There’s something in his eyes. Like he’s really here for the first time, or like he’s letting me see him for the first time. I feel the familiarity rush back, still with no real recognition. Who is he? Why do I know him and yet not know him at all?
“At least tell me your name.”
He hesitates and retreats back inside himself. It’s like whoever he really is slips beneath the waves and leaves me with this arrogant hyper-masculine monster who wants me for my body and nothing else.
“You don’t need to know my name. You just need to know to be here when I want to spread your legs.”
He’s so fucking arrogant. It’s like he’s never even heard of the concept of a relationship. Doesn’t he want to know me better? Doesn’t he want me to know him? The men I know can hardly ever shut up about themselves. Dates are usually monologues. This guy only talks when he’s telling me how he wants me.
His refusal upsets me though. I just want his name. Not his social security number. His dick has been inside me. He owes me a name.
“You’re just going to come and fuck me and not even tell me who you are? Your cum is inside me. I could be pregnant.”
“You want me to fuck you,” he rumbles. “You’d let me fuck you again now. You’ll fuck me tomorrow, and the day after that and you won’t ever care who I am, because that doesn’t matter. Your cunt knows who I am.”
He pushes his hand between my thighs. Squeezes my pussy possessively, and just looks at me with that smirking smile.
He’s an arrogant motherfucker. And he’s right.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say again, upset because he’s made me feel outright slutty. “Don’t come back.”
I don’t mean a single one of the words leaving my mouth. I just want to assert a little power. Make him apologize. Men always apologize when you make them feel bad. I’m used to being in control. I’m used to making a guy work to be close to me. My pussy doesn’t come easy. Not usually.
“Turn over. Spread your ass cheeks. I’m going to fuck your other hole.”
I feel the heat hit my face. A blush like no other.
Am I going to do what he tells me to do?
He doesn’t seem to have any doubt. He gives the order as if it’s going to be followed. When I don’t obey him right away, he leans in, grabs me by the hair at the back of my head, and growls the orders again.
“Turn over, say you’re sorry, and give me that little ass.”
Chemistry burns through my body. In his hands, I am nothing but flesh to fuck.
He presses a kiss to my lips, consumes the rest of my sense with his mouth. I am gone. Consciousness flies in the face of this forceful desire. I find myself turning, presenting my ass to him, my hands making his prize accessible with the lewd spreading of my cheeks.
His cock presses against that dark little hole. I’ve never let a man fuck me there before, now I am saying the words he said as if I am his little fuck puppet. “Please… I’m sorry. Please, fuck my ass.”
He grunts and does as I ask. There are ways to do anal sex. Slowly. With lots of lube. Fingers first. All I get is the slick mess of our mixed cum to ease his passage inside the last bastion of my rebellion.
“Bad girl,” he grows as he slowly spears inside me. My sphincter is no match for him, and I try to relax it, let him in. I am a bad girl. He doesn’t know me, so he can’t really know just how bad I am, but I deserve to be treated like this. And worse. I am not just bad. Sometimes I think I might be evil. I have taken so much more than I’ve ever given. Does he sense that instinctively? Or have I made myself prey for this predator because deep down, I need for it to hurt?
A thick cock in my ass makes it hard to conduct a therapy session in my head. He’s still not all the way in. The head of his massive dick is still pressing past that tight ring of muscle. I want to let him in, but I’ve never really let any man in. Not into my heart, or my ass.
I feel him clasping me in place. There is no escaping this, and I wouldn’t if I could. He does the things to me I know I need. He gives me what I deserve. He isn’t nice to me. He isn’t sweet. He doesn’t tell me he fell in love with me the moment he saw me, or that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. He doesn’t romance me with the easy lies so many men tell. He fucks me because he wants to fuck me. He punishes me because I break the rules that are unspoken but entirely understood by the both of us. When it comes to him, I obey. Because I want him inside me. Because I have always needed this, sought it out in so many different ways. I have fucked so many men who never cared about me at all.
There’s something about him that tells me he does. The others would never have given me a sexual consequence. They would have called me a bitch, or just stopped calling. This man makes me take what I need.
My anus burns as it stretches around him, as he pushes forward and takes me deeper than I think I can take him.
“Don’t move your hands,” he says. “Pull your cheeks open more. Show me your asshole. Beg me to fuck it.”
“You’re already inside me!”
“Beg me,” he rumbles. “Tell me you’re a naughty little girl who needs her asshole fucked and you’re sorry for being so rude.”
When I don’t answer right away, he pulls out and pushes back in, a short, punishing stroke that makes me squeal. My pussy is clenching with desire, even though this treatment is utterly humiliating.
“For what?” Another stroke in and out of my stretched asshole.
“I’m sorry for… owwwie…”
“Tell me, girl.”
“I’m sorry I was rude!”
“You were rude, weren’t you. Telling me to leave.”
His cock pops past the ring of my ass, slides in what feels like a mile. I screech my agreement with his punishment and take every bit of it, my hands spreading my cheeks wide. Goddamn, he has broken me to his will. I still don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him apart from the fact that he owns me.
He ravages my ass with deeper strokes, pushing me over the couch with thrust after thrust. I scream. I wail. I kick my toes against the floor, drumming my feet as he ravages my tight little hole.
The monster of a man I have taken as my lover sinks his cock deep inside me, leans over my body, and presses his lips to the back of my head in a brutal-sweet kiss. “Bad girl,” he murmurs against my hair.
Something in those two little words triggers my orgasm. I am a bad girl. He doesn’t know how bad I am, but I do, and suddenly that hot, thick cock inside my ass just feels right. My pussy is creaming as I start to shudder with climax, my clit grinding the back of the couch while he holds himself steady, letting me buck and impale my ass on him with the throes of orgasm until finally I am sated, panting and sweating, slumped over the back of the couch with his cock still thick and hard inside me.
Then he starts to fuck me again.
I let out a soft moan as he pumps inside me, grinding his hips in and out of my now well stretched, well trained ass. This is what I am for. I am his to fuck. His to use. My orgasm is irrelevant in the grand scheme. He let me come, and that was a mercy. Now he will fuck me until he fills my insides with his seed, and I will have it dripping out of my used hole for hours after he is gone.
I go home stinking of sex and guilt. I’ve been taking what I’ve always wanted. She’s been giving it to me so fucking willingly. But do I get to keep taking it when she doesn’t know whose mind rests in this massive masculine frame?
I could fuck her for the rest of our lives and she’d never know. But if I want a future with her, I have to tell her.
Or do I?
Does she truly not know? I always thought it was unbelievable that Lois never recognized Clark Kent when he became Superman. A leotard and some glasses don’t change a man that much. I have been transformed far more thoroughly.
When I look at myself in the mirror, my jaw is broader and more powerful, so is my brow. My eyes are no longer wide and large looking. They are proportionate to the masculine muscle of my face. The bones themselves are changing structure every time I take a dose.
We saw that in the rat tests. Neutered males started taking on the characteristics of entire males. I have been neutered up until this point. I have been a pathetic waste of a man, good only for complaining to.
My bearing has changed. My scent has changed. There is more musk to it. I have become a prouder, stronger, more dominant specimen. My treatment doesn’t just work. It works beyond my wildest dreams. It hasn’t merely healed the physical wounds I sustained all those years ago when I stood at the precipice of manhood and laid my body down for Briarlee. It has mended the psychic scars that were inflicted at the same time.
She’d been out fucking that night. I’d smelled it on her then, along with the alcohol. She reeked of cum. One of the football team had been ramming her. Possibly more than one. She was starting to get a reputation, though I didn’t believe it until that night, when I picked her up with her smeared lipstick and her skirt barely covering her ass.
It wasn’t her fault. She was just a girl. Boys and men alike take advantage of the innocent. She’s not innocent anymore. I’ve made sure of that. I’ve made her take my cock over and over. I’ve made her admit her sins. But I’m not done revealing little Briarlee to herself. I will have her again. And again. And again. And she will know who she is with, not because I’m afraid she’ll stop, but because I want her to know beyond a shadow of a doubt whose cock makes her come like the world is ending.
He’s back. My heart skips a beat as I go to the door. I am showered and dressed up as if I intend to go out, but I have no intention of going anywhere. This dress that clings to my curves isn’t for anyone’s eyes but his.
He’s wearing new clothes. A black leather jacket that makes him look broader than ever. Dark slacks. Heavy black boots. It’s the uniform of a man whose purpose is to slay my pussy.
This is how I think now, in filthy phrases. I wake up wet. I touch myself when he is not here, and I think of all the things he has done to me, and all the things I hope he will do. He has made me every bit as depraved as him, if not more.
“Hi,” I smile invitingly.
He walks in as if he owns the place. “Close the door.”
I close it, because I was going to anyway. Can’t have a neighbor coming by and seeing me in the state he puts me in. They’d call the cops for sure.
He walks in, turns around, and fixes me with that gaze that makes me freeze. Sheer silent command.
“I have something to tell you.”
Usually by now my dress would be halfway off. My tits would be hanging down beneath me as he bends me over, holds my hands behind my back, and shoves himself into me by way of a hello.
“My name is Daniel Knight.”
The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. They’re a reaction I can’t help, the same way my lower leg would kick out if you tapped the lower part of my knee with one of those little rubber reflex hammers.
He doesn’t chastise me for swearing. He stands there, letting it sink in. Looking at me, taking in my every reaction.
“You’re not Daniel.”
“Of course I am. You know who I am. You’ve known all along. You knew the minute you saw me in that club.”
“I didn’t!” I gasp. “Daniel, you don’t look like Daniel. You don’t act like Daniel. You’re not Daniel.”
“But I am,” he says calmly. “And you can see it, if you look close enough with your eyes, instead of acting with your cunt.”
He says the crude words without any real derision. There’s no judgement in the way he knows I am around him. Our lust is an intoxicant I am fast becoming addicted to.
“I told you I’d been working on a treatment. Well. I found one. It has a few side effects. As in, it makes me need to wear your pussy and ass out.”
His words make me flush hot. These aren’t the sort of things Daniel says. Daniel is a gentleman. Daniel would never hold me down and fuck me. Daniel would never talk to me so crudely. Daniel is a nice boy…
Except, it occurs to me, Daniel isn’t a boy anymore. He’s a man with an advanced degree in biochemistry and more determination in his little finger than anyone I’ve ever met.
“Tell me something.”
“Tell me something only Daniel would know.”
“You like The Bachelor more than The Bachelorette.”
I cock my head and shake it. “Good guess, but not exactly convincing. Tell me something you’re sure only you could know.”
He looks deep into my eyes. Takes a breath.
“You held my hand after we crashed. We were both trapped in the car, but I was hurt worse than you. You cried. You told me that you were so sorry. I told you I thought I was dying.” He reaches out, takes me by the hand, and those eyes lock with mine. “You squeezed my hand so tight. You told me I wasn’t allowed to die. That you wouldn’t let me. You made me promise I wouldn’t. And I didn’t.”
Tears start to fill my eyes, as his words take me back to a moment buried in history and trauma and pain. Two teenagers, covered in blood, at the very door of death, demanding life.
It’s him. It’s really him.
And now I don’t know whether to hug him, or punch him so damn hard he feels it forever.
“You should have told me,” I say, my voice cracking as I try to reconcile all the emotions running through me.
“I didn’t know until last night. There was a side effect I had to address, a disassociation. I didn’t know what I was doing when the dose was at its height.”
“Oh, so then you realized you’d been fucking my brains out every night this week?”
We both realize at the same time that my tone has changed. Before I knew who he was, I stammered and I was shy and I let him do things to me without question. But right now, I’m talking to him like I would have talked to Daniel. There’s a sneer on my face. There’s a sneer in my tone. Both freeze as he glowers at me.
“That’s right.” He crosses the room, takes me by the arms and draws me up, first to my tiptoes, and then off my feet entirely. “You’ve been spreading your legs for me all week—and your ass. You’ve been giving me that sweet little cunt, and you’ve loved every minute of it. And if you take that tone with me again, I’m going to take this belt off and whip you with it before I fuck you.”
“Daniel, you can’t…”
“I can,” he growls. “I have. And I will again.”
Something inside me melts with relief. When he told me his name, when I saw the truth in his eyes, my heart sank. I felt betrayed, but worse than that, I thought it was over. I can let a stranger fuck me like a whore, but can I let Daniel?
He captures my mouth in a kiss, drives the question from my head. Whoever Daniel was, it’s not who he is anymore. He is an entirely different man. One who makes my legs spread out of desire. Even now they are winding around his waist as he holds me aloft without effort, kisses me with all that passion and desire and now, intimacy that was absent before. There is a knowing we now share, and that makes this all the more intense.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growls, cupping my ass, pulling my pussy against his crotch. That thick cock of his seems to be perpetually erect. I feel it throbbing through the layers of our clothing, wanting me.
No man has ever wanted me like Daniel. I resisted him for so long for so many reasons, but he has taken every single one of those reasons and shredded them.
Now I see it, I don’t know how I didn’t see it in the first place. Of course this is Daniel. Daniel’s eyes burn in this behemoth’s face.
“Give me your pussy.”
I give him my pussy. I give him everything.
He pulls my panties to the side, pushes his fly down, and his cock finds my cunt in a single rough stroke. Daniel holds me in his arms and takes me the way he’s always wanted to take me. I saw desire all those years. I knew what hid behind those wistful looks and nervous requests for dates. But I couldn’t be with him. I was afraid of what I’d see. I was afraid of how broken I’d left him. Those first few days after the accident, seeing him in the hospital—he wasn’t himself. I could hardly stand to look at him. And I’ve been avoiding looking at him ever since. Truly looking at him. I’ve looked past him. I’ve looked around him. I’ve looked at an illusion of him, a pretend make believe where he sits across a table from me and we act as though everything is fine and normal, knowing that nothing has been fine or normal for years.
If this is his revenge, I deserve every bit of it.
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