1. Sam
Sam
“Get on your fucking knees,” he growls, gripping a handful of my hair and pushing me to the floor.
The carpet cushions my knees, but the pain from his firm grip in my hair makes my eyes water.
“Open,” he demands, his cock jutting towards my lips.
I glance up and stare into the black void where his eyes should be.
The mask covers his entire face and muffles his voice.
“I said open your fucking mouth.” A whimper escapes my lips when his grip tightens even further, making it feel like I lost a few strands of hair.
He stills when it reaches his ears, so I open my mouth wide and stick out my tongue like a good little whore would do.
He guides his cock into my mouth, and I wrap my lips around his smooth, hard length, gagging and moaning simultaneously when he reaches the back of my tongue.
The rope rubs against the skin around my wrists when I try to wriggle my arms free.
He thrusts into my mouth roughly, temporarily taking my air away.
I’m at his mercy, and I shouldn’t love it as much as I do.
A tear leaves a wet trail down my cheek when I gag again.
I couldn’t get away…even if I truly wanted to.
He pulls out, causing drool to drip over my lip and off my chin.
My heart pounds frantically in my chest when he walks behind me and shoves my chest to the floor.
Without the use of my arms, my cheek slides across the carpet, and my breath hitches from the burn.
His fingers wrap around my tied wrists, keeping my ass in the air for him. He pushes up my skirt, and a breeze brushes across my skin as he rips my tights over my ass and down my thighs, exposing my bare pussy to him. My fight kicks in when his cock nudges my entrance.
“Don’t, please,” I beg. The carpet burns my cheek as I writhe beneath him. All I’m able to do is move my hips, which causes his hard length to rub against me. He groans and grips my hip, digging his fingertips into my skin.
“Fight all you want. You’ll still end up my whore in the end,” he warns, lining himself up and thrusting inside me, fully seating himself in one quick motion.
I scream and try to jerk my hands free, but it’s useless.
They’re tied too tight. “Ple—,” I stammer, his cock hitting deep, silencing me with bursts of pleasure.
One moment, he’s pounding inside me, and the next, I’m being pulled into his chest. His cock falls out of me, and then I’m whipped around and falling backward onto my ass. My bound hands struggle to keep me upright. I try to scurry away, using my legs to push myself backward, away from him.
He chuckles at my pathetic attempt. “Nice try, bitch,” he laughs, grabbing my ankles and pulling me back towards him. I gasp when my hands are crushed beneath me. “Shit,” he barks, jerking his mask off and tossing it to the floor next to him. “Sam, are you okay?”
Fucking hell. Seriously? One gasp of pain and you’re done?
I groan, dropping my head back to rest against the floor. “Yes,” I snap. When he reaches for the mask, I tell him, “Forget it. The thrill is gone now.”
Disappointment drips from his face. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s so hard to hurt you and not feel terrible about it.”
I inhale slowly and give him a fake, reassuring smile I’ve mastered. “Just fuck me,” I tell him.
He helps me sit up and quickly unties the ropes, pulls my tights the rest of the way off and climbs on top of me.
Oh, how fun. He could have at least left my wrists bound.
When his cock pushes back inside me, it doesn’t feel the same.
Doesn’t feel as good. The puddle of warmth and ecstasy that was there moments ago has vanished.
Stolen by the sex gods that blessed me with the most fucked-up kink of all.
I force breathy moans to spill from my mouth and gently dig my nails into his back. “Oh, Xan,” I moan in his ear dramatically, rolling my eyes when he groans. How wonderful it would be to be a man? To get off so easily with just a wet hole and fake sounds of pleasure.
I picture his hand wrapped around my neck while I struggle to get away and a real moan escapes.
Squeezing my eyes shut and holding my breath, I attempt to make my own fantasy come true.
Dots flicker behind my eyelids and my lungs burn by the time he gets off and rolls to his side, pulling me into him.
All I want to do it get up and leave, but I can’t be that mean.
I kiss him softly and run my hands through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He’s a decent kisser, at least.
“I have an early morning tomorrow,” I whisper, pecking him on the lips one more time before I rise from the uncomfortable floor. It’s not earlier than normal, but it’s the only polite excuse I can come up with.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he rushes out, discarding the condom and pulling up his jeans.
“Okay.” I grin at him and pick up my tights off the floor.
He follows me, and when we reach my car, he opens my door.
Such a gentleman. Not sure why this doesn’t turn me on.
Why does my body crave to be used? To be forced…
well…feel like I’m being forced? I kiss his cheek before sliding behind the wheel.
He gives me a small wave, and I honk my horn before disappearing around the corner.
Will it break his heart when I break up with him, or will he be relieved he doesn’t have to pretend to rape me again? Consensually, of course.
It’s late enough that few people are outside walking around.
I pull over and park in front of a random house.
Xander got off, but I didn’t. The usual.
I wrap my small hand around my throat and squeeze, sliding my other hand under my skirt and rubbing my neglected clit.
Why is this so hard to do for someone else?
Blue lips are a bad sign. Other than that…
take my damn breath away, tie all my moving parts together, bruise me in the best possible way…
Just. Make. Me. Come. I’ll survive and I’d be satisfied too.
Getting an idea, I wrap the seat belt around my neck and tighten it the best I can without actually strangling myself.
With my now free hand, I pinch my nipple, and the pleasure I was experiencing before Xan took his mask off comes back.
My orgasm slams into me and the seat belt cuts off my air when I arch my back.
A wave of calmness washes over me when my climax peaks and I slump back into my seat and remove my fingers from my center.
I hesitate for a moment before running my tongue up my glistening fingers, tasting myself.
That’s what he would do. The man I made up in my mind that would do everything my body and mind is begging for.
I sigh and unwrap the seat belt from my neck and fix my skirt before continuing my drive home.
I always questioned why getting off was so damn difficult.
A vibrator does the job well enough, but my orgasms were never powerful.
They were more of a quick bliss that faded too fast afterward.
That was until I watched a movie with a forced sex scene and my panties became damp with my arousal.
Do I want someone to actually rape me? Hell no!
I just want to be bound, gagged, choked, and maybe hurt a little while not being able to get away. Forced…consensually.
“Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter bounces off the walls of the steam-filled bathroom while I dance under the spray of water when I get home.
It’s well after midnight and I should be in bed, but I need all the stimulation I can get when I’m home.
You can’t remain in a constant state of calm without going a tad insane.
I spend my days surrounded by calm scents, soft music, and dim lights.
I love my jobs, but lately they haven’t been as satisfying.
Like there’s a small cloud hovering over me, dimming the sun.
The rays that pierce through are only enough to leave me craving more.
I’m happy, but I’m…lonely. What’s wrong with me that I can be in a healthy relationship and still be lonely?
When I was finally comfortable enough to tell him what I wanted, he seemed eager to explore the dark side, but it’s one thing to want to do it and another to actually follow through.
Sure, I could find someone who doesn’t give a shit about hurting me, like a certain ex, but then there would be no trust. Trust is the only way this works.
The last man I was with like this took advantage of me.
It was as though I served as his nicotine patch to curb his predatory appetite.
Gross. I left him and may have anonymously added him to the creep list on a private social media group for local women.
The thing about feeding a stray, though, is that they never want to leave.
Since my lease was up at my apartment anyway, I bought a cute house far away from that one, as I had already wanted to. He just expedited my plans.
Sighing, I fall backwards onto my bed, my towel loosening around my chest and hair.
I don’t want to live the rest of my life faking orgasms or only having mildly satisfying relations with my vibrator.
Maybe I need an exorcism to get this sexual curse removed.
Hell, I’d just end up begging the demon that slithers out of me to make me his dirty little pet, so that wouldn’t be very effective.
I grab my phone to skip the song to a more lively beat and type how to find a CNC partner in the search bar as a joke.
A small ad pops up in the bottom right of my screen.
I sit up and my towels fall, exposing my breasts.
My wet hair brushes my upper back, sending goosebumps over my skin as my thumb hovers over the enticing words…
SINS — Sin In Secret
Fulfill your fantasy safely.
Explore the desires you keep hidden.
Discreet. Verified. Consensual.
Unlock Your Fantasy
There’s no way this is real. It has to be a scam…
right? I abruptly deposit my phone, screen down, on my nightstand so I don’t get too curious and give my phone a virus or allow a hacker into my accounts.
This itch I cannot scratch is going to be the death of me.
I gather my damp towels and walk to my bathroom naked to finish getting ready for bed.
The sound of the blow dryer fills the room, but does nothing to drown out the noise in my head.
I want to love sex. To be satisfied with gentle touches and soft kisses.
But a plain old dick just doesn’t do it for me.
It’s not like it’s some magical sausage that curbs your appetite.
You might as well stroke my cheek. The sensation is basically the same thing if you don’t add a lot of spice and side dishes to go along with the dangling piece of meat.
I spend the next several minutes wrapping my copper-red hair around the ribbon draped across my head until I looked utterly ridiculous.
When I slide under my sage green floral comforter and begin sinking into my memory foam mattress, I stare at my phone before tugging the chain on my lamp, hiding the temptation in the darkness.
My neglected kitty purrs at the thought of consenting to a complete stranger.
I bury my face into the pillow and scream out in frustration.
This should not be a turn-on. It should be a turnoff.
I should run in the other direction, not willing to submit to a man on an app that may or may not be real.
I vividly imagine the scene in my mind, hoping my dream self will have the time of her life behind my eyelids.