R4R Success Story: Feisty Londoner [M]eets Visiting Viking for Some Rough Strugglefucking

I’ve been sitting on this one for a while now, but this summer I posted on r/CNC_Connect looking for women in London willing to let me…go all out, as it were. If you don’t know what CNC is, it’s an umbrella term for the kind of sexual encounter when one party pretends to not consent – Consensual Non-Consent. Being overpowered or taken advantage of in some way is a surprisingly common fantasy! It’s definitely skirting the line, and consent is taken very seriously by anyone who does this kind of thing responsibly. Anyway, I had a slow trickle of responses to my post, and over the course of the following week somewhere between five and ten redditors messaged me. Most of them told me that they liked my post, a couple wanted to chat, one American lamented the configuration of the continents, and not one but **two** lovely ladies expressed interest in meeting up! This the story of one of those ladies, and I think it fits perfectly with your December contest, because nobody in my private life would ever suspect that there’s nothing I enjoy more than giving a girl a proper slap right across the cheek, before telling her to shut up and take it.

We met at a hotel bar, and true to form the first thing I did was make an ass out of myself by walking right past my date towards some poor woman, and ask her if she was looking for a guy from reddit. I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks, so suffice to to say that the she was not very understanding! Undeterred by minor setbacks, and extremely keen to find my ~~bride to be~~ victim, I doubled back and spotted her wearing a familiar green dress. (She helpfully sent me a photo of herself. Yes, I’m a bit of an idiot.)

We talked the night away. For **hours** we sat across from each other in that hotel bar, talking about life, relationships, and sex. I was deemed not a creep, and she cancelled her plan of retreat. (For the guys who may not know, some women have come up with the ingenious idea of pre-planning to have their friend call them in the middle of a date in case they need to fake an emergency!) Not only was I not a creep, I was in her words almost **too** nice. She said this more than once, which I found hilarious. The juxtaposition of my good manners and perverse desire for violent delights is a continual source of amusement, even if it made her doubt my ability to deliver on my promises.

I don’t think she was genuinely worried that I was all talk, but the thought did spur me on. There’s something oddly appealing about being a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and flying under the radar. It resonates with my sense of irony that you can never tell just by looking, who the kinky people are. For my part, I was a little intimidated by her. She was very upfront about her experiences, and her desires. She wanted a fight. She’d had a lot of angry sex with an old flame, and warned me that she was likely to bite and scratch me. The word she used to describe herself was **vicious**, which made me think of the badass female main character from “[Män som hatar kvinnor](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1132620/)”. I was scared!

We talked at length about limits. Looking back on it I think our shared understanding of what we did and didn’t want to get out of our encounter was big part of why it worked out so well in the end.

No anal, to my disappointment. Can’t get everything you want! No bondage, but using clothes in creative ways was fair game. No serious breath play. No hitting my balls. No punching. Biting, slapping, scratching, pinching, arm and wrists holds were all allowed for all parties. Hair pulling definitely made the yes list, despite it being a double edged sword for a long haired dude like me. Condoms were discussed and discarded, after a strict promise on my part to not finish inside of her. The more we talked specifics, the more real it all become, and by the end I could feel my hands quiver with excitement. I’d done CNC play in the past, but not like this. Not with someone who so very clearly wanted to give me a fight.

A date was agreed upon, and I tasked myself with finding a hotel room. It’s harder than you think when you want a place with a bit of floor space to wrestle on, and soundproof walls. In the spirit of competition a win condition was decided upon, for her. A key, held by me, to be thrown on the floor when I entered. A padlock hung on the doorknob, the unfastening of which would spell my defeat. I’ve never been so worried about losing, not even when I was at risk of getting kicked out of university. I spent the intervening days going over scenarios in my head, and I know she was doing just the same. We exchanged coy messages, played mind games, and teased one another.

I rented a suitable [hotel room](https://imgur.com/a/ZxSIerg) – more than I knew when I placed the reservation, because one wall ran diagonally, making the escape route narrow enough that I could just about reach from wall to wall. The bed was arranged next to the window, with the door to the bathroom at the food of the bed. There was a couch next to the bed, and a round table **placed** along the wall, with the exit sequestered behind a hard right at the end of a small hallway.

And when I say the table was **placed** I mean that in the literal sense. Placed by **me**. I was stacking the deck in my favour because in my minds eye I could see the timeline where she slipped past me and I wanted to cut it off at its genesis.

After arranging things to my liking, I told her I was ready, and left the room. I tried to stay calm, while I waited in the wings for her to give me the green light, which only took a few minutes. Then the game was afoot, and I put my plane of Shock and Awe into action. I walked into the room, closed the door behind me, rounded the corner and threw they key over her head. It landed on the floor, near the window, and she bolted for it; bending over to pick it up. Just like I had bent over to pick it up, an hour or so earlier, trying to anticipate her. Bending over to pick something up doesn’t take long, but it was long enough. Long enough for me to close the distance and get my hands on her.

Specifically, I got my hands on her arms. Her **extremely** slippery arms! That crafty cunt had lathered her arms up in some kind of lotion, making it impossible for me to maintain my grip. I could both feel and see my closed hands slide over her skin as I forced her onto the bed and began prying the key from her closed fist, one finger at a time, until I could throw it back on the floor. A move which gave her the chance to give me the slip, and dive for the key a second time.

I caught her before she got that far, pinning her to the bed, yet she continued to slowly worm her way towards the key, arms still slick with lotion. She almost got away several times, before it got rubbed off, and I lost track of how many times I cursed her under my breath while I pull her this way and that in a continuous effort to keep her away from the key and **not lose**. At that moment I wasn’t even thinking about fucking her. It was all about the struggle for dominance. The only way for me to get what I really wanted was to keep her in hand at all times. Better yet, keep her beneath me, keep her feeling weak and outmatched, constantly fighting a losing battle against the weight of my chest and the strength of my arm.

Getting her naked was the next step. That was my struggle. She was dressed in an annoyingly difficult one piece, whose shoulder straps could not be undone. Took me a minute of swatting her arms away before I figured out that the little piece of metal which the straps threaded through were unworkable, and I almost ripped her dress asunder in the process. I promised not to do that, but looking back…I would have loved to do just rip it to shreds. What’s more, she’d intentionally tied the strap around waist with a regular double knot, as opposed to an easily undone bowknot. I had to hold her down, climb on top of her, and lock her arms down with my knees to even get started on the knot. In the end I undid it with my teeth, face red with exertion!

And she fought back **hard.** Twisting and turning, always trying to inch closer to the key. Even as I could tell that she was getting worn out, I could feel my arms grow tired from constantly trying to pry hers away so she wouldn’t scratch my face. Little by little I was whittling away at her resistance, until there was a rhythm to our struggle. Once I was finally able to pull her dress down and get my hands on her tits, she fought back just as hard as she had at the start – but not as long. I was winning. But always there was that nagging worry in the back of my mind. One misstep in one all too brief moment of hubris was all it’d take for her to give me the slip and grab the key. We both knew it. She kept trying to crawl towards it. Even getting my own clothes off was a challenge, and it wasn’t until I managed to pin her neck between my legs that I got rid of my pants and sweater.

Picture the scene: Two people naked on a low bed, both of them cowered in a sheen of sweat, one of them reaching her arm out and practically falling off the edge, the other grunting while he tries to halt her slow escape. Then suddenly he lets up, making her burst forward in a surge of desperate hope, only to tumble halfway to the floor and immediately get pinned right back down in an incredibly awkward position with hips on the bed and face flat against the floor. It doesn’t last though, because I grabbed her by the hair and forced a painful retreat back onto the bed, where I started kiss her like a man possessed.

In that moment I took from her exactly what I wanted. I wanted to taste her, so I did. I wanted to touch her bare skin and run my hands over her tits and ass. I took the romantic and passionate act of kissing a lover and pervert it into something obscene. It was all about me forcing myself on her, using the power I had over her to take her to a place where she didn’t want to go. I placed one steaming kiss after another around her neckline, before making her kiss me back by grabbing her hair and forcing her head back. She gave it reluctantly. Spitefully. But she gave it. I made her. I hurt her. That was my weapon, now. Weight and strength to keep her down, pain to make her obey. Pain and the threat of more to come.

I pulled her hair. Hard. I pulled on it until her back arched off the bed. I pulled on it until strands of jet black hair started coming loose.

I slapped her.

I slapped her everywhere. Face. Ass. Thighs. You name it, I met it with an open hand.

I pinched her tits until she begged me to stop. I think, more than anything, that’s the pain she came to fear. That, my teeth, and the book.

On the small round table I left a little paperback I was reading, which she had picked up in the couple of minutes she’d been in the room, and placed on the couch. That instrument of learning found new life in teaching her to lie down and take it. Let me tell you, being hit across your bum with a book hurts like a motherfucker when the one wielding it **really** wants to beat you into submission.

More and more I could see the fear in her eyes. Each slap delivered to her bare bottom was followed by a very visceral flinch. Watching the shockwave pass through her body – making muscles constrict and limbs contort – was like a drug to me, and I kept going for it.

In the heat of the moment I don’t remember exactly how I did it, but we ended up on the floor. I do remember **why**, though: It’s a lot harder to wriggle across carpeted floors. I knew from the start that if I wanted to fuck this little firecracker I’d better get her face down on the floor. I made her take my cock there, on the floor, where she belonged. Beneath me. Through it all she struggled, ever more weakly, every attempt met by another hard slap, or by me grabbing her by the hair, telling her to fucking stop moving, and digging my teeth into her shoulder. She had bruises for days.

Fucking her flat on the floor wasn’t the best though. I wanted to feel myself deeper inside of her, so I dragged her back to the bed, and propped her up against it. Knees on the floor, thighs against the edge, face down on the bed. More and more I was treating her like an object. Like a sex toy. Most of the fight was gone out of her at this point, and I fucked her hard, finally getting what I wanted out of her. I’d reduced her from a wilful girl keen for a fight to a whimpering mess who could do little more than lie there and take my cock as I kept slamming my hips into her ass. Letting all that pent up sexual frustration pour out of me. Using her, and knowing she could feel both the humiliation and arousal of being beaten.

There was nothing she could do at this point but take whatever I had to give, and the last thing I gave her, since one of her limits was me coming inside of her, was to pull out and start to slowly jerk off. I just wanted to come on her ass, but sitting here on my knees behind her, I wanted to something like what I’d done earlier when I kissed her. I wanted to defile her by taking an intimate act and perverting it. I wanted to force her to feel good. I slipped my two fingers inside of her and started to slowly rub her anterior vaginal wall, looking for that elusive g-spot, and making gentle come hither movements by curling my fingers downward. I found that firm spot, and slowly ran my fingers in circles.

Violating her in that way become the straw that broke the camel’s back. She started to cry, at first I barely noticed, and it wasn’t until we talked it over later that I learned that the moment she came to enjoy my fingers inside of her was the worst of it all.

I love that I made her cry. It’s a point of pride that I took her to that point. That I abused and degraded her so. I came on her ass, while fingering her slick cunt, as she lie there crying into the bed. I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly how she felt in that moment.

After that we cuddled and kissed a little for a good long while. We talked about how it all went. About how hot it was. About how she wished she’d fought back harder. About how she’d barely been able to think. About how I’d do it all again, given half a chance. We counted her bruises. I fucked her a second time, gently. Kind of. I’ll never forget it. <3

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/eb2f10/r4r_success_story_feisty_londoner_meets_visiting