[FM] About the time my boss took me home for Christmas

Hi, Cindy again!

Before I begin, I’d first like to thank everyone who sent me letters in response to my [first story](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5nobla/fm_about_the_time_i_gave_my_boss_a_blowjob/?ref=share&ref_source=link). It was really exciting to share that experience with everyone, and to learn that so many of you enjoyed it. Your feedback was overwhelmingly positive and I loved reading your comments so much! This is a really great community and I’m so glad I found you all!

That said, I am not exaggerating when I say I received *hundreds* of messages in response, many of which are still unread. I’m truly touched by the love you’ve all shown me, especially since I am so new to this community. But it is quite overwhelming. I didn’t want to just breeze through everything in one afternoon and send back brief replies… I started to do that, in fact, but it felt wrong. Many of you wrote long, extremely detailed letters (which I love!) and I want to do each of you the courtesy of giving your letters the attention they deserve. I promised I would do that, and I always try my best to keep my promises. So please, please, be patient with me. I am reading (or, in the rare case, re-reading) every single letter you sent me, and I will do my best to respond to everyone. And in order to do that properly it will take time.

But I think I have some unfinished business to tend to first. Some of you expressed keen interest in reading about what happened next with Mark, so rather than wait until I’ve cleared my stuffed, bursting inbox (RIP! haha), I’ve decided to push ahead and finish the entire story. So here I am on this quiet Sunday afternoon (EDIT: now Monday evening! Oh boy, this took a lot of time!) about to tell you the details of the greatest night of my life. I’ve never told all of this to anyone before, but it’s been floating in my memory for a very long time. I hope you will enjoy it at least as much as most of you enjoyed my first foray into gonewildstories! Thanks in advance for reading such a long, detailed account of my life!

So here goes nothing…

First, for those of you who didn’t read my first story, perhaps a little background is in order. I was 20 years old at the time when all of this went down— so young and relatively inexperienced with men, but intensely curious at the same time about what was out there waiting for me. Mark, for his part, was the owner of the company I worked for a couple years ago, a single guy in his late 30s or early 40s: tall, athletic, confident, and handsome. He was really charming and attractive, and I often thought about him and had his image constantly creeping into my fantasies. I was smitten—it was a crush, or maybe even more, but I was certain nothing would ever come of it. After all, I was just one of the office clerical girls, another face in the crowd, and beneath his notice. But finally, one day, while we were working together, something did happen. Long story short (and I do mean “long story”… if you want more details, click the link above!) I ended up giving him a blowjob at his desk when the office was empty on a Saturday afternoon, and it was one of the sexiest and most emotionally charged moments of my life.

Now, I had a boyfriend at the time, and I realized even then that what I did was wrong. After that afternoon with Mark, I felt terribly guilty about everything that had happened and I did my best to promise myself never to do anything like that again and to set things right with my boyfriend. I never told him a thing, and I tried to forget everything and move on with my life. The truth is, though, I was consumed with other thoughts as well: I couldn’t put the memory of that experience out of my mind no matter how hard I tried. I constantly relived those moments and fantasized about Mark, and the more I tried not to think of him the more he appeared in my mind. Every time I saw him at work, my heart raced. As I tried to express in my first story, I felt changed by my experience with him, and there was no going back for me. I was different.

As for Mark, we didn’t run into one another very much after that day, and after a while my emotions began to settle down and things started reverting back to normal. My feelings aside, it was almost as though nothing had ever happened: Mark seemed fine, and his behavior suggested that he had completely forgotten everything. I will admit that it hurt just a little—I wanted him to be marked by that experience as much I had been—but it also occurred to me at the time that it was probably for the best. The last thing either of us needed was a secret office relationship, especially given how that office was a violent rumour mill and sooner or later everyone would have found out. I also didn’t want to become a serial cheater, and as long as it never happened again I could rationalize the whole incident as a brief surge of passion, an innocent mistake, a moment of weakness, and move on from there. I trusted Mark understood this, and his actions (or lack thereof) were his own quiet way of guiding me from another serious mistake.

Months passed, and before long it was Christmas time. As per tradition, our office had organized a modest holiday party at a local restaurant and nightclub. When I found out about it, I became so nervous and anxious. The invitation called for a +1, meaning my boyfriend was also invited and was expected to attend. I briefly considered keeping it a secret from him entirely, or simply blowing it off, or coming up with some elaborate ruse, but I didn’t do any of these things. I’m still not entirely sure why I didn’t do more to insulate myself from the party—maybe it was that I wanted things to be normal, and I became too comfortable or confident in my performance. Or, more likely, I was paralyzed by indecision and just capitulated to inaction. Either way, I told him about the party and he agreed to tag along.

As the date drew closer, I wondered how horribly awkward it would be for me to have my boyfriend and Mark sharing the same space and breathing the same air. I wondered how I would feel having them both in my field of vision, sizing them up unconsciously, drawing unfair comparisons. I wondered if I could possibly introduce them to one another without giving my secret away. I wondered if Mark would intimidate him, or if they would share some strange instinct or understanding about what had happened. I wondered if I would blush when I saw Mark. In short, I was a mess.

Finally, the afternoon before the party, everything went sideways on me. My boyfriend and I had fallen into a huge fight… thinking back on it now, I don’t even remember the specific cause, but I’m sure some of it was at least indirectly linked to my tension and anxiety about the party. We spent about three hours on the phone fighting and (at least for me) crying—not all consecutive, mind you, but with lots of hang-ups and call backs in between. Some very hateful and unforgivable things were said by both of us, and while I won’t go into any details about that here, the short version is that my boyfriend wasn’t going to the party any longer, and our future suddenly looked dark and unclear. I cried and cried, but when I was finally done crying I decided that, in spite of everything, I would go to the party and have fun.

I won’t pretend I wasn’t thinking of Mark as I got ready, putting on my make up and ironing my hair in the mirror. I wondered if he would even be there, or if he would bring along a date to torture me. I wondered what would happen if he arrived alone, like I would. I wondered if I would have a chance to be alone with him again, and whether it could possibly be even better than the first time. I wondered whether he still wanted me, or if he ever really had.

My heart raced, and I briefly forgot my boyfriend. I wore a tight cherry silk blouse, my (faux) pearl necklace, gold bangles, a fitted black Halogen pencil skirt with nude stockings, and my favorite red (faux) Louboutin ‘fuck-me’ heels. And I wore black lace tangas and a matching bra. Just in case.

I arrived by taxi at around 9pm, shortly after dinner had already ended—all by design. I wasn’t hungry. I checked my coat and quickly found a small group of my female office-mates chatting at a table, all of whom were older than 40 (and some well older than that). They hugged and kissed me when I arrived, gushing effusive praise about my outfit, my earrings, my shoes. In that crowd, I stood out like a sore thumb. I scanned the party but couldn’t find Mark, so I decided to relax and enjoy myself regardless. I ordered a glass of Malbec, then another, and enjoyed what I could of the conversations above the din of loud house music.
Later, when the party was really in full swing, I spotted Mark—or, to be more precise, he spotted me. We made eye contact across the hall, and I offered just a hint of a smile as I uncrossed and then recrossed my legs, all for his benefit. He didn’t take his eyes off me, so I turned away, coy. I felt so confident, and so sexy, and so in control, all sensations I felt so surely the first time I had been with Mark.

By that point, the club was filled to capacity with other party-goers, most of whom were not from our company. After all, it wasn’t a private club. I spent most of my time our table, or along the illuminated bar, or somewhere in transit in between. The music was great, I felt so happy to be out, I was slightly tipsy from the wine, and I felt free. I kept tabs on Mark, who circled me like a shark, never approaching too close but always within reach. He appeared so calm, so sure of himself, so confident: he wore a pair of designer jeans, a cream open collared Joseph Abboud dress shirt, a charcoal Abboud blazer, and black leather Doc Martens. His fancy watch gleamed in the neon light. He looked young, wealthy, and sexy.

Whenever I sat at the bar, I allowed strange men to flirt with me in utter futility, buying me drinks I didn’t even touch while arranging schemes that I ignored. Meanwhile, Mark held court with different managers from the company, listening but not listening, watching but not watching, with me but not with me. We played that game for a long time, as long as we could manage, teasing one another from afar. It was exhilarating— and I knew he understood what was happening. We were orbiting each other, twin stars in the darkness, preparing to collide. So when we finally made prolonged eye contact, and he approached me along a straight, direct path, I could only smile brightly as I gazed up at him.

“Hi Cindy,” he said, leaning in.

I could barely speak. I was suddenly so nervous, yet somehow I held myself together, standing erect in my heels, arms at my sides, projecting what I hoped was an image of calm, aloof assuredness. But my smile would have betrayed everything about what was unfolding in my mind,

“Hello sir,” I managed. He order a drink from the bar absently, never taking his eyes off me.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “You weren’t at dinner.”

I could barely hear him over the booming speakers, so I leaned in closer, inhaling that same wonderful cologne that had enchanted me so many months ago in his office. I wondered if he liked the way my hair smelled.
I ran my finger along the circumference of my wine glass. “I wasn’t sure if you would ever going to talk to me again,” I offered behind a forced smile that was difficult to conjure.

But he smiled better. “Oh, I’ve been dying to.”

The crowd surged around us, jostling for position at the bar, and I gravitated toward Mark’s body in what felt like a natural arc, into his protective space, until I was as close to him as I had been months ago. I felt intoxicated, and it wasn’t the wine anymore.
He looked down at me, with only the whisky in his hand and the thin fabric of our clothing separating us. I could feel his eyes all over me, absorbing me. I wanted him. Then he leaned in even closer, shouting a whisper—“are you here alone?”

He broke away, and I just smiled, nodding, hardly containing my bursting excitement. When he smiled back again, I bit my lip. And that was it.

“Let’s go,” he instructed me, and all I could do was obey.

Mark led me across the dancefloor with his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward through the thick crowd and toward the staircase to coat check, and then street level. Just as I reached the landing, where the throngs petered out just a little, I spotted Marlene—one of the women I work with. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was witnessing: Mark, her boss, escaping the party toward parts unknown with me in tow, his subject, his selection. She seemed shocked, and I instantly turned away in shame. But I put it out of my mind. Not tonight.

In an instant, we were out in the cool night air, abruptly alone absent the crowd. My heels clicked on the asphalt and echoed like a beacon across the relative emptiness of the parking lot. All of a sudden, everything seemed so real, and so urgent. But I tried not to think, and just followed. Mark led me to his Audi and opened the passenger door for me, holding my hand to steady me as I lowered myself in. But he could hardly steady me. When we touched, it was electric.

I thought about how big his cock had been in my little fists, how I had sucked him so eagerly and urgently in his office all those months ago, amazed by his size and wanting so badly to please him. I remembered how uncertain I had been about whether he could possibly fit inside me, contemplating whether it would hurt me, whether it would destroy me. I squirmed in my seat, my thighs close together, my hands trembling. Would I find out tonight? I couldn’t wait, and yet I could hardly breathe.

Mark raced home, the music blaring, the car filled with nervous energy and pounding hormones. I looked at him as he watched the road, his thick overcoat protecting his body from my gaze. I wanted his eyes on my legs, I wanted to tease him with a glimpse of my stocking tops, or maybe even more, but he never looked at me while he drove. He barely spoke. He was focused on his task, racing toward the inevitable, and my heart raced along with him.

We finally reached his building and we swerved into the underground parking garage and immediately found his reserved space. Mark killed the engine and engaged the hand break, then he finally looked to me.

“We’re here” he said, coarsely, dry, and I bit my lip in anticipation. Everything seemed so quiet all of a sudden, and I wondered if I should say anything, but I couldn’t. We walked to the elevator, my heels again clicking loud echoes that careened around the car park, alerting me to how utterly alone I was with this man, as though announcing my vulnerability with each step. I held myself and walked, and Mark offered me his arm just then. So I curled my body into him and we walked together, and I felt stronger. I was with him, and there was no going back.

In the elevator, it was awkward. We stood across from one another, standing stoic, watching each other’s eyes as if waiting to see who would make the first move despite having already trampled all over that line. There seemed as though there was something hesitant in both of us, but when the doors finally opened we stepped gingerly out into the hallway and walked arm-in-arm toward his apartment, as though being together in that space was the most natural thing in the world. I felt relieved, and at home. I felt ready for anything.

Mark unlocked the door and we were inside, and before the door latched behind us he had me in his arms, pulling me close. We kissed roughly, desperately, consumed by passion. My hands explored his chest, and our coats fell to the floor in a heap all around us as we leaned into one another. I had dreamed of that moment for so long—to finally kiss him, to be far from that silly office and instead hidden away in a private space where we could be with one another fully and openly. I unfurled myself to him, and he swept me off my feet, pinning me to the door and deepening his kiss as I wrapped my legs around his back, heels dangling precariously from my stockinged toes. Our kiss was slow, and rhythmic, our tongues rolling against each other, setting a steady, urgent beat that would be our tempo. Mark touched my breasts and I moaned into his mouth. He yanked my blouse over my head and dropped it to the floor, burying his face in my cleavage, biting my flesh, my pearls twisting in in his teeth, and I scrambled to unbutton his shirt while I still could.

Then Mark turned and slammed me into the wall next to his kitchen, driving his hand violently up my skirt as it bunched up around my hips. I whimpered my approval. He was frantic, on fire, out of control. I pulled him to me, hanging on for dear life, fumbling for his belt as he tore my panties to the side. I couldn’t believe it was happening so fast. I needed time to adjust, to prepare, to accept him inside me, to learn. But he couldn’t wait. He tore open his jeans with one hand while holding me aloft with the other, and I reached for his cock in vain– hoping to hold him and test him, to calm him with my touch and to ease him into me. But then Mark leaned his hips toward me more aggressively, and I felt him against me— wooden, almost mechanical, and so dangerous—and then he penetrated me. I gasped, and bit hard into his shoulder to quell the pain, breaking the skin. It felt like he would split me apart. It was too much, too fast, too soon. I wasn’t ready.

But Mark thrust into me again, and I cried out even louder, more desperate. He was far too big and far too hard to enter me properly. My pussy seemed like it had clamped shut, as though operating on a base instinct to protect me from this fierce aggressor, but the rest of my body melted into him, like a betrayal: instead of resisting, I arched my hips toward him, hoping to ease his path into me. But he was still too wild for my welcome.

He bucked against me, battering me with every blunt thrust like a phalanx hammering at the gates, but with each lunge I slipped slightly from his frantic, wild grasp until I was back on the solid ground again, balancing carefully in my delicate heels. Mark panted against my exposed throat, frustrated he couldn’t have me the way he wanted, his hands now locked around my wrists as he held them aloft in loosened bonds. So I wriggled free of his grip and took his head in my hands– holding him close, soothing him, calming his aggression– and he kissed my neck softly in my delicate embrace. He cupped my ass with his palms and lifting me again off my feet, more carefully this time, and so I curled into his kiss yet again.

“Fuck me, please,” I breathed into his ear, spurring him on. “Don’t stop.”

Mark cradled me in his strong arms and carried me away, my heels kicking with delight. He took me down the hallway toward the living room, where he perched me on the edge of his brown suede couch. We kissed again, more slowly and softly than before, as though we had found a better rhythm to explore. As we kissed, I reached back and unhooked my bra, allowing it to tumble to the cushions, and I unclasped my pearls and draped them carefully over the side of the couch. Mark leaned into me and feasted. He sucked my nipples raw and tasted the soft flesh under my heaving breasts, driving me wild. I licked my lips for him, feeling his hard dick throbbing against my knee, the static of my stocking shooting sparks through my body.

Then he turned me around and leaned me over the back of the couch, kneeling behind me as he hiked my tight skirt up over my hips. His hands ran up the sides of my thighs, hooking his fingers into my stocking tops and teasing me, his stubble grazing the smooth exposed skin above. He sucked hard on the tender flesh of my inner thigh, marking me with a deep bruise I’d only notice much later. I sighed as he slipped my panties down my legs, my pussy dripping wet with anticipation of what he would do to me. Then I gasped as he buried his face in my ass and ate me out like a wild man.

I gripped the back of the couch and moaned as my mind soared. He rolled his tongue deep inside me, his hands splitting my cheeks apart. I was on my tip toes, half out of my heels, and I felt myself dripping all over his mouth as he sucked my pussy hard. I trembled, and then exploded into a sudden and unexpected orgasm. I screamed his name. I reached back to embrace him, to grip his scalp in my palm, to show him how much I loved this, but couldn’t reach; I just collapsed into the couch in submission, bent at the waist while Mark ate my pussy from behind like I dreamed he would.

When he finished, he rose to his feet and stood behind me cupping my breasts in his palms. I turned back to him and we kissed again. I sampled myself on his mouth and I wondered if he loved how I taste. I thought I tasted sweet. I opened my mouth as we kissed, and I smiled. He laughed.

“I’ve been thinking about this every day since that Saturday” he growled into my ear.

“Me too, so much” I gushed. I was still trembling from my quick orgasm. And I was ready for another.

He pushed his hips into me, grinding against my ass. “Do you feel this?” he asked, and boy did I ever! His cock felt enormous against me, throbbing, hot, even more dangerous. Yes I was ready. I wanted to show him. I wanted him *again*.

“Yes sir,” I replied.

“Do you want it?’

“Yes sir, please,” I whimpered.

So Mark released my breasts, gave the nape of my neck a quick kiss, and then walked around to the front of the couch and sat down. He was completely naked, of course, and his beautiful cock bounced in the air, as if it was blindly fumbling for me. I followed him, peeling my skirt off my body and letting it fall to the floor, now naked myself except for my nude stockings and heels. My breasts were firm and engorged, my nipples erect. I kneeled before him, placing a pillow on the floor to cushion me. I wrapped my hands around the base of his cock and my heart leaped as he throbbed in my grip. I was so happy to have him in my hands again.
I licked his shaft and he groaned—obviously, he had missed my mouth, so I made sure he got what he had been waiting for. I sucked him slowly, bobbing my head to a silent rhythm, focused on his pleasure. It felt so good to have him in my mouth again. I loved his heft, his size. I ran my nails over the thick ridge along the base of his cock, then licked down his shaft and sucked his balls one by one into my mouth. I gazed up at him in wonder. I wanted so badly to please him.

When I released his cock from my mouth, I wrapped my breasts around his thick shaft and cradled him there in that warm pocket of flesh, squeezing and massaging him while I looked up at him in wonder. He groaned in agony. I smiled at him, pursing my lips, in charge.

“I love your big dick,” I cooed, smiling, giving the head of his cock another quick lick.

He grunted, losing control, so I winked and swallowed as much of his shaft as I could, then bobbed on his length some more. As I was blowing him, I reached between my legs and felt my dripping pussy. I ran my fingers over my waxed mound, parting my lips and inserting my middle finger as deep as I could—a test. I was soaked, and I thought I was ready. I smacked my clit and felt myself gushing. I wanted so badly to sit on that big, beautiful dick and feel him stretching me out. I needed him.

I sucked harder on the head, tossing my hair back and gazing up at Mark in eager anticipation. And when he met my gaze, I could see he was ready for more. I popped him out of my mouth, abrupt and unexpected, a trail of saliva connecting the tip to my lips.

“Ahhhh” he moaned in his deep tone.

I smiled up at him again, stroking him slowly, giving his big dick a final lick before I stood and climbed into his lap, balancing myself against his broad shoulders while he positioned himself beneath me. I kissed his lips and he sucked my tongue into my mouth, my breasts jiggling as I settled into his body. I felt the tip of his penis as it found my opening, sharp and hard like a tusk and ready to impale me.

Mark held me by the hips as I lowered myself down onto him. My soaked pussy took the first two inches or so easily enough, with the rest of me dripping down his shaft. But my tightness was still a barrier for us. So I rolled my hips in little circles, allowing myself to open up to him even more, and very carefully I starting to ride him.

I was in heaven. I had for so long imagined what it would be like to have sex with Mark, but I couldn’t have imagined that feeling. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed, so expanded, so full of him. It took my breath away. I bounced softly in his lap, taking as much of him as I could. His shaft was coated in my juices— I was creaming all over him, his thick cock churning me, my body eager to accept him. I wanted all of it. I wanted to know.

As I rode him, Mark sucked on my breasts and held my hips in his firm grip. I felt myself adjusting to his size, learning his cock, adapting to him, receiving him. I cried out and increased my pace, my orgasm building and my movements intensifying. Every so often, I lowered even further down on his thick stalk, reaching even deeper inside me than I ever thought was possible. I came hard, shuddering, pressing my body to him, my breasts flat against his chest, my skin exploding in goosebumps. I sobbed against his shoulder as his cock throbbed deep inside me. I felt like I was crashing into a jagged shore.

“Oh Mark…” I whimpered.

As I write this, I’m reminded of how different this all felt. I hadn’t watched much porn in my life (still haven’t) and up to that time I hadn’t even read sexual or erotic literature, so I really hadn’t anticipated any of this. My other fumbled experiences with sex hadn’t prepared me for Mark; I hadn’t known I could be reduced to tears by sex; I hadn’t known I could feel so connected to another person through the materiality of our bodies; I hadn’t known I could feel so out of control and yet so in control all at once. Making love to Mark changed everything for me. I knew I could never ever go back to the way I had been before.

When I felt him stiffening up inside me, I cried out again, alarmed, and our eyes met and I saw the desperate loss that was about to happen. “Oh Mark, oh Mark” I moaned, riding him hard, feeling him impale me as he expanded inside my snug, rippling pussy.

“Fuck Cindy I’m gonna cum” he roared, and when I gazed into his eyes I could tell he didn’t want to cum yet. He wanted this to last. But I wanted something more.

I hopped off his spasming cock and slipping between his legs, opening my mouth just in time to catch an enormous volley of cum that exploded across my face. I eagerly lapped it up, licking his shaft and sucking his head, getting as much of his essence into my body as I could manage. The instant his cum reached my tongue, I remembered how wonderful he tasted that first time so many months before, and I clamped my lips around him to get it all. I hummed as I sucked him dry, his cock twitching and pulsing in my little fists. I was pleased and proud of my performance. My juices continued to flow from my pussy, coating my inner thighs as I drained him, swallowing it all. I felt like a goddess.

Finally sated, I released him from my grip and smiled, my face covered in thick ropes of his sperm. I licked my fingers and cleaned myself as he watched in astonishment. “You taste so good, sir” I coaxed him, knowing we were far from done.
I cleaned his cock with my mouth, all the while playing with my pussy between my legs. He never completely softened—I wouldn’t allow it. I kept him on edge, teasing his urethra with the tip of my tongue, massaging his balls with my free hand while I smacked my pussy with the other. I kept myself hot while I kept him as hard as I could. For his part, Mark sat back in relaxed triumph, obviously quite pleased with the results.

When he was ready, he stood and led me by the hand to his bedroom at the other end of the hall. I padded along the tiled floor in my stockinged feet, my heels left behind with the rest of my clothing. Mark’s cock stood at half mast, pointing the way. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

He tossed me on his king size bed, creasing his otherwise perfectly crisp comforter with my trembling body. As he bore down on me, I spread my legs wide for him, on instinct. I hoped I wouldn’t soak through to the mattress. I hoped he knew how wet I could get.

Mark gripped my thighs and ate me out aggressively, my legs pinwheeling as his tongue rolled through my depths, tasting all of me. I moaned my approval, gasping, my finger nails digging into the thick stubble of his shorn scalp, his thin beard scratching my inner thighs. He clamped down on my clit as another orgasm washed over me.

What a man! I don’t mind shattering the narrative for moment just to tell you how incredibly wet it’s making me to relive all of this for you, to remember how it all felt. It’s surreal, really. I wish I could transport myself back to that moment and feel it all so surely again. As much as I loved it, I didn’t appreciate it as fully as I now wish I had. I was too lost in the moment for that kind of awareness. I thought it would never end. I wonder if I’ll ever have a man fuck me like that again. I hope so.

When Mark finished eating me, I was panting and eager for more. He slapped my clit with his palm and I exploded into another sudden orgasm, gushing across his mouth, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. But I was silent as I crashed through it—I couldn’t breath, my mouth agape. It was only after what seemed to be an eternity that the air came rushing back, and I screamed. My body quaked in submission to Mark and his power over me.
He emerged from between my legs, his chin soaked in my juices, smiling sly and ready to take more of me. I reached for him frantically, drawing him into my embrace, desperate to have him inside me again.

“Fuck me,” I whimpered, “oh please just fuck me”

I wrapped my legs around his hips and he sank into me right to the hilt. I gasped, my mouth on his shoulder, my nails digging into his back. I couldn’t believe he was all the way inside me. At first, I was silent, shocked. He began pumping me slowly, his hips rolling into me, my body locked in his rhythm. He fucked me with a steady rhythm and I began to moan softly with each and every thrust, lost to the moment. He pushed off and we kissed wet and sloppy, our tongues licking each other’s lips and carrying us forward. It was perfection.

Mark gradually picked up the pace of our love making until, finally, he was pounding away at my spasming little pussy, my juices sluicing all around him. I can’t remember if I came several times, or if it was just one long, continuous, breathtaking orgasm. It doesn’t matter. We were matched perfectly, our sex in perfect unison. I closed my eyes and kissed his bruised shoulder, where I had bitten deep into him earlier, and I tasted a faint trace of his blood. I sucked him gently to sooth the wound.

“Cindy your pussy feels so good” he moaned into my ear. “You’re so tight…”

I sighed.

Before long, he had my legs cradled over his arms as he fucked me long, deep, slow strokes. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I felt like I might pass out, or even die. I didn’t care. My body trembled all over when it wasn’t absolutely paralyzed.

I don’t remember the sequence of events after that, so I won’t pretend that I can. All these specific memories are enmeshed with one another now, out of sequence, non-linear, broken. I remember he had me on all fours, pulling my arms back by the wrists and suspending me aloft like bridge, my back arched impossibly toward him as he hammered away with abandon. I remember he had my legs together, slipped over one of his right shoulder, my stockings ripping against the stubble of his cheek while he pounded me. I remember he had me on my stomach, perched over me, smothering me with his body as he went deeper than my body could handle. I bucked under him, but he was too strong for me. So I just went limp.

But what I remember best was the end. We were again in missionary position, my legs wrapped around his back once more, stockings shredded and my body bruised and sore. His head was buried in the pillow to the left of my face, and he fucked me violently, stabbing into my swollen, open pussy without any thought for my pleasure. I held on for dear life. And I whispered breathlessly into his ear, licking his earlobe softly, coaxing it out of him, begging him to cum inside me, to give everything to me, to empty his essence deep within me. I wanted to feel it.
And he gave it to me. Oh God. I didn’t know.

I sobbed in abject pleasure as his body stiffened in my embrace, his spasming cock buried to the hilt within me, my pussy rippling around him as he unleashed what I had for so long dreamed about. I just cried and cried, but this time they were tears of ecstasy. I felt in love. I wanted it all.

And when he was done we held each other for a long time, drunk in our moment.

When I awoke, it was morning, and thin beams of sunlight pierced the sheared fabric of his heavy drapes and alerted me to a new day, and new terrors. I was lying nude in his bed, under heavy covers, curled around his large, muscular body. I was sore, and my pussy ached. My thighs felt as they did after a long, intense work out. My muscles felt atrophied.

Mark slept silently on his back, his arm curled around me and keeping me close. The contrast between our skin was beautiful—his so pale and white, covered in coarse brown hair, mine coffee colored and so incredibly smooth. I kiss his shoulder, then reached for his semi-erect penis, my champion. I slid my body down Mark’s torso so I could take him in my mouth again.

I sucked him softly, careful not to wake him, wiping away the thick crust of my dried fluids that coated his pubic hair, tasting my tart juices all along his length. He hardened quickly to my touch. When I looked up at him, we had already awoken, so I climbed onto him and we made love again. This time, it was slow, tired, sore, and careful, but never tentative or unsure. My pussy accepted him all the way inside me without any resistance whatsoever. He had transformed me, adapted me to him—and so quickly too. I felt like I belonged to him.
We kissed as he took over, guiding me onto my back so he could mount me once again. We made love for an hour, always slow, always intense, and completely in unison. I told him things I never told anyone. He listened, and acknowledged, and fucked me some more.

He came deep inside me again, and I cried. I loved it. When he pulled out of me, I felt empty, used up, and somehow alone. We lay in bed for a while longer, lost in one another’s touch, soft kisses and soft talk.
But as time wore on, I felt less like a lover and more like a guest. It was time to go.

I retrieved my clothing from the living room and dressed silently while he remained in bed. He asked me to leave my panties behind, which I found odd, but of course I obeyed. I tossed them to him, and he brought them to his face, inhaling deeply, smiling distantly. I had to toss my stockings in the trash—they were nothing more than a shredded mass of sheer beige fabric.

When I was ready to leave, I finally checked my phone, which I hadn’t done since moments before I arrived at the party. Over a dozen missed calls and texts: a handful from my erstwhile boyfriend, and many more from my mother. I wondered how I would explain myself to either of them. My heart plummeted at the thought of my inevitable emotional collapse once the reality of my actions would finally sink in. But until that happened, I needed to get away. I called a taxi, kissed Mark on the lips, thanked him for a wonderful evening, and showed myself out.

I arrived home at 10:30am to a firestorm. My mother immediately noticed a deep bruise on my left wrist, acquired sometime during the night; she shrieked for my missing stockings, and my haggard appearance. Somehow, she knew everything. And of course, my makeup was long ruined– especially my mascara, its dark tracks wiped from my cheeks hours before, a tell-tale sign of a long night. I retreated to the bathroom and hot, long shower. When I finally called my boyfriend, he accused me of everything—all of it happened to be true– and my weak denials rang false. I was too tired to lie. I was too empty to care. I listened, then hung up. We broke up not long after.

I never connected with Mark again, and likely never will. I’ve since moved to a new town far away—I’m in school now, often alone, somewhat lonely and incomplete. But I think about him all the time. Perhaps telling this story will finally lead to me to a catharsis, where I can move on and put him firmly in my past. Or perhaps I need to find someone to fuck me even better.

Until then, I’ll remember that night as the turning point. When I finally became aware.

Thank you so much for reading.

Cindy

xoxo

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5oeygz/fm_about_the_time_my_boss_took_me_home_for