I [M37] Violently Fucked An Inexperienced Mormon Mom [F34][MF] Part I

*With this whole quarantine happening I thought I’d try to write an experience I had last year as detailed as possible. I mean we all have to do our part to keep each other entertained right? I did this as mostly a writing assignment for myself, but I hope it works. Also a little Walt Whitman for fun. This is part one, so dont DM me pisssed off that it didn’t fuck to completion. I’ll finish the second part in a day or two.*

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Look I get it, a bar is a weird place to start a fuck-story starring a Mormon mom, but c’est la vie.

This story is more r/holyshitthatwasafunthursdaynight than r/gonewildstories, since it’s literally about fucking a woman I met at a bar, but I promised her I’d write about it, and because I’m lazy as fuck it’s taken me… oh I don’t know… 10 months? So here it is Casey. After you read this, I better get some sweet sweet noodz.

Last July I was flying home from Japan and stopped for a layover for a night in Denver. I use to live there and still spend a lot of time there during winter so I have quite a few friends in the city- one of whom is a barback I had promised I’d bring a bottle of Nikka From The Barrel (2019’s most underrated Japanese whiskey). Seriously- any of you fools had it? It’s so fucking tasting! Anyway, the bar was slammed and only one stool was left open. There wasn’t much room between what looked like a software salesman on the left, and a fairly striking blonde on the right. As I pulled out the stool I ignored the depressed sales bro- because yeah listening to a 40 year old man rationalize his existence for 2 hours isn’t my favorite- and turned to the woman on my right. She was studying her menu, but gave me one of those chin nods with a slight smirk.

“It’s a tight fit,” I laugh as I pull my stool forward and reach down, brushing her leg, to grab the bottle of whiskey out of my bag.

She smirked again, and without taking her eyes off the menu or missing a goddamn beat, deadpans in the cutest Deep South accent “that’s what they usually tell me.”

“Well look at you!” I laughed as I put the bottle on the counter, “drinking a sprite and spitting innuendo!”

She turned towards me and our legs brushed but before she could say anything the barback ran up behind me and hugs me. “Tommy! Shut up!” she giggles as she keeps her arms wrapped around me and kisses my cheek. I hand her the bottle and we talk about Japan for a second before she hugs me again and tells me we’ll crack it open as soon as she’s off work.

I turn back to the bar and because I drank there everyday during a particularly depressing winter last year, the bartender has already set me up with my Pacifico and makers mark- dont fucking judge me. At that point, despite the fact that I am actually deeply uncool, I realize I must either look pretty cool or like a fucking alcoholic. Because I’m a white man with undeserved and over-rewarded self-esteem, I decide that I in fact look really cool, and take a sip of my Pacifico.

The woman next to me, put the menu down and turned to me, “well you seem like a popular guy here” she laughed, “what should I get for dinner?” I looked down at my beer and whiskey, strummed my fingers on the bar and act shocked- “they serve food here?!” She laughed again and put her hand out to me- “Casey,” she said in mockingly formal tone. I took her slight hand, “we’re shaking hands now?” I laughed, “Tommy.” And despite the jet-lag and the fact I hadn’t even checked into my hotel yet, I decided I’d see where it’d go.

It went well.

She leans in and opens up the menu so I can look at it and already our legs are full on touching and because there’s no room at the bar my arm is around the back of her stool and she’s leaning into me. “So clearly you’re from Canada?” I joke. “Mmmmhm,” she nods in agreement, “this is how we talk in the Yukon.” She goes with the BLT and she’s actually from Alabama. Here’s the fucking thing, and I’ve said this to her during intermittent sexting the last year, she’s really fucking pretty. A soft early 30’s. Strawberry blonde hair with slight freckles- hold on let me pull up a picture- yup! very slight freckles. Perfect fucking eyebrows. She had these cat like green eyes that made her look like she was smiling or about to deadpan something ridiculously filthy. She clearly had some botox or fillers or some shit done, but it was done well enough I wouldn’t want to bet on it. When I get up to go to the bathroom I notice she has fantastic boobs straining through her denim shirt.

We talked for an hour or two. She was Mormon, or had been until a couple of years earlier, but she still didn’t drink. She was 34, had a couple of little kids, and had divorced her very Mormon-y husband a couple of years earlier after going through a sexual awakening. “It was 50 Shades of Gray?” I joked. “Shut up!” she said in literally the cutest accent I ever heard, “But yeah… it was.” Her ex-husband had moved to Colorado after the divorce and got the kids for like 2 weeks every year. She had just flown in earlier that day and was picking up her kids the next day so they could fly back to Alabama together. She was bracingly open and honest and it was refreshing as fuck. She was, and this seems pretty weird for a mormon, a plastic surgeon. “They don’t look 35, right?!” she gently bounced her boobs, “It’s because they’re only two!”

I had grown up Mormon too and the conversation turned towards fucking. She had been exploring her sexuality the last couple of years, but lived in a small town and apparently the options were limited. I told her how I had always had sadist tendencies- how my earliest sex dreams involved collars, and leashes, and whips, and slaves, and domination, and fucked-up power dynamics. How I didn’t know how to deal with that in my teens and early 20s, but how much I’ve come to love it in the last ten years. She didn’t skip a beat or flinch. “Yes! Tommy!” she giggled drawling out my name, “why is it so hard to find someone to do that to me?”

I took a swig of my beer and laughed, “Well I’m staying at the Hilton, but you have to bring your own rope.”

She looked at the barback working at the opposite end of the bar, “Is that your girlfriend,” she asked, and I assured her that Aspen was certainly not my girlfriend. “Oh,” she mocked dissapointment, “because she could come too.”

The conversation kind of burned down and started to lull. I needed a shower, and wanted to check into my hotel and lay in bed. We exchanged numbers and walked out. She was staying at a hotel on the same block and my hotel was in the opposite direction. I gave her a hug, “Well if you want to get beat up for a while- The Hilton!” Fuck she smelled really good and I could feel her tits pressed into my chest. “Nah,” she said smiling and ran her hand down my arm, “it’s too late and I need to read the scriptures before bed.”

An hour later I had gotten to my room, showered and was laying in bed watching re-runs of Gold Rush on Discovery (Todd Hoffman is an idiot right?!) while mindlessly flipping through instagram.

*What room number?* The notification startled me.

*Casey! Haha 1517. When you coming?* I thought she was just flirting still.

The dots bounce. Then stop. Then bounced. Then stop.

*I think you need to come down and get me*.

*Wait, where are you?!* I respond.

I instantly felt incredibly excited and weirdly my stomach dropped. I had assumed we had fun flirting and that was it.

*You told me to come over if I wanted to get beat up haha*

*I’m in the lobby*

I’m pulling on shorts and t shirt and looking around my room making sure it looks ok. Looking to see what’s available to make this fun. What is there in the room or in my bag that I can use on her. There isn’t much. My leather belt, still in my pants laying over a chair. A couple bottles of water. The terry cloth belts in the robes hanging in the closet. My Delta care kit with like a sleeping mask and ear plugs. I grab the mask, and my belt and the belts from the robes and lay them on the end of the bed.

She steps into the elevator as soon as she sees me in it and gives me a hug. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she’s changed into jean shorts and a hoody. I laugh and hit the 15th floor. “You came,” I said as I unabashedly looked her up and down. She leaned against the back wall and watched the floors go by. “You seemed fun” she said and shrugged her shoulders. “Do you want this to start as soon as we are in the room” I asked and ran my hands through my hair. She smiled with her eyes and raised her eyebrows, “yes please,” she said matter of factually. “Everything we talked about?” I asked. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t love it” she said. The elevator dinged and the doors opened and I could already feel myself getting hard and she followed me down the hall and into my room and stood there as I made sure the door closed behind us.

We had gone over all of it at the bar. How I use “green, yellow, or red light” instead of safe words. Three quick taps if something is in the girl’s mouth or she can’t talk. I like being called “daddy.” Spitting and choking and spanking and slapping. How, even though I may be saying the most demeaning, fucked up things I can think of, I don’t actually ever mean them. I never go as hard as I can go until some long term trust has been established. I may run the session, but the woman is actually in charge- actually has the power. How important it is to slowly come down afterwards… Fuck. All I really want to do is suck on her tits like a starving toddler.

And this is where I’m always kind of surprised by myself, by the women who like rough fucking. It’s like with a single look, or a nod, or a wink, we step outside of ourselves, and the roles we play at work, or at home, or with our friends. We transcend wokeness and political correctness. All the stories we tell ourselves about sex and love and relationships and roles and gender disappear. We access some deeper, darker, older, more visceral place. It feels primal. And its so easy to both snap into and then out of it…

The door click shuts and I grab her tight by the throat, wrapping my strong fingers almost fully around her and walk her backwards against the wall. She instinctively flinches… we are told men shouldn’t choke women… and then with a slight, almost imperceptible smile I feel her body relax, her arms held at her side as I pin her there. My forearm flexes tight. I check in quickly with a questioning head nod and she responds by staring directly in my eyes, and her smile widens- “Don’t you stop daddy,” she rasps.

***I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.***

Fucking Whitman. That guy got it.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself and I feel my brain release and endorphins kick in. The world fades away and focuses tightly to her body and then only on her face. Time and place and the fact we met only hours before are forgotten. All that matters is this moment. All that matters is taking her. Taking her body.

I spit in her face. And then I do it again. She’s shocked. I can feel it in the slightest quiver of her body. Maybe no one has ever spit on her before, but she doesn’t respond and I run my free hand up and down her slippery face, smearing my spit across her before lightly slapping her. My hand stays tight on her throat. “This is mine now. All of this is mine.” Both hands are around her throat now and I’m leaning in close to her. Our mouths are almost touching. I can feel her blood pumping through her, her breathing getting heavier. The rise and fall of her chest.

“Is this what you wanted? Is it?” my voice is measured and calm, “Coming to a strange man’s hotel room like a stupid little whore? This how you wanted to be treated, isn’t it?”

She nods and before she can finish my hand cracks across her pretty little cheek.

“Use your fucking words, you stupid little fuck! Good girls use their words! When I ask you a question good girls say ‘yes daddy’ or no ‘daddy. Do you fucking understand?” my words are calm. Without thinking I press my mouth hard against her and the softness of her lips, wet with my spit, is shocking and her tongue slides into my mouth before I pull back. “Yes daddy,” she whispers, “this is how I want to be treated.”

My mouth is still so close to hers and my hand is still so tight around the sides of her neck and I pull her from the wall, keeping my hand tight around her and walk her into the middle of the room and ease my fingers off of her and she stands still in her hoody and little jean shorts. Her face wet and a little red. Her arms hanging at her sides and seemingly without thinking about it she slides her feet out of her sandals and her toenails are painted a shockingly bright pink.She glances at what I’ve laid out at the end of the bed.

I stand there, several feet from her now, admiring her, and feeling my dick throbbing against my boxer briefs and try to decide how I want this to go. I decide I want her tied up. I want her blindfolded to start. I want her to ache for me, ache to be fucked, before I slide into her. Before she feels herself fill with my cock as it slides between the walls of her pussy.

“Take off you fucking shorts,” I demand and she begins to unbutton them.

“Keep your fucking eyes on mine” and she locks her eyes on me. I smile slightly- just checking in- and the corner of her mouth turns into a slight smirk. She drops her shorts down her smooth tanned legs and steps out of them. She’s not wearing underwear and her pussy is smooth and her thighs look fucking perfect and she keeps her eyes locked on mine. “Good girl,” I say and I see her swallow. She’s trying not to breathe heavy, but I know how she feels. Light and heavy at the same time. Excited but a little scared. It’s a game for me. “What do good girls do,” I ask and I can tell she doesn’t want to fuck up the answer. “They listen to you.” Good enough. She’s a Mormon. She’s probably never done this before like this. I’m not going to be a dick about it.

“Take off your shirt now.”

She keeps eye contact and slowly pulls her sweatshirt up and then over her head and then holds it for a second before dropping it, mindlessly, to the floor. She’s naked. Totally naked. My eyes run up and down her body. She pulls her shoulder back and I can tell she is trying to suck in her stomach without looking like she is. Her tits are firm, but clearly fake, with pretty little pink nipples. A flat stomach with slight stretch marks. Nice hips and surprisingly long legs. It’s clear she work out, and maybe she was once an athlete, but there’s a softness to her edges and part of me just wants to lay her gently on the bed slowly slide myself into her.Hear her gasp as my cock stretches her and pushes deeper and then deeper still into her. But I don’t.

***I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.***

“On your fucking knees you silly little cunt!” I order and she drops in front of me. Keeping her eyes on me as I step close to her and then her gaze runs down my body and to my shorts and the outline of my dick pressing through the thin material. I pull my t-shirt over my head and drop it to the ground and order her to pull shorts down and I feel my dick spring free and I’m standing there naked. And she’s kneeling in front of me naked with her hands locked behind on her back again. The A/C kicks on and I can hear a couple laughing in the hall as they walk to their room.

I grab her head, a handful of her hair, and slam her face into my naked thigh as I feel pre-cum begin to build on the tip of my dick. It is literally pulsing, like I can feel my fucking heart beat in it, but there is still so much to do with this pretty little mormon mom. Her warm cheek is pressed against my leg and she’s clearly trying to keep her balance, stay upright on her knees. Without thinking about it I begin stroking my dick with my free hand. “You’re going to stay kneeling here,” I whisper as I push her face even harder into me, “And I’m going take that mask and put it over you eyes. Then I’m going to tie your hands behind your back.” I can feel her body quivering. “Do you fucking understand?”

“yes, daddy,” she sputters.

She stays on her knees and I put the mask over her eyes and quickly tie her hands behind her back. I demand she stands up and with a handful of her hair I walk her, a she tentatively stumbles across the floor to a table that’s set in front of the window. I help her step up on it. She’s shaking. Trembling. The room isn’t cold, but it seems like every muscle in her body is spasming. I check-in in a relaxed familiar voice, “Casey, how are you doing?” She hesitates for a second and readjusts her hands tied behind her back. “Oh man,” she pauses, “I think we are still green light?” I laugh and tell her things are about to get a little more intense and she needs to tell me the second she gets uncomfortable. She nods and the second she does I pull the curtains open and she knows whats happening and she begins shaking, hard, again.

I run both up my hands up the backs of her smooth naked thighs and demand she spread her legs farther apart. “What did you fucking think you silly bitch?” my hands grab her ass and she struggles to stand up straight. “You come over to a strange man’s room. You know he’s going to fuck you. Did they not tell you how this works in your Mormon church growing up?” I laugh and then I pause and she shakes her head. The air conditioning clicks off and a siren starts up somewhere. “Use. Your. Fucking. Words. You stupid little cunt,” I demand. “No daddy,” she’s shifting her weight back and forth on her feet and I notice her lower back, the slight almost imperceptible blonde hairs in the small of her back are growing damp, “They didn’t teach me this in church.”

***Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from***

The view is shockingly pretty. There’s several hotels across the street that are lit up and part of Union Station’s glowing red neon sign fills the room with illicit light. Like some turn of the century Chinese brothel. This was before the global Black Plague and the roads several feet below are choked with traffic. I step back from her and take in the view. This pretty Mormon mom who was probably face-timing her kids 30 minutes ago. Telling them she was about to go to bed. Maybe she texted her boyfriend in Alabama a good-night text before walking into her hotel’s room bathroom, her stomach feeling light and empty, checking her hair and her make-up, and ubering to my place. I run my hands through my hair. Sexual power dynamics are so incredible to me. Almost nothing that most people would think of as sexual has happened yet. Sure we are both naked, but we’ve barely touched. It’s all so mental, like it’s been coded into us by evolution. A word, a phrase, a glance. All of those things can hold so much power sexually. I notice the dimples of cellulite on her ass and thighs. I bet she’s insecure about them. She shouldn’t be. She’s beautiful. Her pussy is literally beginning to drip.

“Push your fucking tits out!” I demand as she still faces, completely and totally naked, the window and she instantly pulls her shoulders back while trying to stay balanced. “Fuck!” I walk towards her and grab a handful of her hair and put my other hand on to her back and push her body and face into the window. Her tits are pressed hard against it and she turns her face so only her right cheek is smashed agains the warm glass. I’ve used this trick before and it’s always gotten good reviews. I jerk her head back from the window and demand she cleans up the mess she just made. She clearly doesn’t know what to do.

She breathing is shallow.

Her legs are shaking.

“Fucking spit on the glass and fucking lick it off you stupid little bitch.” She hesitates and for a second I really hope she knows this is actually her show to run. She can do or not do anything she wants. She has the power in this dynamic. And then she pulls her blindfolded face a little farther back and for the first time, I hear in your voice that she understands that she’s in charge. “Yes daddy,” she responds in her insanely sexy Alabaman (is that word?) drawl, and she spits on the glass and I press her face closer to it and she run her tongue across the smooth surface before she spits again and does the same thing. “Am I doing a good job, daddy?” she asks and I know she’s let go. That she is understanding her own coursing sexual energy, and how much power she holds by letting me access it. And then I press her face against the glass and slide her cheek across it, wet and warm from her own spit and her hair sticks to her face and her pretty red tongue licks licks the window trying to keep it wet.

***I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other.***

I step back from her again and she pulls her head instinctively back from the window- sticky with her spit and a slight smear of pink lipstick. I make a note to clean the window before I check out. My mom would be proud- of the instinct to clean the window- I’m not sure she’d be proud of the rest. Maybe I should call her right now and tell her that even while engaged in what is starting to feel like rape-kink I remembered to clean up after myself? We’d have a laugh about it? Nah, she’s probably watching Gold Rush too and wouldn’t want to be interrupted.

Silence, and the potential intensity, and energy, and madness, and passion it holds, can, at times, feel more intense than actually fucking. I step back from her and stand there completely naked. I run my rough hands through my hair and then down over my neck and shoulders. Over my chest and my stomach and across my hip bones. My dick is perfectly smooth from just shaving it in the shower. She’s pulled her body back from the window, her legs still spread wide, chest pushed out, head held high. I walk around her taking her all in. Her ass and thighs. The curve of her hips and the couple of extra pounds she keeps on them. Her stretch marks and C-section scar. The weight of her breasts as her chest rises and falls with each breath. And I notice goose bumps on her smooth forearms tied behind her back. Her nipples are pink and hard and her face is still wet with her smeared spit and lipstick. “Keep your fucking mouth open and your tongue out,” I demand and my words break the heavy silence of the room. She does as she is told. Her mouth opens wide and spit drips off the end of her tongue.

I know where her head is. The silence of the room and the intensity of the moment makes everything feel dream like. Surreal. She’s a little nervous, but also incredibly excited. Her heart is beating faster than she thought it would. She’s been told her entire life that this isn’t what she should be doing.This isn’t what she should want. Sex is sacred and shameful. It’s dark marital bedrooms and flannel pajamas. It’s fumbling and quick and her needs don’t exist. She was never told by her bishop, or mom, or her husband, or by the book of mormon, that her pussy would drip from standing totally exposed, blindfolded and powerless, in front of a hotel window. No one told her she would ache and quietly tremble and time would stand still and all she would want in the world is to cum from being called a slut, or a whore, or a cunt while any man who thoughtlessly glanced up from their phone could see her naked. She was never told her body was sacred, not because it belonged to god, or religion, or her partner, but because it belonged to her. Her only. She was never told that the because of the lies she had been told her entire life she would need someone to give her a break from herself. To allow her to be herself. To own herself. To let her feel free by giving over all control. In a fucked up way letting go of herself feels like the ultimate act of personal control.

I grab her by the hips and turn her around so her back and arms and ass are pressed against the window and then I pull her hips towards me and she’s leaning against the window with only her upper back touching. Her legs are still spread and my face, my mouth are inches from her pussy. I’ve never seen anyone this wet before I’ve fucked them. She must have almost no body hair because her pussy is totally and perfectly smooth. My hands wrap around to her ass so I can better control her hips and I keep my mouth an inch from her cunt so she can feel my warm breath against her wetness. “I own this for the rest of the night,” I whisper, “This pussy is mine and you only fucking cum when I say you can cum.” She nods and I raise my voice, “What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid Mormon bitch! Use your words.” She exhales deeply and answers, “Yes daddy.”

I lick my fingers and begin sliding them across her pussy and the move so easily slick with my spit and her wetness and I feel her begin to tremble as she tries to move her hips, her clit against my hand. My thumb finds her clit and gently, almost like I’m not touching her I trace slow circles around it and she lets out a short sharp gasp. She tries pushing her hips harder against my thumb but I keep it lightly on her, steady and slow and her body is shaking more and I can’t stand it and slide one then two fingers slowly into her and I feel her dripping down them and she is soaked and velvety and tight and I push even slower into her. My tongue traces my fingers and between the smooth lips of her cunt and I slide my thumb away and press myself against her. I trace and circle her clit as my fingers curl forward in her pressing against her g-spot and she’s clearly having trouble holding herself up. Holy shit is she wet. My spit and her pussy juice are dripping down my chin and fingers as I press my mouth even harder against her.

I pull my mouth off her and slowly slide my dripping fingers out of her vice-like hole and grab her by the hips, taking her off the table and bending her over the bed. The mask is pulled off as her face is buried in the comforter. She spreads her legs and I slide my head under her hips so most of her weight is pressed against my mouth and slip my fingers back into her and go to fucking town. But she can not cum and she fucking knows it and I can feel it start to build her in body as her breathing becomes heavier.

I tear my mouth off of her and grab her by the hair, forcing her to kneel on the floor, her back pressed across the edge of the bed. I stand over her and her eyes look violent and I bring my hand across her face hard enough that it shocks her for a second before she inhales and smiles. “Did you think I’d fucking let you cum?!” I say as I grab my dick and smack it across her cheek. Across her mouth. And across her cheek again. She instinctively opens her mouth thinking I was going to put my cock into her, but all she gets is a mouthful of my saliva as I bring my face close to her and spit on her over and over again. I smear my hand across her wet mouth and lips. “You don’t get daddy’s cock yet! You’ve done nothing to fucking earn that!” and I grab her by her throat so she’s standing naked and wet in front of me. The back of her knees pressed against the edge of the bed. Her tits tight against my chest and my dick, throbbing and slick, sliding against the top of her pussy. “You’re about to earn it though,” as my hand firmly holds her throat and she smiles.

***Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away***

Part II is coming.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/fm263p/i_m37_violently_fucked_an_inexperienced_mormon