Shockingly Real

Caution: rape triggers.

The doorbell rings.

“Finally,” I say. I’m exasperated that the repair guy has taken so long to get here.

“Whatever,” he says.

He’s not very nice. I know that from the start. But he’s nice to look at for sure: muscular; silky black hair; angry brown eyes; a tattoo that covers his forearm. His scent is both foreign and familiar, a hint of cloves and the tang of testosterone.

Some men are comfortable, the kind you take to brunch and to visit grandma in the nursing home. As soon as I see him leaning cockily on my doorstep I know that he is not such a man. He is the other sort of man, the sort that eyes a woman like she’s little more than a bit of wet flesh and friction, a masturbation toy with real breasts.

He is a bad man. And as soon as I see him, I know he’s going to fuck me before he leaves. For three heartbeats I leave the screen door closed and stare at him as my heart chugs faster. I shouldn’t let him into my home.

Yet I open the door like a fool. Not because I think the best of him, but because I think the worst. I hope that he will do what his eyes say he’s capable of doing to me.

My better judgment is screaming to get smart. This is a dangerous game with a dangerous man. But my better judgment isn’t winning.

I lead him into my house. I’m home alone, of course. He’s here to repair things. What exactly he repairs varies each time I tell myself this story. Sometimes he’s a plumber, sometimes the cable guy. But he’s strong and primal, and he’s an outsider in my home.

I go about my business while the guy works but I make sure I’m always in his line of sight. I sit on the couch and sort through some bills, sometimes carelessly uncrossing my legs, making sure that he can peek up my skirt (and knowing that he’s paying attention).


After a bit, I up the ante and change into my bikini. He’s kneeling next to the thing he’s fixing and I’m standing over him.

“You’re taking long enough,” I say rudely.

“It takes as long as it takes,” he says.

“I’m going to be sunbathing by the pool,” I say. “Just give a holler when you’re done.”

His eyes drift to my breasts, lingering for a long moment before they slide back to my face.

“You know, this is a nice neighborhood,” he says. “I haven’t been around here before. You stay home?”

“I’m just home for the day,” I say. “So you could come.”

“Yeah, so I could come.”

His eyes plunder my curves shamelessly. I blush.

“Hey, dude,” I say. “I’m up here.”

“I know where you are,” he says and my heart skips two beats. “You got a husband, a boyfriend?”

He’s scoping out my territory, trying to see if I’m easy prey or not.

“My husband isn’t going to be home for hours,” I say.

I walk into his trap with eyes wide open. I know what I’m doing — at least I think I do. Soon, it’s going to be too late to back out of this little game I’m playing.

He nods. “It’s too bad that he lets you out of his sight. I mean, too bad for him.”

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself,” I say.

A grin curls his cheek. “I’m a big boy, too.”

“I bet you are.”

I sense his aggression, his desire. I can almost smell it.

I wonder how it’s going to happen. He might straight up proposition me, but I think he seems like the predatory type: more of a take first, ask questions later guy. I’m okay with that.


He grunts and goes back to work.

“Just holler when you’re done?” I say for a second time.

He nods. “I’ll be sure you know when I’ve finished,” he says.

The words make me quiver with a perverse glee. Did I just catch a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth? I walk to the pool. The paving stones are hot underfoot, the backyard is like a blast-furnace. I glance back and see him starting at my ass as I walk away. He doesn’t bother to look down.

Oh, he’s going to fuck me. I just don’t know when, or where, or how.





He has a threatening energy, like a Spartan riding an electric panther through a firestorm. His energy scares me but it also turns me on. When he’s close I can sense my proximity to being plundered. He awakens something raw and primal, deep in my abdomen. It’s a feeling that I can’t get (no way, no how) from my husband, as much as I love him.

I bask in the sun for what feels like a long time, periodically glancing to make sure he’s still there. I take a swim to cool down and climb the ladder nearest the living room so I’m sure he gets a good view of me dripping wet.

He’s gone.

Heart racing, I enter the house. Silence. My gut twirls. I can hear my pulse in my head.

Where did he go? I’m terrified. The adrenaline gives me a sick high. I walk the whole house, looking for him. I notice that the front door is ajar and his truck is gone. He’s got to come back, I haven’t signed for the work. I deliberately leave the door open a crack.

I hadn’t expected him to disappear, but if he wants to play this game I’ll play it all the way.

I strip out of my suit and take a quick shower. I’m drying my hair with a towel, totally naked, as I walk into the master bedroom. I fully expected him to be there, waiting for me, maybe already on the bed, but the room is empty.

Maybe he got spooked. A panther like him can sense a trap a mile away.

The door closes behind me. I scream, whipping around.

He looks me up and down, taking in every inch of my naked body. He sizes me up. My cheeks flush.

“Don’t scream again,” he says. “You’re going to keep quiet until this is over.”

I nod.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly. He pulls a good-sized cock out of his pants and approaches me. It’s short but really thick, and it hardens as I watch.

“Get me wet,” he orders me. “Don’t bite.”

He presses his cock-head against my lips. I open for him and he thrusts into my mouth. He holds my head and I quiver as he pushes to the back of my throat. I cough and he pulls out.

“Spit on it,” he says, and I do. He strokes his hard cock. “Spread your legs.”

I’m on the bed. He pushes me onto my back and parts my thighs. He rubs his cock-head up and down on my pussy. I’m soaking wet.

“You want me, don’t you?” he says when he sees how wet I am.

I want to say yes, but my lips won’t form the word. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I want him, even though I do.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “I’m gonna make that pretty little cunt come.”

I think he’s going to penetrate me. I close my eyes. I ignore the arousal swirling hot in my belly.

Instead of spearing me with his cock, he just rubs his tip over my folds, picking up the moisture there and flirting with my hole. I stay still, scared of what he might do to me, excited by what he might do to me. He rubs his cock on my clit. Tingles.

I bite my lower lip, trying not to vocalize my desire. I’m horny as hell. I want this jerk, but too proud to let him know it.

He grabs his thick dick in his fist and pumps it, like he’s going to jerk off right onto my pussy, but he’s really rubbing that fat tip all over my clit. I’m wet — really wet — and his dick is slick with my moisture. My pussy makes wet sounds as he rubs himself all over. I can’t help myself, my breathing is fast, my stomach is rising and falling with desire.

I still don’t moan for him.

“I know you want it, baby,” he growls. “Beg me not to fuck you.”

“You’re not my boss,” I gasp.

But he is. He is totally my boss in every way that matters right now. I literally couldn’t stop him if I tried. That ship has sailed.

He rubs his cock faster and faster, grinding his flesh hard against my clit. I can’t stop my hips, I push them into the air, toward him. I look down, I need to see. He grins. I resent him for being such a dick and love the feeling he’s giving me. His cock-head parts my folds and massages my bud. The tingling is so fucking intense.

“You ready for me to fucking own your cunt?”

“I don’t care,” I say, but my voice is more of a moan.

He grabs my face and leans down close. I smell his sweat. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you. You hear?”

I quake. “I know.”

The tip of his penis is violent purple, fat, the angry color of a bruise.

Goddammit, just fuck me already.

Just to show me he has control, he won’t penetrate me yet. He’s intent on making me come first. I know he wants to hear me cry out with pleasure and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing my orgasm face. But I can’t hide the arousal flooding through me much longer.

He smiles. “Oh, you’re gonna cum like my little bitch,” he says.

I part my lips with a gasp — still resisting, staying silent. I tense, trying to keep the orgasm at bay. If I come, I will scream, and he wins. But I don’t think I can stop it. He’s rubbing his cock-head rapidly right against my clit. Every stroke he’s so close to impaling me. It’s awesome torture, and there’s no way I can hold out for long.

But I try. I resist with every fiber of my being, knowing that when the dam bursts I will be lost.

I grab the bed sheets in both hands. I stare at the ceiling, trying to avoid the burgeoning tingling that threatens to overwhelm me. I think of my husband. What would he think if he could see me now, spreadeagled on our marriage bed with a predator doing his worst to make me come? What would he think if he knew I loved it?

The man uses his cock-free hand to force my chin toward him. He’s still wearing his t-shirt but his pants are around his ankles.

“Look at me when I’m pleasuring you,” he says.

The asshole, I think. So damned cocky. But I do what he wants. I keep my eyes on him the whole time. I’m so turned on I can’t stand it. His cock is just right, exactly where it is, sliding up and down my slick folds, his glans rubbing my tender star.  I can feel how he masturbates himself, strokes his shaft, every motion of his fist on cock translating into a tingling pleasure drizzling through my core. I hold still, trying my best to keep my hips from rocking. My nipples are hard as little pebbles and my breast rises and falls in times to his stroking.

I tremble with pleasure.

“I’ve never made a girl’s pussy so soaking wet,” he groans.

“I’m not a girl,” I say. “I’m a woman.”

“Did I say girl? I meant you’re my little cunt,” he says.

“I’m not yours,” I say.

“You’re gonna be.”

I don’t know who I think I’m fooling. He’s right, my pussy has never been so soaking wet. I’m leaving a wet mark on the bed and he’s not even fucked me yet.

I want to be used. I want him to want me so bad he can’t help but fuck me. He’s a bad man, dangerous, and I shouldn’t encourage him. Every wrong thing he does makes me want it even more. The tension between good and bad, pleasure and pain makes me dissolve into a puddle of lust.

His face turns red. I can tell how hot he’s getting. I wonder if he can keep at it, stroking my clit with the sensitive head of his cock like that. I know his cock-head must be tingling as fiercely as my clit. I wonder if he’s going to pop off all over my pussy. That makes me even hotter.

I wriggle and squirm. My orgasm is unavoidable now.

He’s going to get his way. He’s going to make me moan. And he’s fucking right: I want him. I need him to take me.

I whimper. It’s the first real noise I’ve made.

“Oh, yeah. Now we’re getting to the good stuff, baby,” he says.

He doesn’t relent. I have no other option but to squirm. I chew on my lip, watching the veins on his neck pop out. The jerking motion of his fist is urgent and for a second I think he’s going to spill. It’s too much for me to bear. I thrust my hips toward him, quivering.

I gaze at him like a doe.

“Come,” he commands me.

I let out a groan.

“Come,” he says again.

Yes. Yes, I’m going to. I’m going to… Keep rubbing me there.

I spread my thighs wider and grip the sheets harder and bite my lip until it hurts. The tingling is intense. He can see I’m close. He goes a little faster, a little faster. I’m on the edge…

“Oh, god,” I moan. I shudder. I choke on my words. A scream huddles in my throat. The heat, the pulse, the buildup!

Not quite… I need him to keep going just a little more.

He knows I’m almost there and does something unexpected. Just as I’m at the edge of the abyss he thrusts himself into my pussy and starts fucking me hard.

I scream with surprise and my pussy unleashes. I clench and spasm around that thick shaft. It’s brutally effective, shockingly real. My whole body shudders as a wave of urgency unleashes, squeezing him. I’m left moaning and writhing with pleasure. He doesn’t let me escape or wriggle away. He’s got my thighs locked wide open and he just thrust-thrust-thrusts right to the hilt. I’m in an agony of orgasmic delight.

His cock feels incredible inside of me. I’m so turned on. Better than my husband, I think with awful guilt. Better than the best fuck I’ve ever had.

I hate him for that. He can’t be my best. But the spasms of pleasure just won’t stop. I’m totally at the mercy of his cock.

His face is bright red. He thrusts like an animal. I cry out and moan. I’ve given up pretending. I like it. I love it. I need it. My sounds spur him on. He’s bouncing me, slapping into me with a vengeance. I stretch my arms up over my head. He grabs my tits and squeezes them hard. I yelp with pleasure.

“Take your shirt off,” I gasp.

I want to see him. I can tell from his arms and his bare abdomen that’s he’s cut. He doesn’t stop fucking me for a moment, but he rips his shirt off. His chest is awesome. Pure muscle, tattoos and sweat. I can clearly see his abs flexing as he fucks me.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan.

“You like it,” he says. His face is primal, greedy.

“Just fuck me,” I say.

He doesn’t disappoint. I’ve never been rammed so hard. It’s good. I’m sore but loving it. I’ve never been taken like this. My pussy is just a fountain as his thick shaft impales me over and over again. I’m bouncing and crying out and way beyond the point of any resistance to him. I wrap my ankles around his back and let him have me.

I come again, my pussy clutching greedily at his cock. I’ve never had an orgasm from just a cock. It’s an awesome feeling.

He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. He’s in the final stretch. Our eyes are locked. His body strains and he drips sweat on me. He’s like a rutting beast. My pussy slaps and sucks at his dick as he plows me. His veins pop out, rippling across his neck and arms. I’m so turned on by his intensity.

He stiffens and yells. He clutches my hips and buries his cock deep inside. He closes his eyes and comes like crazy in my hungry cunt. I rock my hips and savor the feeling of the workout I’ve just gotten. I’m utterly soaked and ache from the orgasms and the pounding.

“You’re a good fuck,” he says, tucking away his cock and pulling his shirt back on.

I sit up on the bed, my hair a mess. I don’t know what to do now. He waits for me to say something. I want to thank him and slap him in the same breath.

“Fuck you,” I say.

I mean it. He’s a jerk. He can’t do shit like this to women, but I’m glad that he did it to me.

He sticks his middle finger inside of my pussy and pulls it out, glistening with our combined fluids. He wipes it on my cheek like he’s marking me.

Without a word he pulls his pants up and leaves silently.

The rest of the afternoon I’m not sure what to do with my restless energy. I masturbate, thinking about the repair guy fucking me, trying to burn off my moral turpitude.



When my husband gets home there’s no sign of what happened, of course. I’ve showered, neatened the bed and gotten all primped up.

“How are you, hon?” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a smile. The heinous secret of my afternoon pulsates deep in my belly.

“Did the repair guy come?” he says.

“Yes, he did,” I say, blushing.

He looks at me funny. “What’s up with you?”

“Let’s go on a date tonight,” I say, distracting him with my brightest smile.

“Do you have something up your sleeve? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m just hungry,” I say. “I just want a night out with my husband.”

Later, in the dark privacy of our master bed, my husband is eagerly suckling at my cunt. He’s doing his best work, I’m honestly impressed. I’m moaning and arching my back. What he doesn’t know is that he’s tasting my honey mingled with the cum from my rapist’s thick and plundering cock. The thought alone makes me cum as I force my spouse to clean up my dirty deeds with his eager tongue.

2 thoughts on “Shockingly Real

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