She Likes It Rough

by Fanee Sitter

  “Yeah, about that…” I start to say. I am thinking I had probably taken enough advantage of the elderly, for one day at least.

  “I would love to!” Curtis interrupts.

  She grabs a flabby piece of bicep on Curtis, “Aren’t you just the strapping young lad!” Then she turns to address me and Chrissy. “Why don’t you two take a look around the place in the meantime.

  My husband was a collector of so many neat things.” I think all this damn light was making her blind, because all I can see is a bunch of silverware. “I’m sure you both could find something interesting.”

  So we start taking a look around. The only other things she seems to own beyond Mickey’s silverware are framed pictures of the two of them together.

  “We usually start with, like, an egg…” I hear Curtis giving instructions to Mrs. Heartfield. It may be the first time I’ve seen him act somewhat polite. “Then some oatmeal. Are those shredded oats? Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

  Listening to him was comical. I hear her offering Curtis a chocolate truffle, then she is insisting. “Just as long as there aren’t any nu—” his voice is muffled by chewing after she stuffs one in his mouth.

  I continue my perusing. Running down the beach, camping in front of an old log cabin, hugging at the Disneyland entrance — they always look so happy in all the pictures. Poor Mrs. Heartfield. I was feeling like such an asshole.

  “Hey, asshole — what’s in here?” Chrissy motions for me to come over. I realize that it’s the two of us alone together again.

  “Don’t you have raisins? Prunes might not work…” Curtis’s voice goes soft then quiet as we enter what is apparently Mrs. Heartfield’s bedroom.

  Chrissy is laughing hysterically and pointing to one corner of the room. Sitting on a nightstand beside the bed is a giant purple dildo, at least ten inches long. Chrissy goes over to examine it more closely.

  “Oh my god.” She’s poking at something on the purple shaft. “This is a mold of Mickey Heartfield’s cock. Look, his name is inscribed right here.” I am in utter disbelief. You are a naughty woman, Mrs. Heartfield.

  “I want you to fuck me with it.” But Chrissy was naughtier.

  I am speechless. She kicks off her flip flops onto the warm, wool carpet and tells me to lock the door. There is no lock, so I feign the motions and jiggle the handle a bit instead.

  This was happening.

  Chrissy’s shorts are already at her ankles. She steps out of them gracefully and lies down atop the floral bedspread. I move hastily to get my shirt off and get it stuck between my elbows.

  By the time it’s off she is spread eagle and using one hand underneath scarlet panties to finger her clit.

  “Mmm,” she moans as she begins to slowly deep throat the dildo with her other hand. I feel myself getting hard. I reach into my pants and give my cock a few gentle strokes before pulling it out.

  Her eyes light up. I can tell she wants it bad. She slides Mr. Heartfield’s cock deeper and deeper down the back of her throat. The cock is monstrously huge, but she can almost take it whole. Her dark mascara is starting to run. A few tears are rolling down her pale doll face.

  She wants to prove that she can take the whole thing, balls deep.

  The lust in her eyes when she looks at me makes me wet. She is going to do it. She tilts her head up at the ceiling and pushes the back of it with her finger tips like she was going to swallow it.

  I don’t believe it, the entire thing is down her throat. Her gagging is the sound of gargled spit.

  She grips the back of it with her glittery nails and has to tug hard for it to budge. She gags some more and pulls on it slowly. She is slurping along the shaft and purple rubber just keeps coming out.

  Her tongue leaves behind a thick streak of drippy saliva as all ten inches emerge from her luscious, cherry red lips. With one more gag she has it out at last.

  “Now I want you to stick it in my pussy.” Her panties are soaking wet now. I leave my boxers on the floor and hop up onto the bed. I get up between her legs so one hand is on each knee.

  My hands travel down to her hips and tug at the lacey waistline of her panties with both hands.

  The panties slide smoothly up her legs and off the toes, which are pedicured to match the design on her nails. She hands me the dildo and I use the tip to stimulate her clit some more.

  She wraps her legs around my neck, staring up at me with eyes dripping of black mascara down to her flush cheeks.

  Then I thrust the giant purple thing deep into her pussy and she has to stifle a scream. I start banging her with it fast and hard. Her grimace of pain turns to an expression of immense pleasure as eyes roll to the back of her head. I can tell she is enjoying this.

  The black lace bra she’s still wearing is keeping her enormous tits pressed together, and they’re bouncing up and down with each gyration of her hips.

  “Mmm, let me lick it it baby.” I thought she only called Curtis that. Oh well, I am the one fucking her now. I slowly pull out the dildo, which is now thoroughly glazed in her wet juices, and circle the tip of it around her lips.

  Chrissy licks up and down the shaft, sucking and slurping on parts of it with her lips. The mold of Mr. Heartfield’s dick is marked all over by thick blotches of red from her lipstick.

  She grabs hold of it with both hands and brings it back down to her twat. See flashes a devilish smile.

  “Fuck me hard in the ass. I’m going to squirt all over this bitch’s sheets.” Chrissy is cruel and heartless, but she knows how to fuck.

  I swing her around by the legs so we’re facing the door and she lets out a gleeful yelp.

  I spread my knees to get myself stabilized and flip her on the stomach — I am going to drill the fuck out of Chrissy’s ass. She spreads her ass cheeks wide and winks at me with her asshole a few times, giggling.

  She grabs hold of Mr. Heartfield’s cock and bangs her pussy with it some more. She moans loud and long. I have to reach from behind and cup her mouth in my hand to keep her quiet so they won’t hear us from the kitchen.

  I put my face between her ass cheeks and trace my tongue down the crack until I reach the anus. I circle around her hole with my tongue for for awhile, then use the tip of it to enter just inside her soft flesh.

  Then I push deeper. Her back arches and I feel her hot breath against my palm as she lets out a muffled cry. I grab my stone hard, throbbing cock and get the head up against her asshole.

  It’s soft and dripping wet.

  I thrust my pelvis forward and feel my cock slip into her tight asshole. It feels so good that I forget to keep a hand on her mouth to stop her from screaming. She wails and I know they must have heard us.

  We have to finish this quick.

  I start pile driving her ass with reckless fervor. She is screaming and moaning with abandon. My balls are slamming against the dildo in her pussy while my cock is squeezed by her tight asshole.

  I can hear someone coming.

  “I—I’m going to cum! Fuck me harder, you piece of shit!” Chrissy is begging for more. She starts to whimper and I can tell she is really close, but I need a just little bit longer.

  I snatch Mr. Heartfield’s cock from her grasp and bring it around to her front. I shove the thing down her throat and her cheeks puff out — she wasn’t expecting that.

  I can hear her gargled moans, followed by footsteps behind the bedroom door. I’m so fucking close. The doorknob starts to turn, and there is a click. I know the door isn’t locked, but I had neglected to tell Chrissy that.

  The door cracks open and the distinct light of polished silverware fills the room. I can feel Chrissy’s whole body writhing and I know she is cumming.

  She pushes up with her ass so my cock is balls deeps, then gushes onto the messed up sheets. Her asshole clenches hard, then relaxes, then clenches hard again. The sensation is enough for me to orgasm.

  I shoot a hot load of thick spunk up Chrissy’s ass as her body goes limp from ecstasy. My c
ock throbs with pleasure and Chrissy continues to quiver.

  My chest falls on top of her and we’re a mess of sticky sweat.

  I came so hard I can barely see straight, and I have to strain my neck up to see who’s there. I can make out a blurred silhouette of someone standing in the doorway.

  I rub my eyes and they begin to focus. Mrs. Heartfield is staring blankly, mouth agape.

  "You...” Mrs. Heartfield is at a total loss for words. Her husband’s cock mold is still lodged deep in Chrissy’s esophagus, the purple balls dangling from her bottom lip.

  “Your friend," her mouth moves slowly, "He needs help!" The volume of her voice builds until it reaches a crescendo, and her expression changes suddenly. She is in a total a fit of panic.

  * * *

  Later, we found out that Curtis had gone into anaphylactic shock as a result of some nut allergy. Turns out, Mrs. Heartfield had been stuffing him full of truffles he was deathly allergic to.

  In the chaos of it all, she never mentioned what she had seen and we never spoke of it. Needless to say, she didn’t show up at any more of our weekly bake sales, either. Too bad, because I know how much she loved our oatmeal raisin.

  Curtis passed away that night, and me and Chrissy have been fucking like rabbits again ever since.

  Curtis never did a god damn thing. Ever again.

  STRETCHED AND PUNISHED

  PROLOGUE

  Before I started sleeping with Mr. Black, I was an independent woman. A confident, ambitious girl who knew what she wanted and never took any shit from people she didn’t like.

  And I was reckless. A real slut, in fact.

  I’d fuck any guy I needed to if it got me closer to my goals. Even for the smallest favor.

  Once, I sucked a guy’s cock in the bathroom stall of a church just so he’d hire me as his wedding photographer. I was taking pictures of him getting married later that afternoon.

  Of course, he looked like a perfect, happy in love groom, ready to embark on a lifetime of loyalty to his wife. If only my lens could expose the shithead underneath.

  But as a struggling photographer, I did what I had to do. Every action had purpose behind it, even the ones I was utterly ashamed of. I would do whatever was required for success.

  I may have done lots of things I’m not proud of, but it was all on the path toward a greater fulfillment. To realize my dream of being a professional.

  Until I met Mr. Black, the rich and powerful man who now dictates every aspect of my life.

  Now, I don’t dare even to take a shit without his permission. I’ve lost control over my life, my own sense of purpose.

  The old me would still have some form of self-respect. Until Mr. Black came into my life, I was the master of my own ship. Now I’m hardly a deckhand.

  Maybe that was his plan all along. To systematically destroy my will. And I’ll admit that a part of me wanted him to. I can’t deny that I allowed him to do it. I let him sap me of every ounce of dignity.

  Because I am in love with him.

  Because I am his obedient little submissive. And in truth, I like it this way.

  What is there left to fear when every decision in your life is given to someone else?

  Still, there’s a pestering little voice buried deep inside that Mr. Black just can’t seem to stamp out. It urges me to be naughty just for the sake of thrill.

  The tiny remnants of disobedience.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Come in, Delilah.”

  “Yes, sir.” My black heels click against the marble floor of Mr. Black’s office as I step inside.

  “And close the door behind you.”

  “Yes, sir.” With both hands full of the things he’d requested, I move to tuck a manila envelope underneath my arm to free up one hand. The envelope slips from my grasp and tumbles to the floor, spilling its contents of polaroids. For a moment, I just freeze.

  “I’m waiting, Ms. Palmer…”

  “Yes, sir!”I scramble to pick up the mess, regretting my hesitation. “Sorry, sir…” I stuff the scattered photographs back into the envelope, not wasting any time to stack them neatly again before getting up to close the mahogany door. The polished brass of the handle catches the morning light spilling in from the glass wall behind Mr. Black.

  The air of his presence is dominating. When I turn to face him, I have to immediately avert my attention rather than look him in the eyes. The quick jerk causes a stray lock of hair to fall over my glasses, and I pretend instead to be interested in the urban landscape behind him.

  I make a casual sweeping motion to put the hair back in place while advancing toward his desk, trying my best not to blush.

  “I… I have the negatives you were asking for.”

  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Mr. Black asks, swiveling in his chair before getting up. His glossy black shoes sink into the plush red carpet surrounding the desk. He’s holding something behind his back, but I can’t tell what.

  “Y—Yes, sir.”

  He studies me a moment, letting his eyes rest on my cleavage behind a white blouse. Then he pauses when his notices my peep toe pumps, the glint of red nail polish peeking through at the ends.

  “That color looks ridiculous on you,” he says while his head gives a subtle, disappointed shake.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you really agree, or do you think that’s what I want to hear?” He raises an eyebrow, attempting to catch my gaze before I avert my eyes. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Delilah?”

  “No, sir.”

  He extends a hand with a look of expectation. I stand there a moment, unsure of what he wants. He taps against the polished wood desk, starting to look impatient. Oh shit, the photographs!

  “S—sorry sir! Here they are!” I reach beneath my arm, fumbling with the folder, nearly dropping it again. His eyes squint with a certain annoyance, fixing on me while I spread the negatives across the desk’s surface. He leans over the desk with his arms propping himself at either end while his laser beam gaze makes me self-conscious about my every movement.

  My hands begin to shake as I lay the photos out in order, four by four, just the way he wants. I had been photographing for next month’s cover model, and each polaroid was a different pose. Mr. Black had specific instructions for me to order them by my personal preference. He insisted that he review them in black in white only, and there always had to be exactly sixteen for him to look at once.

  When I’ve placed the last polaroid down, his head tilts down at last to the pictures before him. He scans the negatives, giving each a cursory glance.

  “Number twelve. That will be all, Ms. Palmer.”

  “Yes, s—“

  “Wait.” Mr. Black catches my wrist. “What’s this?” The polaroid I was about to pick up has a bit of extra white border, like there is another one peeking out from underneath. He takes the edge of the polaroid with thumb and finger, holding it with a sort of disgust like it might be contaminated with something.

  His lips curls at one end with a look of displeasure and gives the polaroid a shake. The polaroid stuck to the bottom peels away and falls to the desk face-up.

  I gap and cover my open mouth. My eyes light up, locked on the image before Mr. Black.

  “Ms. Palmer,” he says, planting an index finger onto the center of the polaroid, “would you mind telling me how this filth ended up in my office?” I can’t believe it. But there it is, right beneath his fingertip. The same selfie I snapped in secret the last time Mr. Black was on top of me, fucking me with my legs in the air, my face in a contortion of spectacular orgasm.

  I know I have to respond quickly, but the words won’t come. His shoulders slump with disappointment and one hand moves to the drawer of his desk. The drawer where he keeps the…

  “You should know better.” The drawer slides open and his hand dives out of view to fetch something inside. The sound of him rustling through its contents is enough to make me flinch. “Hand on the table, Ms. Pa
lmer.”

  “But sir, it was a mista—“

  “Now.” His eyes squint with the dissatisfaction of his authority being challenged. The tone of his voice is cold and callous. I immediately regret talking out of turn.

  I lean forward to press my hands onto cool glass of the desk, fingers curled around the sides. The drawer slams shut, but I still can’t see what he has pulled out. My hands are numb and shaking; the color has gone out of them. The blood of my extremities is rushing toward the slick heat between my thighs.