I take another strip of bacon off the plate as a sign of good faith. Whatever he has to say, I’ll listen. Just not this morning. Not when all I can think about is Hunter’s hard cock.
“Okay, Faith,” he says. “Later then.”
“Later,” I say, and I slip a third strip between my lips and wrap it around my tongue before dashing out the door.
#
I still have the taste of bacon in my mouth when I arrive at Hunter’s building, so I dig through my purse for gum. I come up empty, but fuck it—any man who’s put off by the taste of bacon when he kisses a girl isn’t a real man.
I know that Hunter spends most Saturday mornings at a nearby indoor rock-climbing wall, so I don’t bother buzzing up, and I don’t text him to let him know I’m waiting. This time I have other plans.
When I enter the industrial-chic lobby, the building’s young concierge is at his desk, and I’m relieved that he recognizes me. Aside from making my crazy little plan possible, it gives me a feeling of permanence in Hunter’s life.
“Hello, Miss,” he says, revealing a hint of a Spanish accent.
Then again, I know I’m not the only girl he says hello to.
“He’s not in this morning,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “I’m planning a surprise birthday party for him, and I need to get his place ready.” Shit. I should probably have brought some balloons to back up my story.
“Do you think you could let me in?” I ask.
“No, Miss. I cannot.” He has soft, sad puppy dog eyes. It’s killing him to disappoint me.
“Are you sure?” I ask, stepping toward him.
“I’m very sorry, Miss,” he says. He’s starting to break. I can feel it.
“But you know me,” I say. “You and I go way back.” I’m close enough now to make him uncomfortable. He can barely make eye contact.
“I know, but—”
He falls silent when I pinch my top’s zipper and start tugging it slowly open, revealing my pushed-up tits beneath.
“You were saying?”
He still can’t finish. He swallows his saliva with an audible gulp.
I lean over his desk and tug my zipper down farther, giving him a full view of my pink bra. My tits are poised to bounce out of it, right into his face, when I realize there’s a camera above me. It should chasten me and snap me back to my senses, but instead it just makes me want to go further. I haven’t exactly thought this through, so I don’t know what comes next. Will I have to take off my bra and show him my tits? Should I pull his head in towards me and force him to motorboat me? He’s cute, but I’m not going to fuck him, no matter how slutty I’ve become.
“Okay, okay,” he says, saving me from further deliberation. “I’ll take you upstairs.”
“Thanks,” I say cheerily, as though we’ve just finished a simple business transaction. I zip up while he fishes for the key to Hunter’s loft in a cabinet beneath his desk.
#
Hunter’s place is as immaculate as I remember it, and I’m about to start searching through his closets and drawers when it dawns on me how batshit crazy I’m acting. Breaking into a guy’s place and going through his stuff is exactly the kind of stalker behavior that sends men running for the hills.
I set myself straight with a quick pep talk. This is about sex, dummy. You’re just here to fuck him, not to go through his credit card statements.
Back on track, I hastily undress and head to his bedroom, leaving a breadcrumb trail of my clothes so he doesn’t have a heart attack when he finally finds me. It occurs to me, once I’m naked on his plain white duvet, that he might not arrive alone. Maybe he climbs with a partner. It could even be a woman. The thought of another woman climbing the fake rock wall with him, watching him in action, his forearms popping and twitching as he reaches for the holds, makes me burn with jealousy. But even if he brings her back here, I won’t be deterred. I’ll fuck them both.
I’m wondering whether I should start warming myself up when I see a MacBook open on the floor beside his low bed. I’m determined not to be a crazy stalker bitch, but I can’t help myself. Lying naked on my belly across his bed, I press the space bar, and the screen illuminates. It was just asleep, and it doesn’t prompt me for a password.
Naturally, his desktop background is one of his black-and-white pictures of a perfect ass. But my eyes are drawn to the corner of the screen, where there’s a folder called “Current Projects.”
I double click it, and it opens a list of about twenty files that are all named after women—just first names, no other details. I click the first one, “Alyssa.”
A video window pops open on the screen. Behind the triangular play button is a still image of a woman on her knees with a cock in her mouth. It’s filmed from the man’s perspective, and I can safely assume that the man is hunter.
I start playing it, and I watch Hunter gather her long blonde hair with one hand and hold it in a makeshift ponytail behind her head while she sucks him off, deeply and slowly. Through the tinny speakers I can hear her groaning loudly and excitedly, as though sucking his cock is the only thing in the world that gets her off.
She’s good. Not as good as me, I think, but good enough that I should be jealous. Given that I’m acting like a crazy girlfriend who breaks into a man’s condo and goes through his laptop’s homemade porn stash, I should be livid. I should feel like he’s cheating on me the way I’m cheating on David. But for some reason it doesn’t bother me. Watching a hot, strange blonde woman taste my current favorite cock just turns me on. I stare at the screen, admiring her technique and feeling myself get wet.
Hunter’s guiding her to her feet, practically lifting her by her hair, when I realize that my name might be in the list. I hastily shut the video player and scan for my file, and there it is: “Faith,” one of the many women he’s fucked and filmed since he started whatever project this is.
I’m one of the women he deemed good enough to keep.
I click on my file and a familiar scene pops onto the screen. I see a still of myself tied up by Anika on the Lotus bed, waiting to be eaten and fucked by Miss Sassy Pants and Hunter. I start the video and watch myself, squirming and afraid, constricted by the smooth white ropes.
It’s so hot that I can’t help myself. I tuck my knees under me to prop my ass up in the air, and I start rubbing my pussy as I lean over the bed and watch Miss Sassy Pants crawl toward me on the screen.
If Hunter doesn’t come home soon, I’ll have no choice but to finish myself off without him. But that won’t stop me from tearing his cock out of his pants and sucking every last drop out of him.
I’m absolutely drenched when I hear his heavy door creak open. For a second I consider letting him catch me on his computer. Maybe he’d be turned on by the sight of me touching myself to a video of him fucking me. But my better judgement takes hold, and I quickly close the video player and shut his MacBook lid. Then it’s just me, wet and naked and waiting for him.
I hear him drop his bag and walk straight to the bedroom. It occurs to me that, though he now knows there’s an uninvited woman in his home, he might not know it’s me. The trail of sportswear would usually be enough of a clue, but given that he photographs ass models for a living—and probably fucks most of them on the side—my tight gray stretch pants could belong to anyone.
My heart’s thumping like mad as I hear him approach his bedroom door. And then he’s there, standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. He’s wearing a faded black T-shirt that has just the right amount of tightness around his lats and pecs, and an old, worn-in pair of jeans that look like they’re ready to be tugged down his hips over the hump of his muscular ass. I immediately zero in on his forearm muscles. After a morning of climbing, they’re bulging like the ridges on a topographical map.
Before he can even ask how I got in or what the fuck I’m doing in his bed, I’m on my feet, padding toward him across the hardwood like a silent jungle predator.
My
brain runs through a series of scenarios. Even though we’ve fucked a handful of times, I still barely know Hunter. He could be hiding any number of secrets from me, and he strikes me as a man who takes his privacy seriously. Technically, I’m trespassing, which means he could use force against me. This is America, after all. He could restrain me, hurt me, even pull a gun on me. All of this should scare the hell out of me, but the thought of him holding a gun to my head and fucking me, as sick as it sounds, just makes my mouth water for his cock.
This is not my twisted Angelina Jolie–esque gun-fucking fetish.
His mouth is still hanging open when I drop to my knees in front of him and yank open his jeans with perfect precision. I’m like an athlete in the zone who doesn’t see the players on the opposing team or the rowdy fans cheering on the sidelines. My narrow world contains nothing but his gorgeous cock and my yearning mouth, and there isn’t a force in the universe that could stop me from wrapping my wet lips around him.
He’s already half hard when I pull him out of his white cotton boxer briefs, and he stiffens quickly as I take my first lick along his underside. He tastes salty and sweet. Even better than the bacon I left at home. His mouth’s still hanging open when I finally envelop him to feel his final spurts of growth. Against my tongue I can feel his rapid pulse through his tight, smooth skin, and it’s heaven knowing that I’m able to make his heart race.
Once I’ve sucked him to his full, spectacular firmness, I push him back against the wall beside his bedroom door and proceed to give him the wettest, sloppiest, most violently enthusiastic blow job I can muster. I take him deep within my throat with rhythmic bobs of my head while saliva sneaks through the seal of my lips around his slippery shaft, and he groans like a purring lion as he guides my head with his strong, controlling hands.
His cock is rigid as steel. It’s dripping sweet hints of precum onto my tongue when I give him one last trip down my throat. Then I pull my mouth away. He kicks off his jeans and pulls his shirt off while I look up at him with eyes that are starting to sprout tearful trails of mascara. I take his hand in mine and guide him out to the main area of his loft, toward the large window we fucked in front of that first night. Then I guide his grip toward my throat, where it belongs.
When his fingertips touch the skin of my neck, all of the shock from my presence in his loft dissipates. He springs to life, clamping his fingers around me and holding me just tightly enough to let me know I’ve been a bad girl for invading his world. He smiles devilishly and then pushes me back toward a thick wooden support beam across from the window, and I let out a surprised gasp when I feel the bump of the smooth, worn wood against my spine. With my naked body caught between the beam and the muscular rod of a man who’s holding me there, I’m utterly powerless to do anything but obey his bidding.
Staring into my excited eyes, he reaches down with his other hand to stroke my pussy, and he inserts two fingers deep inside of me. I groan as I feel him move within me, and then he brings his wet fingers up toward my mouth to make me taste them. I suck them as enthusiastically as I just sucked his cock, wrapping my tongue around and between them.
Holding my throat even tighter, he reaches down again and forces my legs apart, making me quake with anticipation for the moment when he forces his cock into me. He presses against me, pushing my body against the wood behind me, but just when I think he’s going to fuck me, he dips down and gives my pussy a long, slow lick that culminates in a slight suckle on my clit. I push my hips toward his mouth for more, and he seizes my thighs, wrapping his arms beneath my hips and hoisting me up to his full height so that I’m sitting on his biceps with my back still against the beam. If he were anyone else—except maybe Chad—I’d be worried about falling, but with Hunter my only concern is that I might lose consciousness as he sucks on my pussy and stimulates my clit with rhythmic passes of his tongue. The beam meets an equally thick rafter at a right angle above me, and I reach up to wrap both arms around it for support as I round my back to bring my pussy deeper into his jaws.
His hands wrap around my thighs, and his fingertips spread me open farther to retract my hood and give his tongue full access. Gripping the rafter, I groan and writhe above him, and I quickly cum, stiffening violently and gushing down his neck and chest.
I catch my breath as he holds me high above him and gives my soaked pussy sweet licks, and I revel in the knowledge that we’ve put on another naughty show in front of the window.
“Good girl,” Hunter says softly, and then he helps me slide my slippery thighs down his body like he’s a fireman’s pole.
My feet are barely on the ground before he picks me up again, this time bending me at the waist and hoisting me over his shoulder like he’s rescuing me. I gasp as he lifts me high and carries me back to the bedroom, where he throws me down on his bed. Lying on my back and looking up at him as he towers over me, I spread my legs and rub my pussy, keeping it wet for him to slide in and fuck me senseless.
Silly me. I should have known that Hunter has no interest in missionary fucking. He takes my heel in one of his strong hands and gently strokes my foot. Then, with disorienting quickness, he flips me onto my belly before I can even tell what’s happening.
“You’re in big trouble now,” he says, and I play along, scrambling from my belly to my hands and knees and trying to scurry away from him across his bed.
I squeal when he catches my feet and pulls my knees swiftly out from beneath me, flattening me against the mattress. I cry out again, this time because I’m scared. The closer my pretend fear gets to actual fear, the better it feels, and the more excited I am for him to violate me with his perfect, giant cock.
I struggle to flip back over, but he’s instantly on me, straddling my ass and pushing my head into the mattress. I can feel his heavy cock on my back. Good God, it reaches nearly halfway up my spine.
“You’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?”
I muffle my acknowledgement into the mattress.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you,” he says. He grabs a fistful of my hair to lift my head off the mattress, letting me gasp for air.
“Yes, sir,” I say, whimpering with a potent mix of fear and exhilaration before he forces my face back down.
“You’ve been a bad girl, breaking into my home. Did you think sucking my cock would be enough to make it better?”
Again I muffle. And again he lifts me by my hair to answer him.
“No, sir,” I say.
The anticipation is killing me. At this moment, with my head pressed down into his mattress and the impressive length of his cock against my back, I’d do anything to feel him inside of me. I’d empty my bank account. I’d quit my job and panhandle on the street. I’d walk away from my perfect marriage and perfect town home and perfect walk-in closet. All I want is to be punished by this man’s brilliant cock.
He forces me back down. “No in-fucking-deed,” he says through clenched teeth. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you. Hard and deep. It’s going to hurt, and I don’t care. I don’t care how much you cry or carry on or struggle—I’m not going to stop until I’m ready. And when I’m ready, I’m going to release you, and you’re going to get on all fours and face me and suck down every last drop. Do you fucking understand?”
I wait for him to lift my head so I can acquiesce, but he’s not interested in my permission.
He shifts his hips back to position himself, and then I feel him against my wet, trembling lips. He forces himself inside, pushing deeper and deeper into me, filling me with every inch. He could fuck me with half his shaft and I’d still be satisfied, but he’s unrelenting. I start to struggle as I feel the pleasure bordering on pain, but he holds me down, driving deeper still. I’m ready to scream when I feel his pelvis push into my ass, and I’m relieved to have accommodated him. But my relief fades fast when he pulls back and then forces himself deep into me again, this time faster. Again he pulls back and thrusts into me, colliding into
my ass with a shocking slap, and he begins pounding at a feverish clip, crashing into me again and again like Atlantic waves battering a helpless seawall. The initial pain and fear give way to pure, unremitting pleasure, and I can barely contain myself as I beg my body to breathe.
Just when I’m convinced I can’t take any more, his pace staggers and his breathing quickens, and he lifts his muscular body off of my hips, releasing me. I have just enough time to follow his orders, scrambling to get on all fours and then spinning around to ready my mouth for his cock. My ass, still sopping wet from the deluge in front of the window, is propped up high in the air, and I wish there were two of him so that he could fuck me from both ends.
He’s still gripping my ponytail, and my quick maneuvering has twisted it into his clenched fist, tightening his hold. He uses it to drag me over to his gigantic bedroom window. Only instead of putting me back on my knees, he bends me at my waist and presses the side of my face calmly but firmly into the clear, sunny glass. Then, embracing a second wind, he positions himself behind me and gives me another fierce pounding. The feeling of the cool glass against my face and his warm body colliding into me is bliss. I’ll be admiring the red skin of my behind in the mirror in my walk-in closet tonight.
Suddenly he groans, and I turn and drop to my knees so he can fuck my mouth for his last few strokes. The taste of my pussy mixed with his precum tastes sweeter than any breakfast I’ve ever had. He cums with a controlled roar, and it fills my mouth with such force that nearly half of his white hot load forces itself back out past the seal of my lips and drips down my chin. When he’s done, his colossal cock dangles in front of my face, and I kiss it lovingly while squeezing the final drops out of it.
In this moment, wet and sticky on my knees and holding his still-throbbing cock in my hand, I realize what I already knew: no matter what David’s waiting to tell me, there’s no way I can go back to a life that doesn’t give me this magical, helpless, perfect feeling.
Behind His Back Page 18