Ann: The Married Years Ch. 36

His hands caressed her thighs, moving along her silky skin until he was massaging her ass. Bunching her dress, he forced it down her back toward her shoulders, exposing more of her naked body underneath. That is if you could do such a thing with a backless dress. With her rear end so high, her legs spread for him, she felt vulnerable; yet she held still, giving herself to him.

"Fuck! Spank me," she screamed in her head, wanting to feel the stinging blow of his hand against her backside. It was a dangerous thought, knowing it might lead to something more than just the rough sex she suddenly craved. It was all so different than she envisioned feeling when she'd gotten up that morning, the idea of making love all weekend in a romantic colonial inn having been on her mind since he'd surprised her with the reservation a week before.

But the angst she'd felt, just trying to get herself ready to go with a little one begging for attention, had built up to the point she now wanted her sex on the angry side. She tried to get it out of her system by fucking him hard before they'd left the house, thinking that once they'd done that, she'd be able to settle in for the anniversary weekend she'd been dreaming about. That was even the original thought behind planning an impromptu Bond fantasy. They never really showed him having sex, and generally it was implied that it was always passionate and romantic.

But over dinner, while they were recounting the adventure she'd set up for him and Tina, the conversation dwelled on the characters they all played. The movie she'd used for inspiration, Goldfinger, was their favorite of all of them. Tina had portrayed Pussy Galore. And it was an scene from the movie that made Ann realize that she might have been misjudging the other side of Bond in bed, or in the case of that scene, in the hay of a barn.

In the movie, the two characters were originally adversaries; the female lead was the right-hand girl of the villain. At a critical point in the film, she and Bond engaged in a tussle in a barn on a horse farm in Kentucky, the two literally flipping each other head over heels, until they ended up laying in the hay together. Bond had jumped on top of Pussy after flipping her, and they wrestled for control; she attempted to slap him. He grabbed her arm instead, and actually forced her into a kiss against her will. With his lips firmly pressed against hers, she finally succumbed to his strength, as well as his manly charm.

It was a classic representation of the male/female dynamic in 1962, when the film was released. It was the same in the book, published three years prior. It was how the characters were written, because it was a reflection of the times they were set in. Cavemen drug women by their hair. Vikings pillaged and raped. It only made sense that a spy during the early sixties would force himself on a pretty blonde and she'd end up changing her allegiances. The line in the movie joked about how Bond must have appealed to her maternal instincts by taking her the way he had.

As Ann talked to Neil while they ate, that scene kept playing out in her head, and it opened her eyes. Bond had to have a part of him that liked rough sex. With the nature of his job, there would have to be times where he couldn't turn off the adrenaline; where he wasn't able to relax and calm his mind. If you're literally licensed to kill, it would only make sense that he'd use his cock as a weapon when given the chance. Banging the occasional babe until she screamed for mercy not only seemed plausible, it was logical in her eyes.

She heard the zipper of his pants lowering, and could tell without looking that he was freeing his hard shaft. He rubbed the thick head against the crack of her ass, her back hole wet and slick from the way her pussy had been profusely leaking. She grabbed the comforter again to brace; certain she was about to have his thickness reaming her ass at any second. Once again it wasn't what she envisioned during the week, but she wasn't going to protest. She needed him, in any way he decided to give himself to her.

"UUNNNNHHHHHHHH!" she grunted when he plunged all the way inside. Her body began shaking, the force of his thrust taking her breath away. She panted, beads of sweat quickly forming on her brow as he began fucking her hard. He mauled her hips with his strong hands, using them to pull her into his crotch, trying to go deeper with each subsequent stroke. She wondered how much it would have hurt if wasn't fucking her pussy. His initial plunge threw her off guard again, as he repositioned and rammed his thickness into her dripping cunt. While she could feel her orgasm quickly building, there as a part of her that secretly wished he was pounding her ass. The mind game of it all was enough to make her head spin.

His hands moved her dress again, fighting the tight materiel, forcing it over her breasts so that they were now free for him to abuse. He did that by pounding her, making her nipples rub against the fabric of the comforter. It was a much rougher than she realized; the texture somewhat scratchy against her sensitive nubs.

"Who the fuck makes a quilt out of emery cloth," she thought, sucking in her stomach as the fibers irritated her in the most magnificent ways. It was an exaggeration, the material not as abrasive as she was making it out to be in her head, but she couldn't help but compare it to how his stubble had felt against her legs.

One strong hand held her still, firmly placed in the center of her back, keeping her upper half where he wanted it. His other gripped her ass cheek, a thumb perilously close to her asshole. He bucked into her, a steady grinding pace making the bed and floorboards squeak just as Brooke had suggested.

Ann's eyes clamped shut, her spine going stiff as the first wave hit her, followed instantly by a second harder one. She bit into the bedding, stifling her screams as she finally exploded all over his cock, her cum running down her inner thighs. The intensity subsided for just a few seconds before it rose even higher. She came so hard he had to pull out, a few spurts expelling from her cunt before he plugged himself back in and resumed hammering her.

When his hands found her tits, she growled as he squeezed them, playing with them like he was molding clay. His grip was firm and hard. He held his fingers wide, straining to hold them tighter; her nipples and flesh distending between them.

"UUUUUUHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNN!" she howled into the mattress, her pussy convulsing around his cock while her breasts throbbed from the way he was pawing them. She was in heaven, the force of the orgasm making her lightheaded.

His chest puffed out, the white dress shirt clinging to his skin from the sweat he was working up. Still wearing the leather harness, the gun and holster were hitting his ribs. His loosened tie was dangling, the tip of the silky fabric moving across her lower back. He could feel his toes cramping a bit in his shoes, but there was no way he was stopping now. Not once he felt the way her walls welcomed his throbbing prick.

She came at least twice more before he felt his load beginning to boil. His thighs burned, mostly from being in the same position while still wearing his pants. They were constricting him, yet he kept the torrid pace he'd set out from the start. It was unrelenting, his heavy balls slapping against her clit, pounding out a rapid beat. The sounds of the squeaking springs and creaky floor combined with those of their bodies joining... wet squishing; heavy breathing. It was a symphonic orgy of two.

The sperm boiled over in his balls, racing up his shaft. He slammed into her so hard she fell forward, his body landing on top of her.

"AAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" he bellowed, the molten cum exploding from his cock deep into her waiting womb.

She could feel his cock pulsing, every movement and twitch vibrating inside her as he filled her pussy.

They lay coupled like that for the longest time, their breathing in unison, finally slowing to the point they could hear over their heartbeats. The room was silent, the wind outside whipping against the glass of the window; a stark reminder that it was cold outside. Yet Ann never felt warmer, or safer than she did that moment.

Part of that was the love she felt from the man lying on top of her. It was also from the roles they were still playing. Ones she suddenly hoped they might continue to explore the rest of the weekend.

Feeling the bulge, she glanced over her shoulder. "James?"

"Yes, Pamela?" he responded, pleased that she wasn't giving up the ruse quite yet.

"Is that a gun in my back, or are you just happy to see me?" she quipped, the hardness of the leather encased Walther PPK pressing into her skin.

"It must be my gun. My other weapon appears to still be lodged in your holster."

"Hmm... is that one out of bullets?"

"Why no... I believe I have a few more shots."

"Good," she giggled, "I was hoping you might be able to fire off a few more at me before the weekend is over."

"I wouldn't worry about my ammunition, Miss Bouvier. If I run out, there are plenty of other weapons I can use on you in the suitcase Q sent me."