*I would like to thank a beautiful and sweet (and definitely very kinky ;-) redditress for inspiring this fantasy and playing along with a few of my filthy thoughts along the way*
I live in San Francisco, on the beautiful west coast of California. The weather is generally mild, and my apartment windows overlook the ocean. Yes it can get a bit noisy at times, with me living above a restaurant, but I never thought too much of it. I’m young, I enjoy going out and having fun, and I am often out till late. The noise never bothered me. And I never thought it would change my life.
It was a Saturday evening like many. Except I stayed home. For some reason, I didn’t feel like getting ready and going out. So I stayed home. I cooked a nice meal. And one thing leading to another, I ended up on my bed. My legs spread. A vibrator gently teasing my clit.
I am hard to please as a woman, or so I thought before that night. It always takes me a while to warm up, I need to build up the tension, I need to feel the wetness soaking the sheets before I’m ready for penetration. So I kept teasing myself. High speed. Low speed. A bit too intense. Then not intense enough. Then too intense. I bit my lip and let out a sigh. The torture was bliss.
Was I supposed to hear something? Maybe. Could I have done something? Perhaps. Ran away? Screamed for help? I didn’t hear anything. Between the loud music of the restaurant downstairs and my own mind wandering away with pleasure, I didn’t hear anything. Not until it was too late.
He was there. On the edge of the door. His cock out. Hard. His gaze met mine. I shrieked. “Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here? How did you get in?” I asked the stranger who was watching me. “How long have you been here for?” I continued.
He ignored my questions. Proceeded to walk up to me. He pinned me to the bed with his arms. Told me to be quiet. Told me not to scream anymore. “It would be useless” he said. He smelled bad. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in days.
I could smell his breath. Everything about him felt dirty, soggy in more ways than one.
He let go of one of my arms. I didn’t fight. He grabbed the vibrator from the edge of the bed, and he pushed it against my clit again. Max speed. I gasped. My body twitched. He told me not to do anything stupid. And then he shoved the toy inside me. All at once. With no pause. No kindness in his gestures, nothing but depravity. He filled me to the brim.
I gasped. Again and again. My body twitched uncontrollably, a mix of pain and pleasure, as the toy ravaged me. It gave me pleasure. But it also felt too much too fast. I almost wanted to push it outside with all my strength. But I didn’t. I let it happen. And quickly, it turned from pain to pure pleasure. It hurt a bit, yes, but it also felt like heaven was coming for me. I was so gentle with myself. I treated my body like a temple. And this man had just taken me, he had treated me so poorly, so carelessly. And yet it felt right. He treated me like an animal, that’s what he did.
“Are you alone tonight?” he asked
I didn’t answer. Out of spite. Out of defiance
“Are you alone tonight?” he asked again, his mouth so close to my ear, his voice stern, harsh
“Yes” I moaned. “Alone all night”. I could have lied. But I didn’t have the presence of mind to do so. For all I knew, he knew I lived alone. Or he thought I had five roommates. Had he cased the house? Had he just picked me at random? But how?
“Good answer. I have been watching you. For days. If you lie to me, you’ll be in trouble. Never lie to me” he admonished
He laid on top of me. His arms blocking mine, his legs spreading mine. I looked at him. He looked right in my eyes. His cock found its way inside me. He was merciless. Again. No tenderness. No patience. No. He treated me like an animal. He was hungry. Ferocious. Wild. An untamed animal is what he was. And he took me like one. Animals don’t show kindness. Animals don’t show patience. He fucked like an animal.
I could smell his breath, I could smell every part of him, his sweat, his arousal. And he could smell mine. “You’re horny uh?” he laughed. His cock pushed inside of me. He thrust deep. He thrust hard. He went as deep as he could inside me, without a pause, without a break.
And it turned me on. Nobody had ever handled me with such disdain for my feelings, with such neglect. Nobody had ever treated me like a sack of meat to be used and abused for their own pleasure. And it turned me on. His abuse was pain. And delight. He bit into my neck. He left bruises on my tits. I could feel his spit everywhere on my body. He was dirty. He was filthy. He was perverted. And it turned me on.
He pulled out. It was sudden. Unexpected. “I have to piss” he said. “Where?”
I thought he meant the bathroom. So I told him, two doors down, to the left.
He laughed. “No, where? Inside you? On your tits? On your face? Where?”
I sat there. Puzzled. Did he really mean, “where on your body should I piss?” Was this man really going to use me as a toilet?
I didn’t answer. He must have lost patience with me, for he pissed on my tits. He aimed the jet, and he pissed on my tits. It was warm. It was … disgusting. And yet. After an initial moment of disgust. It felt erotic. It felt sexual. I thought it was a hard boundary of mine. “No we’re not playing with piss”. But as this man broke my boundary, my body ached for more. His scent was strong. And now the room smelled of my arousal and his yellow gushing urine.
He shook his dick around a bit, and then laid on top of me again. Like he didn’t care what he had just done on my body. His hand went to my neck. He squeezed it. Tight. His cock went back inside me. He started thrusting again. Even harder than before. He choked me. Then he let go. I tried to catch a breath. He choked again.
I was melting with hate, and with pleasure. This was how I needed to be fucked. I needed to be nothing but a body used for his pleasure. His pleasure was mine. The more he used me, the more I loved it. The hornier I was. I now moaned. As I gasped for breath, I moaned. My hips thrust in unison with his, like a dance of mating, like a ritual of pleasure
As he figured out that I was into it, he laughed. He told me the dirtiest thing any man ever told me. “You’re a fucking whore” he called me out. “I came out of prison last month. You know what they never do in prison? Test you for STDs, that’s what. I could have God only knows what. And you don’t even fucking care. I pissed on you. I could be sick with whatever. And you don’t give a fuck about it. And you’re moaning and begging for me to cum inside you. Fuck. You’re so careless. So sloppy. All you want is pleasure. You’re just like me. A whore with an addiction to pleasure. Fuck I love you”
He was right. I had to face the truth. I was a whore with an addiction to pleasure. I admitted it. I cried. And I moaned. And I begged him to cum inside me. “I’m ovulating” I told him.
That was all he needed to hear. His hand reached for my belly, caressed it, and at the same moment, he pushed deep inside me and came. He let out thick spurt after thick spurt of cum. And with him, I too came. I squirted all over the place. My legs tightened against his body. I came. My eyes rolled back to high heavens as I let this stranger, this animal, this violent abuser, cum inside me, knock me up, sicken this body, this temple that I had so carefully guarded over the years.
He laid next to me. Spent. His hands on his chest. “Glad you enjoyed. Maybe we can go at it again after you make me dinner” he laughed.
And, dear reader, I must admit that I almost felt like getting up and cooking something for him. So that he could fuck me again.
He was right. I was a whore with an addiction to pleasure. The kind of pleasure that a violent abuser can give you when he breaks into your house and defiles your body.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/looar1/mf_nc_caution_the_restaurant_downstairs