She stood at the counter, making her morning coffee. H slipped up behind her, pressing her into the cold counter’s edge as he slide his hand into her shirt, cupping her left breast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She said, glancing back at him with a smile.
“Exactly what you like,” he replied as he pinched her nipple, hard, and rolled it between his fingers.
She let out a small gasp, and he hardened his grip and began biting her neck. “You can’t give me a hickey,” she had enough presence of mind to articulate. “My students will see it.”
A jolt of pain shot through her as he squeezed her nipple mercilessly. He moved his other hand to her throat.
“How dare you tell me what I can and can’t do to you, whore.”
He tightened her grip on her throat, restricting her breathing. He released her nipple and moved his hand down to her crotch, his fingers quick and confident as he rubbed her clip. Her cheeks burned with shame as she almost immediately felt anorgasm building. It was so degrading–her shame and utter helplessness made her incredibly, almost painfully horny.
She could hear the cocky smile in his voice as he whispered in her ear, “That’s a good little slut.” He squeezed her throat even harder and, just as spots started to block out her vision, she came with a humiliating, strange moan.
As the pleasure faded and he released her throat, she started to collapse forward over the counter. But, to her surprise, he grabbed her hair and yanked her upward again.
“We’re not even close to finished,” he said, still with that maddeningly cocky, playful tone.
He took a step backward and she crumpled to her knees, half falling half being yanked down by her hair, which he still held knotted in his fist.
“I’m going to be late for work,” she whispered, disgusting herself at how pleading and powerless she sounded.
“How the fuck is that my problem?” He pulled her head back so she could see his scornful smile.”I’m pretty sure you owe me.”
Up to this point in their brief relationship, H had been a generous lover. He knew what she liked and went out of his way to make her come each time they had sex–typically by going down on her beforehand. She could tell he thought of this as paying his dues, taking care of her so he could treat her like a living sex doll during the act itself. There was a cold note in his voice now that told her she was about to see a new side of him, one that he had kept carefully hidden so far. She wasn’t sure if the not in her stomach was one of fear or pleasure anticipation.
She must have let this show on her face, because his smile broadened into a cruel grin.
“Hands behind your back. Grab your elbows.”
She obeyed and, still tightly gripping her hair in one hand, he pulled down his shorts with the other, releasing his huge erection with the other. He was by far the largest she had ever slept with and, although she didn’t object to blowingguys generally, she had never given him more than a half-assembled foreplay blowjob given that she couldn’t take more than a third of his dick in her mouth.
“Open,” he told her, just touching his head against her lips.
She reached out her tongue to begin licking him and he gave her hair a painful tug.
“I didn’t say lick, I said open, you stupid whore.”
Her eyes were tearing up slightly from her singing scalp, but this didn’t seem to elicit any mercy. She dutifully opened her mouth, and he began slowly inserting his penis, sliding it along her tongue. Less than half his erection had disappeared into her mouth before her gag reflex kicked in. As she chased, she was shocked by the sharp slap that struck her cheek.
“Take it all!” His voice was deep with anger and for the first time she became really afraid, while at the same time feeling a new and desperate urge to please him.
He moved her head back so that it made contact with the cabinets behind her–nowhere to retreat– and began inexorably forcing his full length down her throat. She struggled against the urge to gag, the urge to push him away, and instead focused on opening her throat to him. It worked for half a second, and then she began gagging and cought.
With a grunt of frustration, he pulled back a few inches and then rammed his dick down her throat. It felt as though he was filling up the entire length of her, stretching it the way he had stretched out her pussy the first time they’d had sex.
Her mind was blank with panic–she couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove the observation.
“Look at me,” came his calm voice from above. She forced herself to turn her panicked gaze upward, a difficult task when her face was practically buried in his abs, and registered a look of triumph on his face before he began fucking her throat with swift, confident thrusts.
He must have done this to dozens of women, she thought, struggling to draw breathBetween thrusts. Her eyes and nose were streaming, panic threatening to overtake her, and in the back of her mind she was rarely aware that she was wetter than she’d ever been in her life. She felt less than human, reduced to an orifice whose sole purpose was his pleasure. Although he was moving too quickly for her to truly gag or pause now, every time she seemed to squirm or resist he delivered another sharp slap to her face. A short time or a long time later–time seemed to lose its meaning–he let out a groan of satisfaction and she felt cum spilling down her throat. He pulled out and let some of it dribble on her face and chest. He let go of her hair and let her collapse on the floor, a mess of tears, drool, and cum. He dropped a dirty dish rag on her and said, “Clean up, but stay here on the kitchen floor,” then walked away.
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