by Violet Blue
Your hands cradle my hips as I push onto you, my pussy so wet that it engulfs your cock in one hot, easy motion. In an instant I feel the familiar push of your cockhead against my G-spot, and I moan as I start to stroke my clit. I look down into your eyes and love you more than ever, wanting you to come inside me, wanting to come hard on your cock. And I’m close—very, very close.
Your hips rise up to meet me and I pump mine rhythmically; I feel my orgasm approaching. I’m on the very edge of it when you roll me off of you and tumble me onto the bed, face up, under you, legs spread. The feel of your weight almost makes me come right then, but you slide out of me and hold your cock erect, an inch from my cunt.
Moaning, whimpering, desperate, I inch my hips up and try to push myself back onto you. You tease me, pulling back. When I thrust myself hard at you, hungrily seeking your cock, you look down into my eyes and laugh.
You shake your head.
“Not yet,” you say. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Baby, I’m so close,” I whimper.
You smile broadly, climbing out of bed. “I want you aching for it. Get dressed.”
I stretch out, sliding my hands into my wet thong and rubbing my clit. “Please?” I whisper.
“No,” you say, getting back on the bed and grasping my wrists. You kiss me tenderly on the lips, your tongue stroking mine. That only makes me want it more, and I struggle against you, trying to get my hands back between my legs. I rub against you, feeling your wet cock on my belly.
“Come for me, then? Come on me?” I beg you. “Come in my mouth,” I whisper.
You shake your head. “Get dressed in something nice—something very nice. This is an excellent restaurant. Be sure to wear gloves, though. Satin ones. And don’t change your underwear—I love what you’re wearing.”
I should know better than to argue with you when you want to play these games. I love them as much as you do; for every whine and whimper I give you, begging you to come, to let me come, I know I’ll come ten times harder when you finally let me have it.
But now, after a week without you, I want it so bad I can’t control myself. I put my arms around you as you button your dress shirt; I drop to my knees and take your cock in my mouth again, tasting my pussy’s juices so sharp on your hard flesh. You let me suck you, kneeling in my bra and panties. You let me take you into my throat, rub you all over my face. You let me bring you almost to the point where you’ll come in my mouth; I taste the first tiny squirt of pre-come, and the flavor overwhelms me, making me want you more than I’ve ever wanted you in my life. I swallow eagerly and suck you harder, waiting for your come.
But you pull back, holding my hair, forcing my head back so that my lips and tongue work, empty and aching, an inch from your cock. I look up at you and whimper, then hear myself moaning, “Please? Please? Please?”
But you shake your head, pull me to my feet, and point me at the closet. It hurts to walk, my clit is so swollen. My hands quiver as I select my sexiest minidress, a tight little black number. I need your help zipping it, and the feel of your fingers on my skin makes me bite my lip. I put on a string of pearls, a dose of mascara, a thick coat of bright red lipstick. You knot a red tie around your neck and put on your dark wool suit coat.
I wear high-heeled shoes, praying you’ll fuck me in them, like you did the last time we played this game. Only this time, something in your eyes tells me that the ante has been upped more than even I can imagine.
I don’t bother with my seat belt in the car; it’s much more important to me to tuck my ankles under my ass and cuddle up against your warm body as you drive.
I ask you how your trip was; I wonder out loud, again, why you chose to drive from Vancouver rather than flying, especially since your work would have paid for it. “I wanted to pick something up in Oregon,” you tell me mysteriously. When I ask you what it is, you tell me I’ll find out soon enough. That makes my pussy feel swollen and wet. I’m so turned on I’m still leaking, thick pulses of juice oozing out of my cunt and soaking my thong until it’s so wet it feels cold and clammy. But when I push my thighs together tightly, it soon warms up.
We drive into the city and into the financial district. As the sun goes down, you go slowly along the less savory streets, like you’re looking for a hooker. I think for a moment that maybe you are—maybe that’s what you’ve got in store for me, why you wanted me so aching and wet that I couldn’t say no. Are you going to push me to my knees in front of a twenty-fivedollar whore in a cheap red minidress, knowing I can’t deny you anything, knowing I’ll slip my tongue into her cunt just to get you to fuck me till I come? Knowing I’m yours, no matter what you do to me?
I think I have my answer when you pull into an alley, a dark one leading behind the newspaper loading dock and the back end of an office building. By now it’s completely dark, and the alley stretches into blackness with not a streetlight anywhere to be seen. You hit the button that unlocks my door.
“Walk to the far end,” you tell me.
“Honey, what…?”
You lean over and kiss me. “No questions,” you say. “Just do it.”
Nervously, I get out, taking my purse. You reach over and snatch it away from me, smiling.
“You won’t need this,” you say. “Walk quickly and with determination.”
As I start walking, I hear you putting the car in reverse. I listen to the scratch of your tires as you pull back into traffic and disappear. Now I’m lost in the blackness of the alley, shaking with my fear. I try to walk quickly, but it’s hard in these high heels. Each time I pass one of the empty cul-de-sacs that sports sleeping street people, I catch their harsh scent and try to hold my breath. But there’s no clean air to be drawn. Each time I pass a tiny side alley, I feel the thumping heartbeat of terror that someone is waiting there for me, waiting to hurt me. I feel the familiar bite of tears in my chest, the quiver of my throat as it closes from mounting terror.
I walk as quickly as I can, listening to the echoing click of my high heels. The fear is making the ache in my pussy feel dangerous. It’s making my knees feel weak. It’s making my nipples hard, harder than they ever could have gotten from arousal alone. None of this feels good, however; it’s all sheer terror; sheer pain; sheer hateful, forced surrender. I feel my eyes moisten and I choke back a single sob, then a second, then a third. I walk faster. Past another open, blackened alley.
I’m trying to watch for it. I’m trying to be aware, awake, alert, observant, but my tears have blinded my eyes, rendering me helpless—paralyzing me. The arm comes out from blackness and seizes my hair, jerking me back against a hard, unfamiliar body. For an instant I pray it’s you, and then I smell the filth and the ancient, soured sweat. I open my mouth to scream. The arm closes around my throat, and I see the hand in front of me in the shadows, black-gloved. I hear the click and a glistening stream of silver erupts in the darkness, reflecting a single band of light from high, high above. Then the arm pulls me back into darkness, and all I can do is feel the blade against my throat.
“Don’t scream,” I hear the raspy voice. “Or you’re finished.”
Now I know why you drove through Oregon; switchblades are legal there. You push me forward across a cold metal garbage can, bending me over as you seize my hair. The tears grab me and I hear myself sobbing even as my pussy floods to feel you pushing hard against me from behind. I can feel your cock in your pants and it terrifies me even as it makes my clit throb. You grasp my hair tightly and I feel the cold steel of your blade sliding between my dress and my skin.
It’s not even a ripping sound. The blade is so sharp it barely makes any noise at all. The only way I know you’ve cut my dress from back to hem is when it falls off of me. You slice each strap neatly, holding my hair so tight I can’t do anything but squirm and sob. My dress is in shreds, and I feel the cold night air against my flesh. You cut each strap of my bra and it, too, falls in ruined pieces. Then my garter belt, garters first, low,
close to the clasps, then waistband. My stockings fall. You pull me up, hard, by my hair, so that I’m standing there, almost naked. All I have on now are satin gloves, a string of pearls, and my thong and stockings. The stockings have already slid down to my knees, weighted by the garter clasps. You reach out and stab the remains of my dress with your knife, flick the ruined garment into a puddle of urine. With it goes my bra, or what’s left of it, and my garter belt is already tattered at my feet. My arms hang helpless at my sides, shaking, as you caress my throat with the tip of a switchblade I now know is sharp enough to cut silk and satin without ripping.
Your breath is hot against my ear as you twist your hand in my hair. I can smell your filth, the rough wool overcoat you wear soaked in old sweat and god knows what else. But it’s open in front, so I can feel your cock pressing hard through your suit pants, long and threatening between my cheeks. Hard and ready to fuck me. Ready to rape me.
You jerk my head, pulling my hair so firmly I have to choke back another sob, fight the urge to scream. Some part of me thinks you really might slit my throat. Some part of me thinks you’re really going to rape me.
You draw the knife tip down between my breasts, taking a moment to tease my nipples. The fear has hardened them until they hurt enough to make me cry on their own. But the tip of your knife makes them ache in a different way, flushing shame and humiliation through my body, making my chest hot as my full breasts quiver with my sobs.
You finish with my breasts, draw the knife down over my soft belly, pressing just hard enough to let me know that, pressing any harder, you would gut me. My arms hang limp, my entire body helpless in your grasp.
You slip the edge of the blade under the front of my panties. I think you’re going to cut them off. Instead, you twist my hair harder, so hard I gasp.
Then you bring the knife slowly back up my belly, circling each of my nipples and letting it come to rest at my throat, where it scares me the most.
“Take them off,” you tell me.
I shake. I don’t move. I stand there frozen under your terrible assault, knowing the word I should say to stop this, the word that will let you know you’ve gone too far. I look into the shadows and think I see distant shapes—men watching. Waiting their turn.
You press very gently against my throat, making me feel the prick of it.
The word is on my lips, in my tongue, but my lips are too tight and my tongue is too swollen with excitement and fear. I can feel my cunt throbbing with each beat of my pulse against the tip of your knife.
You shake my head with your hand tight in my hair, and I would swear I could feel the trickle of blood down the front of my throat. You growl in a voice I’ve never heard from you:
“Take them down,” you say. “Pull your fucking panties down, bitch.”
Whimpering, terrified, I force my useless hands to move, reaching to the thin string of my thong panties and pulling them down over my hips, over my ass. Peeling the crotch off of my pussy, feeling how it’s so wet it sticks. Feeling how the bare flesh tingles with the freezing night air.
“All the way,” you order me, and I tug my panties down to my thighs, having to stretch since you won’t let go of my hair. Since you won’t let me move at all, won’t let me bend over.
I let go, and my panties slide down my thighs to my knees and then stop. They’re so tight they lodge between my knees. You shake your fist again, jiggling my whole body against your knife. My panties drop down over my shins and bunch around my ankles.
“Step out of them,” you tell me.
I do, my legs quaking. It’s so much more humiliating, being forced to take my own panties off, being forced to reveal myself to you. But you’ve got more humiliating things in store for me, as you pull me hard against you and tell me:
“Spread your legs.”
Nervously, I open them, moving very slowly so you don’t cut me. I have to bend forward to spread them, but as I do you shove me hard, and in that instant you must have slipped the blade away, because I don’t find myself impaled on it. Instead, I’m sprawled over the garbage can lid, legs spread, arms thrust out desperately, body shaking.
“Wider, bitch,” you say.
I obey this time, shocked and terrified by the sudden burst of force. I spread my legs as wide as I can, so wide I feel my feet pushing into the mounds of garbage off to the side. So wide I feel myself helpless, off balance, opened up to you.
I realize with horror, with excitement, that it’s time. You’re going to rape me.
You don’t go slow; you don’t tease me. Your cock drives into me so fast that if I wasn’t already gushing wet, it would make me scream in pain. I scream anyway, in shock and fear, even as the thickness of your cock explodes through me and makes every muscle in my body strain with sudden pleasure. You grab my hair and lean forward hard, bearing me into the garbage can as you drive your cock violently into me. I feel the prick of the knife against my throat and you growl, “Scream again and you’re dead, bitch!” But my mouth is already open wide, and it’s all I can do to turn that scream into a long, low moan as I feel your cock pounding into me. You’ve shoved me forward so roughly that my pubic bone is pressed against the rim of the garbage can, forcing pressure hard against my clit. I’m close to coming already, and the sobs have turned to gasps and moans of pleasure. But before I can come, you pull out of me and snarl, “You’re so wet your pussy’s loose, bitch. Let’s see how you like it back here,” and before I know what’s happening my cheeks are spread around the thickness of your thumb, forcing me wide open. My eyes go wide and I start to gasp, “No, no—!” The safeword springs to my lips but never makes it out. Your thumb slides out, replaced by your cock as you shove into me so hard that it feels like you should rip me in two—but you don’t; my wet pussy is still dripping from your cock, and it forces its way into me with violence matched only by the pleasure it drives through my naked body. I open my mouth wider than ever, so wide I feel my jaw popping, the corners of my mouth stretched painfully, and as your cock sinks into my ass I push back onto you, fucking myself onto it. Your hand comes around and you seize my hair to keep me from moving, and I feel the coldness of the knife sliding up my thigh. I would scream, then, as I feel the sharp tip of it pushing between my lips, but there isn’t even time for me to scream—because I’m right on the edge of coming. As you shove the knife into me, your cock filling my ass, your violent pounding ripping me every bit as much as a knife blade ever could, I let out an uncontrolled, desperate scream of orgasm, terror mingling with pleasure and heightening every sensation coursing through my naked body. Sobs wrack me as you drive it handle-deep into me, and I feel its cold, hard hilt pushed up against my tender opening even as it spasms with orgasm. You pound into me, another thrust, another, and then you let out a scream of your own as you shoot deep into my ass. I lie there bent over the garbage can, naked, helpless, terrified, not sure whether I’m alive or dead. You pull your spent cock out of my ass and a stream of your come oozes down my inner thigh. You’re gone in an instant, and I hear your footsteps echoing as you vanish down the dark alley.
I don’t know how long I lie there over the garbage can, naked, spread, ass and cunt fucked wide. Just long enough for me to come to my senses, pull myself off the garbage can, and cross my satin-shrouded arms over my naked breasts, shivering.
As I stand there in the garbage-strewn darkness, I reach down and touch my pussy. It’s wide, dripping, and it aches with every touch. My clit throbs, still hard, wanting more though hurting from the rough press of the metal garbage can. But my cunt is intact, neither cut nor bleeding.
My clothes, however, are nothing more than shredded rags all around me.
I stand there exposed, frightened, feeling off balance in my high-heeled shoes and the stockings bunched around my ankles, feeling the warm brush of my satin gloves against my breasts as I struggle to hide them—from whom, I don’t know. Pearls dangle between my breasts, looking odd and ridiculous.
The alley explodes
in a blaze of light, and I turn, stunned, looking into the headlights. The police? A stranger?
You get out of the car, throw your suit jacket over me, and lead me otherwise naked into the car. You close the passenger side door, get in.
I curl up against you, clutching you for support. I can feel the bulge of your pocket—two bulges, actually, and I know that it wasn’t your knife I was so sure was cutting me deep when you slid it into my pussy. I press my palm against the dual handles of your weapons—one metal, to scare me, one rubber, to fuck me with. How could I have been so convinced you would really put a knife inside me? It doesn’t matter. In the moment you slid it into me, I was yours, totally owned by your brutal persona, and that’s why I came so hard. The part of you that took me so violently really would fuck me with a knife, and that’s why I came so hard. But the more important part of you that loves me and cherishes me made sure that evil bastard was holding a knife that wouldn’t do anything except what you wanted it do—to make me come, harder than I’ve ever come before.
I know you’d never hurt me—now, I know that. A moment ago I was sure you would, and that’s why I love you more than anything. You went there with me, into a place that terrified us both. But now we’re back in our real life, where you take care of me. You gently push me off of you, force my limp body into the seat, pull my seat belt over me and buckle it.
“Seat belts save lives,” you tell me, and put the car in gear.