NOTE: This story contains some darker elements including rougher sex and the pretence of non-consensual sex.
I get home from a run, and open the front door, and go inside the house. I stop in the hallway to take off my shoes and socks, and then go into the kitchen for water. I put down my key, and open the fridge.
Someone grabs me from behind.
It’s a man. I can smell him, and feel him bigger and stronger against me.
He pushes me onto the bench, bending me, trying to hold me down. He grabs my wrists, but I’m sweaty, still slippery. He slips, then grabs again, but still can’t hold me. He wraps a tea-towel around my wrists to hold me instead. I could have got away then, I suppose, while he does the towel. I could have, but I don’t. Maybe I was too surprised to think or something. Now, it’s too late. He’s holding me properly again, and I can’t. He’s behind me, half on top of me now too, trapping me.
He’s pressing down, holding me down, pressing against me, pressing me into the counter. He tugs my shorts down. He holds me while he does. He tugs my shorts down to my knees, which is enough.
He puts his cock inside me, and I’m so wet it just goes all the way in before I can think.
He’s inside me, and he fucks me, and he holds my hair while he does, telling me not to look at him. He fucks me hard, roughly, still holding my wrists. He’s strong, and bigger than me. I’m helpless.
I güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri fuck him back.
I fuck him back, so turned on I can’t think. I fuck against him until I come, gasping. Then he does too. He comes, flooding me, but he stays hard inside me. He keeps moving, keeps holding me.
He’s going to go again.
“Water,” I gasp, after a moment. I’ve just been running. I’m thirsty. I can’t wait any longer.
He lets me up, lets me slide over. I just drink out the tap, because the glasses are across the kitchen.
He lets me drink, still moving inside me. Then, when I have, he pulls me off the counter and onto the floor.
He makes me kneel. He tugs my running top off. It’s lycra, and clingy. I have to help. He pulls it up my arms, up over my head, then leaves it around my elbows so now I’m trapped by that, too.
He waves his cock in my face. He holds my hair, and puts it in my mouth, and I let him, I open my mouth, and feel him all slippery-sticky, and taste his saltiness and me. I don’t mind the taste of me. I like the taste of me. The only time I’m not completely happy to taste myself is times like this, when I’m all gross and sweaty.
He knows that, which is why he’s trying making me do it now.
He knows because he knows me. Because this is a fantasy. A game. His fantasy, but both of ours. He’s my boyfriend and we do this a lot. güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri
Why, what did you think?
I knew he’d probably do this. I expected him be there. I’d been thinking about it, and anticipating this, and getting horny, the whole time I was running.
I know I probably shouldn’t get turned on by this, but I do, and I am. And probably he shouldn’t like to do this either, but he does. So we do. He likes to be rough, and pretend to force me, and me sweaty also turns him on, so he often grabs me when I get back from a run. He also seems to have some thing about games like this and making me, so we do that too. I like it as well. It’s weirdly fun. We tried being more organised, and doing me the helpless captive tied to the bed, but neither of us were really into that. We seemed to prefer me thrown on the floor, and bruised knees, and bitten shoulders, and me being held down and fucked for like two minutes until we both come.
This is how my run ends every second day right now.
I kneel on the floor, half undressed, and he holds my hair, and holds me against the kitchen cupboards, and pushes his cock in and out of my mouth. He’s rough. Rough enough that the back of my head bangs gently on the cupboard. My hair’s in a bun to run, though, so the bumping isn’t that bad. He holds my hair, and pushes into my mouth, and I’m helpless. My arms are trapped. I can’t güvenilir bahis şirketleri stop him going slightly deeper than I’d want him to. He fucks my mouth while I kneel there, and it’s sexy that he is. Sexier than just a blowjob, anyway. Sexier than me choosing what I do.
After a while I want some too, so I struggle for a bit, and push my way back up.
He puts me on my front on the counter, so I’m bending over, and he licks my ass for a bit. He seems to like that sweaty too, which I don’t get, but he licks it tenderly, lovingly, while I moan. He licks my ass, then wipes cooking oil on his cock, and puts it inside me there. He fucks me, and I shift my feet to let him more easily. I shift my feet, and I tug my hand free of my running top, and reach down, and masturbate myself. I know I’ll need to, because he’ll be quick. He’s always quick in my ass. He’s said before he’s incredibly turned on by me having actual orgasms from him being inside there, so I guess that’s why.
I make myself come. I squeeze tight as I do, and that makes him get there. He finishes, and slides out of me, and wipes himself with a paper towel.
Then he kisses me. I kiss him back, and say, “Hi, dickhead.”
I pull up my shorts. I try and untangle my top, and my arms, and where everything has gone, then give up and just take it off. I warm down, because I’m getting worried I might start to cramp. I stretch, and he watches me because bare tits. I stretch, and then go have a shower, and afterwards we have dinner and watch TV.
I’ve got bruised knees, and a bruised tummy from the edge of the bench, and a sore jaw, and scrape on my arm. This is every second night, right now, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.