by Gabi Moore
I took a deep breath and found the paragraph I knew he wanted. I wanted it too. In a faltering voice, I instead began reading about the heroine splayed open on the chair, legs spread, the hero violating her completely. As I read, I felt every last sliver of my resistance slipping away, till my mind had warmed to the idea.
From the very moment I had written those words, I had secretly wanted them all to come true, but it was only here, naked in front of him, reading them out loud that I truly realized with a deep, painful ache throughout my entire body that I wanted this. I wanted it badly.
Some part of myself had led me to this twisted moment, even though I myself wasn’t aware of it at the time. The realization of what was going to happen next sent a single bead of wetness rolling down the inside of my thigh. I was screaming on the inside. I reached the end of the paragraph, and let the silence close all around me; the words I had just spoken hanging in the air like an incantation that had conjured this dark, twisted moment.
“Is this how you want the story to go?” he asked. I could hear him breathing.
I nodded mutely, without looking at him.
“Then put your hands on the desk again.”
I did, and gingerly raised my rear into the air as I had done in the class before. But this time, the stakes were much, much higher. This time, I had skin in the game. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on each of the sounds behind me – the rustle of fabric moving against warm skin, the sound of him unzipping his trousers, of his steps coming closer towards me.
Again, he placed a full hand against my ass cheek, holding it there as though to pin me down. I relaxed forward and let my forearms fall onto the table, exposing the most vulnerable parts of my body to him. I felt the hard tip of his cock gently touch the opening of my pussy, and wait there. It was a question, a suggestion, but he already knew that every part of me was responding yes; I squirmed with anticipation – I didn’t just want the tip, I wanted all of it.
But to my waggling hips, he only said, “That’s what you want? Hm. But that’s not how the story goes, does it?”
Oh, I knew how the story went all right.
I swiveled my head to see him easily thrust the length of his thick thumb into my pussy, right to the knuckle, and I arched my back in response. His dick bobbed menacingly against my ass, tracing wet trails on the skin there. I had never been so turned on in my life, and from so little. He slipped his thumb out again and dragged the moisture it had gathered slowly upwards, tracing a sticky line, anointing my ass with my own wetness. Just like that, he was a magician who had transferred the thrilling heat in my pussy to this other new, forbidden part of my body. A delicious warmth spread out over me. Nobody had ever touched me like that before.
Resting the pad of his thumb there for a moment, he then began to press tiny, insistent circles round my tight hole.
“But I’m scared,” I said, surprising even myself with how unguarded I sounded.
“I know,” he said after a pause, and resumed rolling and pressing. The warmth spread.
I pressed my cheek hard against the wood of the table and clenched my fists. I felt so small. Helpless.
I loved it.
“Is it going to hurt?” I asked, deliberately trying out my best damsel-in-distress voice. He took his time before answering; lovingly stroking my ass, as if doing so would help him figure out the answer.
“Hurt? Oh yes. It will hurt. A lot.”
My pussy pulsed around his thumb, and he smiled quietly at this, picking up the pace.
“But we’re going to stay true to the story. Don’t worry, if you don’t do it, I’ll just make you.”
Another pulse. With each passing moment, each stroke, he seemed to be bewitching my body, coaxing something dark and secret inside me to open up to him.
His cock was again between my ass cheeks, and now he took his time gliding the length of it all the way up, and all the way down again. And with each trip down, just as I was sure the swollen tip would catch and enter me, he pulled away and stroked once more, slowly, up and then slowly down again. The ache in my pussy was becoming unbearable – I reached around to touch my clit, but he swiftly slapped away my hands and then, on thinking about it for a moment, he grabbed both my small wrists in his left hand and pinned them against my lower back, the right hand still anchored against my butt, his dick sliding and teasing slowly up …and then slowly down again.
“Tension, Michelle,” he muttered, and pressed the weight of his body fully against mine. The feeling of his balls pressing into me was the only delicious relief I had; with my hands now pinned, I had to push my clit back against his body to soothe the infuriating pressure there. I needed the touch of his belly, something, anything. He playfully backed away, teasing me.
“That’s what you want?” he said, and positioned the tip of his hot cock against the quivering opening of my ass, sinking just the tiniest length into me. I gasped and melted into a wash of goosebumps.
“…Then come and get it.”
In those dizzying moments, my body was a whirring engine, rapidly working under wave after wave of pain, transmuting each thrill into deep, shuddering pleasure. He waited, sensing how I needed to adjust my body to him, around him.
My clit was longing again to be close to his body, to make contact with him and anchor myself against the waves. My elbows were beginning to hurt against the hard table. My feet were numb, a universe away.
“Come,” he said again, beckoning, but the moment I tried again to lean back into him, was the moment I became aware of the full heft of his cock blocking my path, finding only resistance in my overwhelmed ass.
All at once I understood. Tension. Every fiber in my body wanted to move closer and relieve my poor aching clit …but it came at a price. I took a deep breath, trying to gather myself. Sensing this, he leaned forward and showered my back with a sprinkling of soft kisses, kisses which seemed even more tender given that I was simultaneously impaled on his rock hard dick.
“Don’t rush. Remember, you don’t have to do it all at once. Go slow with me,” he whispered into my ear. His gentleness seemed to relax me, and I opened further to him, my body thrumming in this new altered dimension of pleasure, of how utterly filthy it was to be fucked like this, here, by him. I wanted his body to change mine, to reshape me. I wanted the pain.
Tossing my head back, I edged back a few millimeters, taking more of him into my body. It was though the corresponding amount of air was displaced from his lungs and he laughed, “Good girl!”
I felt my ass relax further, growing accustomed to its new life as a source of pleasure, a vortex of sensation, an undiscovered thing that could be used. Or abused.
He ran his hand all along my sides and back, stroking out any threads of fear and resistance. We were pinned hard together, only the smallest of movements possible. In a moment, his thumb was in my pussy again, and my entire body responded joyfully. With easy strokes, he guided me closer and closer to an orgasm, but as I saw the edge of it, he pulled out, the tiniest tip of his thumb left touching me, teasing.
“Come,” he beckoned again, and I took another deep breath, wanting with all my heart to follow that thumb and finally come, releasing myself from this torture. I leant back further, taking more of his thick cock into my ass, but at the same time winning more of his thumb too. Waves of pain and pleasure flooded through me, and I gasped. No sooner had I thought I was close again to my orgasm’s edge, did he pull his thumb away again and plunge me again into desperation.
“Come,” he said, more insistently. Almost the entire shaft was buried inside me now, so that I felt like a millimeter more and I wouldn’t be able to breath anymore. Chasing his thumb had led me to the wide, painful base of his cock, and I realized with horror that I may not be able to go any further. I wanted so badly to come, but the pain in my wrists reminded me that I was going nowhere, and that if I wanted the sweet release of pleasure, I would have to take it with a hearty dose of pain.
His breathing
seemed to deepen, and become irregular. I felt him throb inside me, seeming to grow and expand into every last corner of my body. I groaned at the thought of him enjoying it, enjoying my ass.
“You like this, you little slut? You like pretending to be all hardcore, but look at you now, huh?”
I tossed my hair. He wanted to hurt me, did he? Well, I could hurt him, too.
“You’re an old has-been who will never publish his stupid novel, and all you do is live vicariously through your students,” I said, the burning pain bringing hot tears to my eyes. Where the hell did that come from?
“You think you’re so edgy don’t you? You thi--”
“Whatever. At least I actually write, at least I’m not afraid” I said, shocked at this outburst, the pain making me reckless.
He paused. I saw the curve of my own tear drop on the table out the corner of my eye. I had gone too far.
“Well, you should be,” he said. The next moment, he had drawn back slightly, gathered his force and threw himself hard at me, plunging the full length of an angry cock deep into me; I screamed out, my hips banging the edge of the table, the full weight of his manly body driving itself into me without mercy. I saw stars. In the moments that followed, the gathering bliss in my pussy came to one bright, delicious point and burst, sending heavy ripples of stinging pleasure all through me. My entire body bucked and twitched around him. As my poor ass clenched and grasped after him, I pulled him down with me into a juicy orgasm. He cried out too, defeated, spurting jets of wet cum deep into my body and squeezing down hard on my waist to pull in deeper still.
I collapsed onto the desk, body sore and soaked with sweat, and his body collapsed on top of mine. I welcomed the crushing sensation, feeling all at once that after what we had done together, I could let his body do anything to mine, endure any pain he wished to dole out …and push far past it. I heard him panting in my ear, and we waited like this for a moment, for him to deflate inside me, for my heart to stop pounding in my ears and my pussy to stop twitching so violently.
Slowly, delicately, he slid out of my body and stood up, surveying the damage in the form of my crumpled body on the desk. He gave my ass a squeeze.
“You’re still mixing your tenses in that third paragraph,” he said.
Chapter 8 - Mr. Cain
I love it when a student has the grit to rise to a challenge. I love when writers can dig deep and confront their limits, pushing them to find what they’re really capable of. Michelle was such a student. For the next three months, I pushed her. At the same time as her words were growing, enlarging, becoming more sophisticated, her body was opening up to me, until I could access even the deepest parts of her, easily.
And she really wasn’t afraid. I hurt her. I used her body, over and over again, daring her to back down, but each time she accommodated me, somehow finding new levels of pleasure, nuances of feeling that even I, old has-been that I was, had never experienced. I admired her. And I loved completely wrecking her body, finding new ways to violate her little form, to overwhelm her, to punish her naiveté.
By the time the class came to an end, Michelle was an entirely different person. She had transformed into a noble explorer of new sexual worlds, of vast and fearsome horizons of pleasure, of new places, both profane and sublime …that I had introduced her to, but which she had become native to in no time. My body had been new territory to her, but she had soon charted and laid claim to every last inch of it, so that I could only wish her well when the class was done and we had no more natural reason to spend time together.
That was also the last class for me. She had been right all along: I was hiding behind my students, being lazy, never pushing myself to write what I truly wanted, to take risks. It was scary, to force myself to do something I had never done before, but then I just remembered Michelle, face down in a pool of her own tears, ass upturned, utterly vulnerable to me and yet not the slightest bit fearful, and I thought, why not?
After all, tension is a good thing, isn’t it?
- THE END -
A note from the Author:
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- Gabi Moore
Damaged - A Bad Boy Romance
Chapter One
“Alan! Oh my God, Alan! It’s happening!”
My wife of 9 years, my beautiful, wonderful wife Tanya, was racing towards me with something small in her hand and a look of deep consternation on her face.
If the last few weeks have been anything to go by, I could be mere moments away from having a heavy kitchen implement thrown at me, or else pinned down and shagged – or possibly both, in that order.
Tanya is a woman who knows what she wants. And she wants a baby, preferably yesterday.
Everything else had been checked off the list: I was one of the first items on the list as the handsome, successful husband, and soon after me followed the autumn wedding, the house with just the right tiles in the kitchen, the pair of beagles we named Bubble and Squeak, the coordinated bedspreads, and the yearly trips to Bali.
I loved Tanya. With every (exhausted) fibre of my being. I gave her everything, and happily. And as I saw her rushing over, I had the distinct impression she wanted something, shall we say, very specific from me.
She pushed a mound of papers aside and plonked herself down on my desk, square in front of me as her one, true and rightful project in life. She waggled a thermometer right in my face, looking very excitable indeed.
“Look? See?”
She had just woken up, and was still sleepy-haired and sweet and smelling like cotton pajamas. I loved her nearly half to death, this woman. But it was 6 in the morning, and I was bone tired. I rubbed my groggy eyes, trying to focus on what in god’s name she was showing me.
“Plus! Egg whites. I have egg white mucous. Raised temperature, egg whites… this is it. It’s happening right now,” she said, leaning in very close and whispering this last part to my still slightly confused face.
“You’re ovulating?” I said.
Men are oblivious, I know. She had been going on and on about her… secretions for the past week now, and I, unsure about my manly part in what seemed so clearly “woman’s business” was trying to be supportive while hoping she wouldn’t ever quiz me on the difference in viscosity between Day 12 discharge and Day 20.
I smiled weakly, trying to remember if “ovulation” is the part that involved blood or not. Before I could say anything, she had tossed the thermometer aside and had hoisted her butt onto the desk, plunking her two bare feet into my lap.
“We should totally do it!”
“What, now?”
“Yes now, silly! The window is closing, Alan, even as we speak. And once it closes, that’s it for this particular egg, you know. Whoosh, gone, down the tubes, as it were.”
I loved how she spoke like an indignant professor whenever she got pissy with something.
I ran my hands up and down her thighs, probably soothing myself more than anything.
“Alright, alright, but how long have we got?”
“The egg is only viable for 12 to 24 hours. We can make it a few days before or after, but really now’s the time, now’s our best chance.”
Egg? Viable? Was this the same woman who had once whispered dirty words in my ear in the back of a cinema when we were in High School? The same woman who had jerked me off under a picnic blanket at that festival that one time, the girl who had flashed her boobs at me in church at my niece’s wedding?
I stared at the papers she had shoved aside – council tax, credit card statements, interest rate changes, bills for that damn broken boiler - and now here was beautiful, wonderful Tanya, reduced to another one of my chores, it seemed.
My work schedule for the last while had been the same every day: work myself to the bone, try to fix up our pi
ece-of-shit house, replace that broken tile in the bathroom, get Tanya pregnant.
I was tired.
She sat staring at me, legs slightly parted, a few wild strands of hair falling into her waiting face. Her hazel eyes, the soft curl of her lip, they were all as beautiful to me now as they had ever been. And yet…
“Ok. Let’s do it,” I said, smiling.
I would give this woman the world. And good god if she needed it, I would dig deep and find it in me to fuck her, right now, and give her all the damn babies she could handle. I lunged forward and grabbed both her legs, pulling her onto the desk and laying her down.
“Ouch! Careful,” she mumbled, revealing a pointy paper weight she had landed on.
She lay back and shot me a flirty smile. Oh yes. God yes. There it was. The gorgeous, sexy little thing I had married. Her hair fell onto the desk and her pajamas fell loosely open. The word mucous popped into my head.
Shit.
I leaned in and kissed her passionately, as though this would help dispel the thought. Ok, so if we started now, and it’s probably around 6 o’clock right now, or ten minutes past… so if we take 15 minutes to get this over with, I’d still have a chance for a quick shower and would make it to work if I left by 7… but what if we took longer than 15 minutes?
I snapped my attention back to the moment and kissed her some more.
“Ouch!” she said again, and tore her lips from mine to fuss behind her some more, the sound of bills crumpling beneath her.
“You ok?” I asked.
She smiled.
“Yeah, sure, but uh...”
“Shall we go upstairs instead?”
“Uh, yeah, we could? I mean, let’s just--”
“Yeah, you’re here now, now’s the time isn’t it?”
“Yup, we should be spontaneous about it.”
We looked at each other.
I leaned in for another kiss, this one more strained than the last. I thought of her naughty, tanned brown legs under a sundress on our honeymoon, the way she had run away from me on the beach, laughing, the dress whipping all around her in the wind. The dim memory was stirring something down below, thank god. I pressed my cock against her; it was the beginning of an old, old dance I had been doing with Tanya for years now, the familiar choreography, the well-worn, happy ruts we had carved out for one another, affectionate patterns in both body and mind. I’m more or less an idiot with most things in life, but hell, I knew what turned this woman on.