himself.
Then, struck with sudden confidence, I call over my shoulder, “If you’re going to boss me around, why don’t you come in here?”
He laughs, a dark sort of laugh, and then walks across the bathroom and opens the shower door. I turn around and face him. He’s naked, rock-hard, his dark blue-flecked eyes staring at me. For a few seconds I’m not sure what to do with myself. I think about kissing him, but somehow that doesn’t seem appropriate. He doesn’t seem to be in a kissing mood. Then I think about touching him tenderly on the cock, but I don’t think that would do it. Maybe, I decide, a blowjob might release the tension which has suddenly appeared in him. And, anyway, he did the same for me earlier today. I’d just be returning the favor.
So I drop to my knees and bring my hands to his hips, bracing myself. Looking up, I see an animal glint in his eyes, a glint of approval. I lean forward, opening my mouth as wide as it will go, and take him into me. He’s huge, so huge that my jaw begins to ache as soon as he enters me. I push my mouth down, sucking, not entirely sure what I’m going. I manage to take about a quarter of him inside of my mouth before he edges toward my throat. I make to pull out, meaning to suck to this point and back again until he comes, but then he reaches down and with both his hands grabs the back of my head, hands in my wet hair.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, thrusting his cock deeper inside of me, way past the point of gagging, until my eyes are bulging and I’m coughing spit and pre-come around the corners of my lips. “Oh, fuck, Becky. Fuck, fuck.”
He grips my head hard and starts fucking my face. He goes slow at first, some part of him maybe knowing that I can’t take his whole cock. But then he loses control and starts to brutally drill into my face, his cock sliding all the way down to the bottom of my throat, choking me so that I have to concentrate hard to breathe through my nose, otherwise I’d run out of air. I manage to look up through my bleary, watery eyes and see that he’s staring down at me with wide, frantic eyes, his whole body tensed, his hips moving like a piston back and forth. I choke, gag, try and gasp, as he fucks my mouth with all his strength. I have to dig my fingernails into his hips to stop from being pushed backward into the wall. I gag every time he slides into me, but he doesn’t stop. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, and yet when I hear his groans of pleasure, I find myself taking a twisted kind of pleasure in it, too.
“You’re my fucking slut,” he groans, pounding into my mouth, my jaw aching so bad now it feels like it’s going to dislocate. “You’re my fuckin’ whore, just my little tight fuckin’ whore. Aren’t you?”
Through the brutal face-fucking, I manage to make a mmm-mmm sound. Chance, for the first time since I met him, offers me what looks like a real smile. Then the smile fades as he fucks my face even harder than he was before, harder than I thought was possible. My eyelids suddenly feel heavy, breathing through my nose becoming more difficult, and yet he keeps drilling into me, his cock sliding past my tonsils, down deep, further than it should be going. Then, right at the end, he pinches my nose, cutting off my air-flow, and thrusts all the way down my throat—it feels like he’s in my chest—and stares down at me as he comes directly into me, my mouth and throat filling with come. As he finishes, my eye-lids close and I feel like I’m going to pass out. But at the last minute, he pulls out, leaving me to gasp and cough until I’ve gotten my breath back.
I kneel in the shower with him standing over me for some time, and then he leans down and pats me on the head. “You’re my good little cocksucker,” he says. “My good little cock-sucking whore.”
Suddenly, I’m horny all over again.