At midnight the house party’s zest had waned.
The music playlist calmed from the chest-bumping hip-hop beats to easy romantic 80s pop rock hits. Those who had danced wildly for hours now were settled into soft couches and chairs. Their bumping and grinding turned to light toying and flirting, talking and teasing.
One guy who had enough remaining energy and a decent voice sang Take On Me and then Need You Tonight to the girl sitting next to him. Quickly, the young lady nestled against his chest.
A couch away, a dark-haired woman sat next to a blond guy, straightening the collar on his polo shirt and lightly kissing his lips, while his arms held her on his lap. Two thin guys stood by the fireplace, laughing, and another couple was nearly asleep together on the La-Z-Boy recliner, despite all that was going on around them.
Olivia stood by the front window. She had been at the party for several hours. No guy had intrigued her enough to settle on the couch or straighten a collar. She was worked up though. It had been a while since she got laid. Not that she couldn’t get into bed, of course, but no one had charmed her naked.
Finally, a small four-door car bounced into the driveway. She rushed out.
“16 48th Street, please,” she told the twenty-something driver.
“Yep. Just need to pick up one guy here.”
She wondered if she had seen the guy at the party. Whoever he was, he must not have had an interest-rousing demeanor. She held her purse on her lap and played Forge of Empires on her phone. The backdoor opened, and a man crammed himself into the backseat next to her. His knees pressed far into the front passenger seat, even after the driver slid it forward. Olivia noticed how obviously large his hands were, resting on his knees. He had nicely trimmed fingernails and no rings.
He smelled of cool cologne and wore a simple polo shirt and jeans. The collar needed to be straightened. To her delight, his jaw was well-defined and clean-shaven. His dark hair was cropped tight. If nothing else, he was worth simply staring at, soaking him in.
“Pretty tight in here,” she said with a smile.
“To say the least. I hope you don’t have an aversion to touching strangers because I can’t stop. There’s absolutely no way. This car is so small,” he said.
“I have no problem with touching.” With little forethought about the message it would convey, she added, “I’ve touched many strangers in my life, and it’s never been bad.”
He grinned, but his eyebrows spoke louder. He patted her knee.
The driver was not one for safe driving. Along the bumpy ride, she and he were rocked together, bumping shoulders, since the roads were pocked with potholes.
At one turn, Olivia braced herself by inadvertently grabbing his thigh. She held on until the tires seemed to have touched the road again.
Once letting go, she said embarrassed, “Sorry about that.”
He snorted in the fun of the situation, and soon she was laughing too. “Since we’re nearly on top of each other,” she said, “I guess I should ask your name.”
“Damian Gilmore. Yours?”
“Olivia Newsome.”
“Nice to meet you.”
There was too little time to think about further conversation.
“Hang on,” the driver called from the front seat and yanked the steering wheel to the right.
Olivia was unsure about the driver’s skills, as two wheels seemed to have again left the pavement. Her hand missed his thigh during this turn. It slid into his lap. She yanked out her hand.
“Oh sorry, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean, I was just trying to, the turn, you know,” she fumbled.
Damian put his hand on her knee to calm her. “It’s okay. Like I said, I have no problem with strangers touching me—especially women I don’t know.”
She was flustered in the awkward circumstance. “Do I owe you a free feel-up to make things even?”
She was electrified by his reply.
“That’s fair.”
He confidently eyed her chest and legs. She didn’t deter him from looking, nor did she react when he moved. She didn’t stop his large, warm hand from gripping her knee. In fact, she, little by little, spread her knees.
Damian’s face dimmed and eyes darkened as his hand moved up her thigh. A desire to pounce covered his face like a mask. For her, the excitement was there, the exact excitement she had wanted for a while. A stranger, handsome and willing. A stranger making her tingle and her pussy heat up and her horniness flood her veins. A stranger who understood her messages and her own willingness. A stranger without fear of overstepping courtesies.
Damian reached farther up, and her head laid back against the headrest. She looked to be in silent prayer with flashes of intensity crossing her countenance.
Olivia’s body encouraged him to continue, but his hand stopped. She ended her prayer and asked, “Why… Why’d you stop?”
“We’re at the Motel 6,” the driver said, fumbling over his words.
Through shortened breaths, she asked, “Where are you headed, Damian?”
“We’re getting off here.”
“Getting off here?”
“Yes.”
The driver asked, “What about your destination—48th Street?”
“I’m getting off here now.”
The driver shrugged.
With her pussy on fire, Olivia quickly got the key card from the front desk for Room 7 and led Damian in. Damian didn’t wait for small-talk or a surveying of the quality of the room. He snaked his right arm to the back of her neck, taking a tight clutch, and his left hand ran up her thighs, lifting the dress. His stern, domineering eyes held her spellbound. She wanted to stare into those eyes, wondering what might be beyond their darkness. What man lurked behind them? He silently answered her. His left hand grabbed her ass in a gorilla grip. She winced, but in the flourishing excitement, pain didn’t matter. In fact, she wanted more pain, she wanted to be put in her place, she wanted to be held there, against her will even. She wanted him to take advantage of his size over hers.
To foster their romp, she entwined her fingers at the back of his neck. She leaned her weight back to pull him onto her onto the bed. He was Samson-strong though and remained steadfast. Instead, her fingers unlocked, and she fell back onto the bouncy bed alone. She looked up, astounded by what she witnessed. His shirt was coming off. His eyes had already enraptured her, now his beastly shoulders captured her. His torso narrowed into a thin waist. And his bulky arms matched his body size. He was a giant man.
He flipped up her skirt and pulled off her panties, so her pussy was in sight. A cold rush of air made her shiver. She had shaved her pussy clean. She liked seeing herself without interference.
Damian slid his finger into her wet pussy. It came out and then two fingers went in. She loved it.
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “Come on.” She wooed him as if wooing a wild animal. She did not fully grasp this animal though.
His fingers went into her pussy again, and then his fingers dug into her mouth. “Suck that off, bitch.”
The demand to suck made her fearful for a split second. But she did suck and sucked exuberantly. He fingered her pussy again but with three fingers and brought the three to her mouth and shoved them in. She sucked off all the juiciness.
Tonight, she was relishing in the intensity. Her mind was spinning and was soaking up all the attention.
Then through the torrent of her mind and body, there was a simple jangle of metal and a quick zip. She leaned up and saw an erect, fat cock—one like she hadn’t seen before, except in the porn she’d watched and imagined in odd erotica stories she’d read. She had been led like a lamb into the den of a lion, a beast who was ready to tear her apart in all his strength.
Damian grabbed the monster and thwapped it against her pussy. “Hey, slut, put this dick in your mouth and suck the hell out of it.”
She sat up before he made any further moves. She took as much of the dick as possible in her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned, as though she had taken in too many Oh! Henry candy bars at once. She moved her head slowly as she quelled the gagging sensation that constricted her throat. Damian, however, was not appeased. He pulled her head back and forth, shoving his dick in deep, gyrating in rhythm. Saliva drooled down Karen’s chin and she retched herself on the length and girth of Damian. She had to pull off the dick several times to regain her composure.
Unlike before, he gently cupped her chin in his palm, grinning thirstily at her. In an instant though he shoved her head back. She flopped onto the bed.
“Give it to me,” she tried to say, but Damian’s hand clamped down on her mouth, barely allowing for breath. Her eyes widened in a strange mix of fear and felicity and asphyxiation. She stared up at his handsome, yet fierce, face. She hadn’t felt this much sexual dominance for years. A guy in college she dated briefly loved to force her to appease him sexually. As a Newsome woman, she allowed him. He would spread her legs apart and keep them wide by handcuffing her ankles to the head and foot of the bed. From there, he could do what he wanted, follow his own desires. In addition to his cock, he used dildos, multiple at once. He also had a fuck machine run for long periods. During that relationship, she learned to enjoy anal sex.
She felt Damian’s dick press against her cunt. She tried to sit up, worried about its size versus her size. He would not allow her to sit up. He drove his cock into her pussy. Her lips and pinkness were stretched tight. He then rammed her hard. She screamed and twisted her head with each of his thrusts.
“Oh fuck, your dick is so big,” she wailed. She tugged on the bed cover until she was holding onto only the hem of it. She clenched her teeth as he changed tactics. No more fast fuck but a deep fuck. He pushed hard into her, deep into her, squishing her body under his weight. He force-fed her pussy.
On the last vestige of her bodily control, Damain pulled out. He stood over her for a moment. She was like a sore lamb. Yet, he had no concern. He rolled her over on the bed, raising her to all fours. He lifted her ass and smacked it, leaving a red handprint. She questioned why she said it but out came the request: “Give it to me again.”
He entered, from behind, into her well-worn pussy. He began to fuck her again, ramming her hard enough to make her whole body move, her stomach, her asscheeks, her thighs and her arms. She took out her tits from her shirt and let them swish. As her tits teeter-tottered back and forth, her nipples rubbed against the rough bed cover, which added to all the other hot spots around her body. She again held tight to the bed cover in an attempt at control. But orgasm consumed her, swirling her senses.
He began to grunt and moan. She felt his wrenching hips and his strong grip on her ass getting tighter. She could tell he was nearing his culmination. It was her turn to take over, to be the Newsome woman she was, from a long linage of strong women. But he pulled out before she had a chance. He turned her onto her back. Suddenly, the huge cock was inches from her face, his hand stroking so fast it was only a blur. She waited for the jolt of his manness. Her tongue rolled out and flicked up, anticipating him. Following a guttural groan, warm cum shot into her right eye, smattered onto her forehead, covered the right side of her face. She opened her left eye as he rubbed the remaining drizzle on her lips like gloss. Then he patted her cheek with the head of his dick.
She scraped the cum from her cheek and licked it off her fingers. He wiped cum off her face and then shoved his fingers in her mouth. She continued to relish everything.
Sometime later, the beast had slumped into the chair by the curtained window. At rest.
His cock was plastered against his left thigh and his pants were around his ankles. She laid on her back, exhausted, yet toying with her clit and enjoying the remnants of orgasm. The vestiges of sex had waned, cooling the room.
While still on her back, she asked, “By the way, where were you headed before?”
With no more gusto than a hello to a neighbor, he answered. “My fiancée’s place.”
Olivia flung herself upright on the bed. “Your fiancée? Won’t she wonder where you are, why you’re late?”
“Does it look like I care if she asks?”
“Are you going to say that you had sex with another woman?”
“Maybe not that blunt.”
“Good god, what did I do?”
“I’ll tell you what you did. You got fucked, just like you needed. And I know you’ve never had a dick that large.” He smirked. “And you loved being domineered.”
This man, who was a beast on multiple levels, was also one who could read people. She had a hard time believing that being a beast, confident and daunting, and, concurrently, astute were compatible in the same human. This guy was a rare specimen.
“Olivia.” She glanced up when he said her name. He was dressed and ready to leave. “Olivia, you know what you’re doing, and I only got a small taste of what you’re capable of. Whoever taught you things, he should be given a medal of honor. Hell, maybe one day he will.”
“Oh, please,” she huffed, waving off his compliment. “You sound like you wish you were in a movie with a classic line. ‘Kiss me as if it were the last time,’” she said dramatically.
“Maybe someday we’ll meet again.” He smiled and she fell back, making the well-worn mattress creak, like an old woman complaining.
She felt a rush of cool wind run up her body when the door opened. Then the door closed. Damian Gilmore was gone, and Olivia was alone. She noticed the surrounding silence. Only her thoughts were there.
Olivia tidied up in the mirror under the ugly, yellowish vanity lights. Her hair was frizzy, and her makeup was ruined because of the cum and her red lipstick was smeared down the side her mouth from his heavy handedness. Her lips, both sets, were plump and sore from all the action. She loved it.
Soon, she was waiting at the front window of the room for her Uber ride. She wondered if she would be riding alone this time.
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