tagNonConsent/ReluctanceYou Wanted This, Didn't You? Ch. 01

You Wanted This, Didn't You? Ch. 01

byOdyssean©

I know this will be trouble. Every nerve in my body screams it, almost as loudly as every muscle in my body tenses excitedly for it. And I'm ignoring all of them.

Our on-line play has been just that, play. It's been relegated to the place in my mind where most electronic things go: Like an intense video game or hardcore amateur porn, exciting, stimulating, pleasurable -- and entirely unreal.

It hasn't shaken up my life, it hasn't upset my bond to my wife, and it hasn't physically touched me...except for when I've touched myself. Repeatedly. For my pleasure, at times for yours. To be on display or just to find some sweet release from our chats.

Chats really seems too light a word to give them. Seeing as how intimate they've been -- how we've had our cams on, our mics on, and our clothes off. From states and states away, yeah, but these "chats" have caused me to gush tons to hot fluid all over myself in any number of messy yet fabulous ways.

It's been ephemeral; it's been mediated. And for those reasons, it's left me unconflicted. I remain a happy husband, not a care in the world.

Now, though, you're here. In town. In the city. You're visiting...someone. I don't remember. Frankly, I can't remember. My brain is just trying to hold it together, block out what seeing you *could* mean. I'm telling myself this is being courteous -- stopping by your hotel to give my regards to an out-of-town acquaintance. I would even multi-task it; I would take advantage of a beautiful city day, snap some photos of the scenery along the way, and include your hotel as part of a leisurely bike ride across town. Yeah, that will make things easier and more relaxing.

(And if things get too weird, I can haul ass out of there.)

I'd wear normal street-wear, like jeans and a t-shirt, just to show it's not any sort of formal (or diabolical) occasion. It's a good plan, a good rationale. Except for the fact that when I arrive early and you answer the hotel room door, I'm soaked from head to toe. Damned weathermen.

"You're soaked!" you laugh, seeing me dripping from the rain.

"Nice to see you too," I reply, patting down my slicked head.

A genuine attempt to wring out some of the water from my hair, but it also gives me an easier opportunity to glance you from top to bottom. I was going to call from the lobby, take my time, and wait for you down there. A nice, safe public zone. But between my being soaked from the freak rain shower and your being on the terrace of your room when I rang you, I had to come up here -- to your no man's land. One man's land, really.

The terrace awning kept you from getting rained on, obviously, but it seems as though you were enjoying the weather otherwise. You have on a loose men's button-down shirt -- a husband's? a brother's? what do I care? -- that, with the top 4 buttons open, allowed the wind to whip in and against your skin. You have a bra on, but I imagine it's just for comfort, because it certainly hides very little of your bosomy chest.

No shoes, bare toes, and an easy-wear pair of black, stretchy sweatpants-like bottoms. I'm waiting for you to turn around so I can confirm that it hugs your actually bottom as well as I suspect. Your hair is down, and your eyes are, hm, mischievous?

My plan is shot to hell. I'm in the lion's den.

"Get in here," you smile, grabbing my damp arm, keeping me from puddling in the lobby.

I drop my small bike bag at the doorway as I enter. I finally feel some of the heat returning to my body. Starting at my groin and emanating outward. You dash to the bathroom while I stand dumbfounded in the middle of your room. Big bed, but only one suitcase. You're obviously alone. Some items on the bedside table. Ointments? Balms? Or gels of a naughtier nature, the sort you've talking about using on my body if you ever got me alone?

Oh God, you've got me alone, my inner voice yells.

Emerging from the bathroom, you begin padding me down with towels, and it's all I can do logically to respond by losing unnecessarily ridiculous clothing: my jacket, my bike shoes, even my squishing socks.

"Here," you say, giving me one of the towels while you continue to aid in drying me down.

Maybe you think I'm distracted as I dry my own hair, neck, and shoulders by the way you're patting on my thighs and hips. You shuffle around me, your own clothes carelessly brushing against my crotch, abs, and ass. Little damp spots appear on your clothes where they made contact with me, and I can't help but wonder if it's causing any further damp spots deeper into your ensemble.

"Wow, you ARE a mess," you smirk.

"I could blame you. Only r-reason I'm here," I stammer from the cold.

"I'm glad you came," you reply.

"Y-yeah," I say, attempting to be a non-committal as possible.

It has to be obvious, though, the war going on in my brain, lust fighting logic. I try to spy if you are picking up any sign of it. Then, the most confusing -- and most stimulating -- signal falls from your mouth: "You really should get out of those wet clothes and warm up."

I start to stammer something but, realizing that my brain has frozen up with the abundance of nude, pressing, seizing images that race through it, I turn it into a cold-induced shudder.

"There's a laundry on this floor," you start, placing your hand on the small of my back and guiding me towards the bathroom. "Get out of those things and I'll dry them while you warm up in the shower."

It's so rational, so reasonable, that I find my feet moving towards the bathroom as my arms begin tugging off my shirt. It would all be perfectly innocent if you weren't so engaged in helping it off of me as well. My shirt is off, then the soaked tank top beneath it, and they lay in your hands as I begin to unfasten my pants. I can sense your own eyes zeroing in on my zipper pulling down when I realize I probably shouldn't strip nude in front of you...not yet. Not if you're keeping this as innocent as (half) my brain needs it to be.

It's a good thing I close the bathroom door when I do, pulling back my fly, my cock has engorged to its full heft; you would have easily spotted its shaft straining against the wet cloth of my black boxer briefs and its cut head peeking out eagerly at the waistband. Whatever you might have planned, it's a relief to get the cold clothes off of me as they fall in a heap to the floor. My pulsing dick can stand freely and my heavy, aching balls can finally hang free.

For better or for worse, a hot shower is the best option here, so I turn on the high-pressure faucet and slide behind its translucent paneling. I'm naked, shivering, horny, hard, and entirely bewildered in the shower in your hotel. How'd this happen?? Did I LET this happen?

I let myself enjoy the shower, thinking that it will be some time until my clothes are dry and we can talk properly. It is a nice hotel, after all, and the shower is both voluminous and well tended. The power of the spray feels good all over...but, honestly, best over my cock head and sac.

I let out a moan, "Mmm," and then try to silence myself. Maybe I can get off in here, take the edge off, and be able to calmly interact with you afterward. I grab the soap, less to wash up than to thoroughly abuse myself.

Thanks to the soft, sliding soap lather, I can put a tight seal fist around my cock and still slide it up and down in the shower head spray. Every time I think I hear a knock or a noise from you in the outer room, I slow down -- I'm not sure I want you to hear, and the thought of that milky cleavage and rounded ass required that I cut back the pace or else scream out while covering the shower wall with cum.

"Nmmh," I murmur, mind blazing.

I hear your voice through the cracked door, "Hey? You okay in there?"

"Oh! Yeah! I'm...I'm fine," I say, hesitantly.

"You sure," you ask. "Didn't pull something on your bike, did you?"

"Um..." I can barely manage a retort, having been caught right at my climax with the hot semen filling my balls but being held panicky from erupting out my member.

"You OK? Need help with something?" I hear you, spotting some movement through the blur of the shower wall.

I still can't respond, managing only a " 'm okay -- 'm okay" in empty protest.

Centuries seem to pass, but the water keeps gushing...and I stay frozen in its steam heat to keep from doing the same. Either you've shut the door and gone back out or are standing there, staring at the shower and me within it. You likely have your own calculations running in your head: What you could do to me, how you could approach me, whether you just might keep watching, if you should even film me! I'm hugely at your mercy, it seems, yet I don't know what you're likely to do next!

"Uh, hon?" you say, a trace of something in your voice. "I'm sorry to be a bother..."

"It's okay, it's okay, no problem," I yelp, trying to recover my voice.

"...but, well, I sort of need to relieve myself. Sorry!" you meep apologetically. "It's all the wet and the rain an'..." you trail off.

"Oh, uh, okay, sure." I suspect you'll step out for me to finish my shower and grab a towel -- but that doesn't happen. Not at all.

This time I can see the door clearly shut, but a figure, YOUR figure, is now moving through the steam of the bathroom. I'm too horny and aroused and barely clinging on to civility to be able to tell whether you're still clothed.

"Hey, no peeking now!" you chide playfully.

Can you see me in here? Are you really going to pee while I'm naked less than 3 feet away? God, this game is driving me insane. I've finally chocked back all the cum in my crotch for the moment, and all I can do is think to face the other way in the shower, my ass pointing at you through the stall walls.

My dick is tapping at the opposite shower wall when two senses light up at once, it seems. Over the hiss of the hot shower nozzle, my ears pick up a familiar scraping sound. And by the time I realize it's not the toilet, not the mirror, not anything vaguely innocent but, rather, is the shower panel sliding open. The second sensation I feel is the cool of bare skin pressed tightly against my back along with the wisp of breath on my neck and the subtle brushing of your pubic hair against my ass.

"W-whoa," I stutter.

You growl in my ear, "I think I want to warm up, too."

Before I can say anything, you reach around (and I clench, thinking that if you even graze my cock, I'll explode instantly), and brush the suds off my pubic hair.

"Uh-uh, that's not fair. You don't come all this way, strip for me, and get to jizz all by yourself."

"But--" I almost muster a protest.

"You're not getting out of here without pleasing me. My pussy has been aching for you for quite some time -- and I've seen how much your knob wants me. Doesn't it?" You say it like you're accusing me of it, a growling prosecutor.

With that question on your lips, you roll your breasts and whole torso both down and up my back again, your nipples sliding temptingly along my skin.

"Doesn't it?" you demand.

My mind is screaming YES, and the only thing keeping me from giving in, from relenting, from embracing this whole masterfully erotic scene is the fact that I haven't looked you in the eyes yet. I haven't seen you totally nude, and I haven't locked in a gaze with you to make this really, really real.

You wrap your lips around my neck and begin sucking, licking, biting -- stopping only to say, "You're mine, aren't you?"

You run both sets of your hands across my inner thighs and practically behind my low-hanging ball sac. I can feel the cool back of your hands under their steaming warmth. You widen your stance ever so slightly to place the mound of your remarkably hot pussy on the curve of my ass. Amazingly, I can feel its heat more than the searing shower spray; your hands and chest may still have the chill of the storm air on them, but your snatch is blazing!

I gasp, "Wow, you're on fire," and I slam my mouth shut, realizing that my wall of resistance is weakening by the syllable.

"Mmm, I suppose I am..." you purr. "And I think it's your fault, love."

Grinding again, opening your pussy lips a little wider against me. You say, "All the chats, the pix, the flirting. Sure, you've gotten me off from afar --"

You take your lips off my shoulders long enough to spin me -- with next-to-no resistance on my part -- practically on to your hip. My rigid dick practically slaps against your belly, just below your navel, and my balls rest on your thighs.

Worse yet, your nipples, now harder and larger than they could have been when you had the bra on, are practically right at my face. My last reserve of willpower nearly drains away at the sight of them right by my mouth. All my conscience can do is hold me in a brief paralysis.

Until you say:"--but now you need to make me cum, starting with your sly mouth on these tits."

That's all I can stand. Your nipple is gunned into my open, eager mouth and my tongue swirls around it as I let out a muffled moan vibrating around it.

"Yess..." you hiss in a tone sexier than most anything I've heard before.

I reach across to grab hold of your shoulder with my hand, and that triggers your whole arm to drop down, your palm diving into your own pussy. Something in you has been unleashed here too. My other hand pulls your hip harder against me by grasping your ass cheek.

I moan again at the sight of your hand bouncing up and down over your pubic bone.

"Oh," you say, "you like the sight of this live, don't you? See what you've made me do, made me rub away at my own vag, you tempting little treat, you?"

Your other hand creeps around my back and somehow manages to snake itself between my legs, my sac once again in your tender mercies. You playfully flick at my balls, causing me to involuntarily clamp tighter on your full breast in my mouth.

With a pop, your tit comes free and your back arches -- you found some place you really liked in that hot box of yours. And it's clear you want to share. As you lift one leg to find purchase on the shower wall lip, your hands move to my scalp and apply a soft pressure downward.

"Keep, mmm, putting that mouth to work," you order.

My body complies. The blast of the show is rinsing the back of my head while the drench of your pussy is flooding my face. While both of my hands are planted on your clenching butt, your hands are split between holding my hair like reigns and pinching your nipple as if succulent juice will squirt from it at any moment.

I alternate between flicking your clit with my tongue to having it probe deep inside your hole. You can only offer fractured sentences as I go back and forth, back and forth.

"G-god, love your ttt-tongue. SO deep. Hitting...a-all of me..." you manage to blurt.

Your hands both start searching for something to hang on to above you, a handle or a bar so that youcan arc your pelvis into my mouth even harder and faster. All your fingers can find is the shower head itself, but that leaves me little space to operate. However, it gives me and my desperate, precumming cock a rare opportunity: The shower must be a strong steel welded to the wall, because you can put almost all your weight on it and have your head and breasts hang directly down, staring at the drain.

Meanwhile, this allows me to slip to one side, move behind you, and get full, perfect access to your upturned ass. My cock twitches eagerly at the sight of your slit open and exposed for the taking. There's nothing polite left in me -- I don't whisper anything in your ear or caress the outer lips of your pussy with the head of my cock, up and down. No, I see you suspending yourself in the shower's blast, breast hanging heavily and asscheeks naturally spread, and I unapologetically drive myself into your depths.

Your inner walls contract around my cock with each full-bodied thrust. Not only does the slap of our bodies echo in the bathroom chamber, but you subtly arc your pelvis up at the last moment to meet my every slam with an extra jab of momentum. Your pussy is trying to engulf every inch of my cock, and I feel myself buried into you to a depth I could barely imagine!

The heat of your box is overwhelming -- the shower water, bouncing off your face and cleavage, hardly compares. And the cum I had been feverishly generating before your arrival begins to build again. It puts me in a mindless state: The world disappears, all life disappears, and my only motive to life becomes blasting my own hot jism into your chasmous pussy. I want to fill you to bursting.

I quicken the tempo, thrust harder, and you feel it, no question: You shift from moaning to letting out high-pitched noises, semi-squeals and air-sucking gasps. The hard fucking, the water, or your tired arms cause you to relent, lightly falling into the corner of the shower, face to the wall.

I don't care. I don't stop. You keep chirping, squealing, and I keep forcing you into the wall with the focused desperation of my dick building to unload. I can only grunt, giving you the full force of what you unleashed.

Though your cheek is pressed to the moist linoleum wall, you smile a devilish leer between impacts.

"You WANTED, nh, this," you proclaim. You repeat, "You know, uhhg, you did. I KNOW you did! Ooh."

That does it. Your voice, and your sexy, evil, maddening admission of my secret, triggers that incredible spasm from my nuts, ass, abs, and exploding cock as I drench your insides with sticky, sinful cum, geysered in there wave after wave.

"YESS!" you cry. "YES! FILL ME! FUCK ME, FILL ME!!"

My toes curl and calves clentch, fighting to fire every last ounce of my load into your orgasming center. Every muscle, every nerve is firing all at once -- and then, like a plane that's dropped all its fuel, I waver and splash down to the floor of the shower tub.

I'm dazed, stars and colors in my eyes, but I eventually manage to glance up at you. The water is cascading over your shoulders still, your face is flush, and I think I spot a trickling stream of my cum leaking out your reddened box and down your leg. You stand over me like an amazon above her prey, and you smile:

"You filled me up SO nicely...but I'm not done with you yet," you state, pulling back your wet hair from your reddened face.

No, I smirk, no, I hope you aren't!

(Special thanks to JustEl, fsa52, and Jeanx2Storm.)

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