Best Women's Erotica(64)
You make a noise, a gargled moan, not sure how this will happen. He is forcing you, and yet he is not. You could call it off with a single, simple word, but it’s one that’s anything but safe. Safe would mean comfort, safe would mean calm, safe would mean something you’ve never been with him. You wouldn’t dare use it here, and he knows it, knows that the power he wields is of the mind first, body second. The words have no sooner left his lips than you picture your pussy opening, stretching, hurting, for him. You can’t let him know how much you want it, how much you like what he’s doing; that would ruin the game, and the game is all you have.
You move to bring your leg up against him, thrust your knee somewhere it will make an impact, but he’s on you in a flash. He whips something out of his pocket—a Swiss army knife. Without opening it, he presses it to your lips, then holds your mouth open while he lets the metal touch your tongue. Despite yourself, you like it; you want it. You have no time to think, just then, about whether he uses it with her or all the other girls. You just let the tang enter your mouth, let all it represents remind you why you so desire him.
“Submit,” he says, not a question but not completely a command, either. He knows you could keep struggling, keep moving, keep prolonging this teasing, taunting game. He knows it could get heated. He knows you could be in there far longer than propriety should allow. You can’t move much but you let your eyes blaze at him for as long as you can before finally sinking almost imperceptibly against the wall. He gets it and eases off with the knife.
He could cut off all your clothes, and if he knew you had a second set stashed, he surely would, but instead he just lets the knife dance over your skin. He holds one hand over your mouth, lightly enough that you can breathe, but a reminder that he can take that away at a moment’s notice. “On the floor,” he says. It’s dark, but you do it anyway. “You’re going to take my fist, and you’re going to like it.” You get so wet when he says it you almost scream, your pussy contorting even as tears race to your eyes. You’re back where you’ve always wanted to be, doing something for him—with him—that stretches your boundaries beyond all recognition.
You are no longer spying, of course; you’ve plunged right in, entered the enemy’s territory. You are in her home, but if his hand is going to go inside you, you know you will be getting all of him for as long as that takes; fisting leaves no room for outside thoughts. Of course he has lube with him, and your heart twists the way your pussy does for that. He’d never really hurt you, he’d never be the guy going too rough, too fast, like so many others you’ve been with, unless he knew you were ready. “I bet you barely need this, since you’re such a slut. I wish there were another guy here whose cock you could suck while I’m inside you.” He says this while shoving your legs apart with his knees. “If we had a bed I’d tie your ankles to the bedposts and tape that pretty mouth shut. You’ll just have to find a way to be quiet.” He smears the lube against your pussy, then slaps it, hard, before pressing three fingers inside.
You are ready; so, so ready, and you take the three fingers in greedily, followed by a fourth. His other hand finds places to pinch you—inner thigh, belly—as you open for him, spreading your legs as far as you can, willing yourself to relax. You—the part of you that makes these decisions—want this, want this final time, this heat, this heaviness, but your body is more cautious, closing around his fingers as the thumb attempts entry. Your body, your cunt, knows he is almost too large to fit inside but you have overruled your body before, turning pain into the most dazzling of erotic highs. This is not like the times he’s held you down and shoved his cock inside you, shocked you with the bluntness of it, making you play catch-up. He can’t hurry this along. Instead he rotates his fingers and adds more lube and you grunt and bite your lip and feel him get a little farther inside.
He goes in and in and in, thumb curled up, and then there it is, the ball of his hand, this giant inside you. You’ve heard that the human heart is actually the size of a hand and wonder if, right now, he is giving you a part of his heart, a part that is only for you, a part you can treasure as you feel its outline pressing the tender, thin walls of your pussy wider and wider. The tears come—of fear, relief, pleasure, love—all at once, and you are grateful for the dark. He can hear them, that’s fine, but seeing them is another story. Seeing them is a little too close for comfort. You lie there on the floor of the closet, stealing more than your seven minutes in a kinky kind of heaven, as his massive heart of a hand reels you in and lets you go. His other hand finds your clit, so hard and aching it could be a cock, and you think you’ll hurt him when you come like that, squeezing so tight, the energy rushing all around, making your fingers tingle and your head so light it could float away. You see stars behind your eyes and have to drop your legs to the ground. His hand makes love to you, makes love appear inside of you even as you know this has to be the end. You want all of him, all the potential he has to love someone, and this is just a teaser.