Sexy Erotica Series
"Going Against Type- Part 8" by Kay Jaybee
Read Parts 1 - 7 here.
The text came through late on Sunday night.
“1:30pm Tuesday – be dressed in old clothes – bra, knickers, everything. I’m gonna rip them from your body, and then I’m going to...”
My stomach churned, What the hell was my courier going to do to me now? I immediately sent a reply asking what he planned. The reply was an enigmatic, “Wait and see, dirty girl.”
Tuesday came. I shivered in front of my bedroom mirror, despite the heat of the day. As I contemplated what John was about to do to me, my nerves had a chilling affect on me. Already adorned in an ancient oyster bra and matching knickers, I studied a pair of holed and worn jeans and a thinning summer skirt I’d thrown across the bed. Skirts rip easier, but jeans are warmer, and if I leave the belt off...jeans then.
Choosing a top was easier. I picked up a white cotton shirt left over from my days as an office worker, and buttoned it halfway up, showing a hint of cleavage.
I stared back at my reflection, my palms already prickling with the first signs of perspiration, my anticipation levels off the scale. Grabbing my hairbrush, I attacked my long, wavy brown hair, and, with only minutes to spare, decided to sweep it up into a neat ponytail.
It was exactly one-thirty when the doorbell rang, but rather than wait for me to open it, John stormed straight in. I barely had a chance to look at his face before he asked, “Are those your old clothes?”
I nodded, about to reply verbally, when John cut me off by forcefully twisting me at the waist, so that my back was to him.
After that, everything happened very, very fast.
He wrapped his arms around me, propelling me forwards and tipping me up, so I was half lying, half propped, against the sofa. My jeans were off before I’d even registered my position, the zip fly torn beyond fixing. I don’t actually remember my knickers coming down, but when I found them later, the seams were neatly split down each side, as if the two pieces of material had never been joined in the first place.
How did he know? How did this man, who I still hardly knew, understand that I had always wanted someone to treat me like this?
The blouse was next. John yanked me into a standing position, my back against his chest. I felt dizzy as he grabbed the opening of my top and tugged. Effortlessly, buttons flew in all directions as the crisp fabric gave no resistance against his strength, and my bra was simply snapped across its sides, the clasp forgotten altogether.
My mind spun at the erotic savagery of the situation as, seconds later, my forehead was buried into the top of the sofa cushions. With my knees resting on the bottom of the sofa, and one of John’s knees shoved firmly into the small of my back, I was pinioned in place.
I heard John’s belt buckle open, swiftly followed by the rip of a condom packet. I had just enough time for my imagination to leap ahead to what might happen next, when my delivery man grabbed my ponytail, yanking my neck back as far as it would go. Then, with his free hand, he smacked my arse with a single, smarting strike.
My cry of surprise hadn’t finished echoing around the otherwise silent room, when John’s fingers came to my unprepared arse, opening me up as far as he could, before he jammed his sheathed cock inside.
I know I screamed. It hurt. Struggling to hold back the burn of pain, I bit into the soft cushions. Half afraid my teeth would rip right through the fabric, willing myself not to beg him to stop, I ran a mantra through my head, Any second now the pain will go, any second now something will take over, any second... Then it did.
The sharp sting was replaced with a blissful warmth – a tight, swelling burn, as John began to speak, telling me to scream louder, telling me I was “his dirty girl,” and that I “drove him fuckin’ nuts.”
I found my voice, and began to respond to all he had done, yelling at John, louder and louder. I was still shouting out how beautifully brutal he was, when he pulled my hair harder, using my ponytail like a rudder to steer my whole body. Moulded against his chest, I shuddered as he placed his right hand over my clit, flicking it with a work-blunted fingernail.
Climaxing instantly, I felt temporarily robbed as John pulled out of my arse. My head swam as my panting body was flipped over, and I lay flat on the floor. Disposing of his condom, John began to wank furiously across my heaving chest, and soon a hot shower of spunk sprayed my tight tits.
John crouched over me, scooping up some of his spent seed, and bringing it to my lips. I licked up the thick cream, gobbling the moisture down my dry throat. Instantly, he presented me with more, barely giving me time to swallow before the next handful came. Only when every last dollop of his come had been smeared from my chest, and given to me to eat, did he stop.
Standing over me, a look of total satisfaction on his face, John pulled up the boxers and trousers that had never fully left his legs. None of his other clothes had been removed, and I suddenly realized I hadn’t really touched him at all. “You’ve been a good girl today.” He bent down and kissed me for the first time that afternoon, saying, “I have to go.”
Then, deliciously shocked and prostate on the floor, I watched my lover leave. I stayed where I was, my body slowly taking in what had just happened.
How the hell am I going to top that?
I closed my eyes, letting the tension that had knotted in my shoulders escape in long, slow breaths, Unless I...oh yes, I could do that...but do I dare?
Originally published November 2009