There are days when coming home is bad idea. Michael makes those days seems quite frequent. I am a bulked up sissy, and Michael fucks me against my will.
I am a cop, and to make extra money I train other cops in hand to hand combat. They are usually tired old bastards wanting to boost their egos by punching a kick pad. The type of degenerates who fuck dirty tricks during their shift, then shag their wives with their still rancid cocks just hours later. I have no respect for them, and when we spar I make a point to kick their pathetic asses all over the gym. Listening to them talk, it is amazing to me any of them stay married for any amount of time at all.
My wife left me years ago. She was the smart one.
Michael sometimes threatens to not use any lube, and one day I expect he might follow through with the threat. If he did, I would probably like it anyway.
We met while I was working.
I pulled him over and wrote him a ticket. He drives like an absolute ass, and on this particular day he was doing easily twenty over the limit. As I approached his vehicle, I was ready to tear a new sphincter into whatever clown rolled down the window. Kids lived nearby, and Michael, in his little black Audi, clearly didn't give a fuck.
“Good evening officer, what can I do for you?” Big smile.
Asshole.
He knew what he had done, and he smiled at me anyway, as if the idea he could be held accountable was somehow not possible. Once, while he was cumming into my mouth, he shouted at me. “Here's your ticket officer! Suck this ticket out of my fat cock, you crooked piece of shit!”
I hated him, and I creamed myself as he said it.
But on that first day he was just another jerk. I put on my best 'fuck you' face and began the routine of explaining the obvious to the ignorant, so I could get back to hunting for more dipshit drivers to harvest cash from.
“Licence and registration sir. You exceeded the posted limit by over twenty two miles an hour, so I am going to be writing you a citation to that effect. Please keep your hands visible at all times, and remain in the car.”
I know my job. I am a professional, and I am a damn good cop. That sort of thing doesn't seem to affect Michael though.
“No troubles officer, here they are,” holding up his hands theatrically. He then hands me the contents of his wallet, almost without looking. That's when it began. In hindsight I would feel better if I thought he somehow knew about me, about my lusts, but he couldn't have. It was as if he could see me, all of me, all the way through, and he acted on it.
I didn't have a chance.
“Is that a Glock?” He said. “Damn. It looks so much bigger in real life. I've always wanted to play with a cop's big gun…”
As he said this, he looked me straight in the eye.
Usually someone who makes a reference to my sidearm is risking my using it on them. That shit is sacrosanct. The mere fact you noticed it makes me wonder strongly about your intentions, and the fact you told me you want to play with it? That's a threat against my life, plain and simple.
As he said this, he smiled the smile responsible for more blowjobs than any g-string made by mortal men, and as I looked down on him, I felt my knees become liquid.
“Do you drink coffee officer?”
My vision blurred. I wrote the ticket. Penmanship be damned, I had to get out of there.
“Answer me.”
Silence. My pen was still, and I took a deep breath. I always take a deep breath before I dive.
“At this time of night I drink scotch, and I do it at McNalley's Pub … after twelve thirty.”
Somehow, his smile grew.
I handed him the ticket, completely forgetting to return to my car and run his plate, and as he drove away he called back.
“Thank you officer! Perhaps I'll be seeing you!”
His voice was quickly lost to the roar of his engine, revved hard. He fucked me that night. He held my hair, using me like a doll.
As we drank in the pub, before the fucking, it was obvious to both of us there was an attraction. Michael is shorter than me. Less muscular. But as we spoke, I was rapt. I listened to him tell me about how he was going to tie my legs to the floor and make me piss myself. How he would find tools around my house to sodomize me with. As he said these insane things I laughed, but when his hand reached under the table and began to stroke my stiffening dick through my slacks, I realized that he truly intended to use me as his toy.
I let him stroke me to completion, right there in the bar. Across the room, Frank the bartender watched.
Frank knew my ex-wife. He knew her so well he had even fucked her once. He knew my birthday. He knew my dog's name. And on that night, the night Michael chose me, he knew I got a handjob under the table from a man.
We left the bar as soon as the last rope of my cum finished staining my pants, and Michael's black Audi followed me home.
My door was unlocked, which made my entrance easier because I was almost running. Michael had arrived just behind me, and as I walked up my steps, in the darkness, he leered, his smile telling me I had an evening coming.
Both of us inside, he closed the door. I was making my way to my bedroom to change out of my sperm filled clothes when he quietly spoke the word I have grown to accept as my fate.
“Stop.”
I stood, irrationally arrested in my hall. His voice held me fast as I kept my pants up with one hand. Without permission, he pressed himself against me from behind. My body reacting, the feeling his warmth spreading over me, he speaks into my ear with his baritone anvil of a voice once again.
“Undress.”
I don't move. I can't. I think about fighting. The idea occurs to me I could turn around and crush his asshole skull … but I don't. Seconds pass as I feel his body against mine. He leans in closer to my ear. I can feel stubble on my cheek.
“Now.”
It wasn't spoken, it was growled. I felt his right hand on my shoulder as a shuddering thrill took hold of me, and I knew that I wanted him to do this.
I lower my pants to the floor, then my underwear. The alkaline scent of old cum fills the hall. I begin to lift my shirt, but Michael stops me. He lifts my shirt tails over my head, and my sleeves hold my arms uncomfortably above me. I am now blinded and restrained, and as I realize the extent of my weakness, I feel him shift his weight against me. I am pressed hard against the wall, and his hand takes hold of my cum crusted cock. His fist holds me tightly as I am held in place by his body, and I hear him tell me that it is his turn now.
“Don't move.”
I hear the sound of a zipper, and then I feel his hand groping my ass. He roughly jams a small tube or jar into my rectum, and I feel lube, body temperature from having been kept in his pocket so long, injected deep into me.
I never once told him I would do this, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for the inevitable.
Slowly, I felt him violate me. His cock was quite big, larger than I would have expected for his size, and as he slowly pressed it into my bowels I felt owned. I wanted this so badly, and as he pressed deeper and deeper into me, I knew that this was the man who understood my sissy side. He knew what it meant to be the man.
I spread my legs further apart to give him better access.
In moments I could feel his pubic hair against my skin. Taking full charge, his engorged flesh so intimately claiming me, he held my torso steady as we each grew accustomed to our new positions.
This was his dance, and he was going to lead.
The friction of his first withdrawal was exquisite. My body could feel the emptiness building as his thickness left me. Then the first thrust. Strong and hard. No preparation. I yelled out as he hit bottom, and once again he held me upright as I grew used to the invasion.
Another slow pull, the emptiness making my legs weak, then the thrust. This time I felt my body lift off the ground, just a bit, from the force. Again and again his shaft stretches me, the slow spread of the lubrication he's applied readying me for the next assault.
My cock is starting to leak onto the floor, and I can feel myself getting harder. I hold the pleasure inside, trying to make the sensation grow, when he stops. I lower myself onto him trying to increase the friction on my prostate, and that's when he tells me to hold on.
With no warning he pushes me blindly onto the floor, and following me down he mounts me, hard, his cock probing for the hole it had just left. A second passes as he works to regain full control of my body, and then it hits me. His full girth, his full length, thrust violently into me. I scream as I feel the pain of it, sunk to the hilt, and as I try to gather myself he pulls out completely once again, and then again slams himself back in.
I am getting dizzy.
Over and over he roughly pulls out, and as each plunging domination follows I imagine the glistening bulb of his cock. I have not seen it yet, so I envision a round ball of a head, wide and smooth, as it plows into me. I imagine what it would feel like in my mouth. Choking me. Thinking this I get harder.
Over and over he slams himself into me, and soon I am taking it with greater and greater ease. I am reaching my bliss, and I know if he can keep fucking me this way I am going to cum again tonight.
My body pressed forward an inch across the floor for every thrust, he reaches up and grabs a handful of my hair, forcefully pulling my head back. Contorted and controlled, I think my arms are going to break.
“Are you ready to feel a man cum?”
I almost cry. I feel my second orgasm begin to take me as I answer the only way I can.
“Yes sir … fuck me as hard as you can! I want to feel you cum inside of me!”
He yells his orgasm into existence. My home shakes from the volume, and his spasms send my body forward, painfully, into a closed door. I have never felt so wonderfully used as that first day.
He left only minutes later, and when he did, I made sure he had a key.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/327t67/held_down_and_fucked_mm_sissy_domination