Cute Houeguest

As I walked down the hall of my two-bedroom apartment, I could see Michelle's light was still on. Perfect. My apartment has a fairly traditional layout. You enter the apartment at the kitchen, which opens into the living room. From there, turn left and you head into the master bedroom, turn right and you end up in the guest bedroom. 1200 costly square feet in the Mt. Vernon section of the national capital. Hardwood floors, granite countertops, cookie-cutter luxury condo.

Crossing the living room, I could see into the kitchen. I noticed the clock on the stove said 12:30. Just past the witching hour, I thought to myself.

I pushed open the door to Michelle's bedroom, which was actually my spare bedroom. This was her third night staying with me. She lay in bed, reading a paperback novel that I couldn't see the title of. She was on the left side of the bed, the blankets pulled up around her.

She was wearing a purple tank top; tight but not too tight; cotton and comfortable. Her shoulders were slim, almost bony. Her long dishwater blonde hair fell behind her, loose and stringy. Although I couldn't see them, I knew underneath that tank top lay her best asset and her favorite weapons--her breasts--almost comically big on her small, petite frame. Michelle was never shy about wearing tight tops, low-cut tops, tops with suggestive sayings on them like "Got Milk?" and "100% Natural."

It took only a second. She noticed me at her door suddenly and started—she jumped and let out a quick shriek. Then, realizing it was only me, gathered herself together and relaxed.

"Bill—you scared me!"

"Sorry about that," I grinned, pretending everything was okay.

"I was so engrossed in my book I didn't even hear you knock."

"I'm sorry—I saw your light on, I figured you were still up."

"Yeah—couldn't sleep. All that nervous energy from all those job interviews. At least they're done now. What about you? It's so late—what time is it? Don't you need to be at work tomorrow?" She was holding the book in front of her, and had pulled the covers higher up on her body.

I didn't plan on going to work tomorrow, but I don't suppose I needed to tell her that.

"Yeah—I am probably up a little too late," I said. "But when I saw your light on, I thought there might be a problem, and I just wanted to check it out. I've never had a houseguest since moving into this place, and I wanted to make sure the Hotel Bill Casey was providing excellent service." A little false self-deprecation should help reassure her.

"Oh, no, everything's fine, no, it's been great. Your place is super-comfortable. I mean, thanks for letting me stay here while I interview, it's so much nicer and more comfortable than having to stay in a hotel. And it's so nice to be able to save a little money, too. Having to come up here from Atlanta to interview—you've just been so nice to me."

"Well, thanks again for dinner tonight, and the wine. If that's how you celebrate the end of all your interviews, I hope you're looking for a job more often!"

She chuckled along, politely, at my weak joke. We had had a fun little dinner at Sushi Taro on 17th street, and a little too much saki afterward. At dinner she wore her third of three interview suits. This last one was a conservative skirt suit, gun-metal gray. The skirt was just short enough to remind the viewer that she might be a professional, but she was still a woman. Her heels were probably the only sexy pair of sling-backs I had ever seen. Michelle amazed me—she found clothes with so much sex appeal and wore them with so much ease.

Of course, as the sushi and sashimi came out, as we moved through a bowl of edamame, as we and the conversation stayed at bloodless dissection of the interviews, the current job market and current movie releases, I realized what had to be done. And all my plans resulted in what was about to happen in my spare bedroom.

"Of course," I said, crossing the room over to the bed. It was a short distance and took only an instant till I was standing next to Michelle on the bed. "My real question is how appreciative you really are of my hospitality." I sat down on the edge of the bed in order to be—ironically as it is—less threatening.

"Uh . . ." Michelle didn't know what to say, I could tell.

"I mean, this is your third night here, Michelle, and as cute as you are, you are really getting quite a good deal, being able to stay downtown for free, you know." I'd let her offer, at least.

"Bill—"

That was it, too slow! I didn't have all night to wait for her to get the picture. With a quick--I like to think, tiger-like--leap, I was on top of her. My body pressed hard against her, as I lay on my right side on top of her, my right knee pressing hard into her abdomen. I managed to capture one of her arms under my body, the other I held by the wrist with my left. In a nod to the classic maneuvers of the genre I was now entering, my right hand shut tight over her mouth.

I put my lips up close to her as she started to struggle and scream.

"Don't'—don't! Stop it, stop it!" I growled in as menacing a tone as I could. "This is going to happen—this is going to happen, okay? Dammit, Michelle. Stop it, stop it or I will hurt you!"

Still she struggled. Silly girl—couldn't she see that as short as I was, I still outweighed her by a good seventy pounds! She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm glad you're putting up so much of a fight," I cooed into her ear. "It's not really a rape if you want it."

That set her off into a paroxysm of fierce twisting and turning. She screamed at the top of her lungs against my hand; tried to bite me. I lifted off of her mouth. A loud wail began to escape her lips.

"AHHHH—"

Wow! Who knew that grabbing someone by the throat and choking them like I was doing actually could cut off all the sound as quickly as it did? Hmmm . . . perhaps it was because I was squeezing so hard!

Michelle didn't know it, but I didn't want to hurt her. I certainly didn't want to punch her or bruise her or anything like that. She was a pretty girl; I just wanted my turn.

Michelle was a smart girl; that was part of the attraction. She was smart enough to realize that I meant business. Her frantic attempts to escape slowed, and then stopped. Her vocal chords relaxed. Her whole body tensed into a position of worry and unease.

I let her stew with her fear and resignation for a second. A dramatic pause, if you will. I wondered what was going through her mind.

I broke the silence:

"You know what will happen if you scream, right?"

Her blue eyes were locked on mine. She nodded, very slowly.

"You know how serious I am, right?"

Another slow nod.

"You know what I want, right?"

A paused. And then another slow nod.

"Are you going to behave?"

Nod.

"Are you going to give me what I want?"

A long pause. Long enough to make me think we had a problem. Just as I was about to make a little show of force, Michelle nodded, very, very slowly.

"Good, then. Now, I'm going to let you up," I said, rising off of her. I stood up next to the bed, pulled off the blankets. "Stand up," I gently ordered.

Michelle stood up, next to the bed. She wore a small pair of pink velour sleep shorts. They had several red hearts on them as detailing. Very cute, girly, and innocent, except for how tiny they were and how much of Michelle's slender legs they bared.

I was wearing a t-shirt and a loose pair of pajama bottoms. Seeing her in her nightclothes, realizing how helpless she was and how much I was about to take from her—it was like a sexual chemical cocktail. My pajama bottoms began to tent with my arousal for this 26-year old slut.

"Take your top off."

"Please, Bill—"

"Don't try to reason with me. Do as you're told. Take your top off."

Boom—two massive breasts bounced out. She was stacked! They were so full they were even starting to sag. Her areolae were fat and brown in that natural way you never saw in porn.

"Now the bottoms. Wait, don't hide it. Hands at your sides. Very nice!"

She shaved just enough that there was a patch of hair on the top, but her delicate cleft was clearly visible.

"On your knees."

"Please, Bill—"

"Look, Michelle. I'm not unreasonable. Just do this, and that will be it, okay? We can just forget about it, and go to sleep and everything will be okay."

It was almost casual the way she got down on her knees on the carpet. I could not believe this. Michelle Capece was on her knees in front of me and was about to fellate me! Talk about dreams come true.

As I grew in her mouth, I couldn't resist saying to her, "You've had a lot of practice at this, haven't you?" I had to ask again to get a response. She shrugged, make a gesture with her hands. "Come on, tell the truth, how many has it been?"

She took my cock out of her mouth. "Fourteen." Then, back to work. I took her long, luscious hair in my hand. "Have they ever raped your mouth like this?" I asked, pulling tight on her dirty blonde locks.

Her eyes began to fill with tears. She shook her head no. Perfect.

When I finished, I did so without any warning, holding her head on my cock and treating my cute houseguest to her warm nightcap, courtesy of the Hotel Bill Casey. When I let her go, she sat back on her ass, rubbing her sore jaw. It takes me awhile to finish from a blow job, and from the clock on the nightstand, I could see I had kept her busy for a fun-filled fifteen minutes.

"There," I said, a big smile on my face and the feeling of bliss coursing through my body. "Even better than turn-down service!"

Michelle was not amused.

"Fuck you, Bill," she said, sotto voce.

"Come on, Michelle, I had a great time."

"You're a fucking asshole," she said, sitting on the floor.

"Nice. But then, I guess Emily Post never did write about the parameters of polite conversation after you've just raped someone."

The thought of what I had just done to this girl was a bigger aphrodisiac than chocolate and oysters combined.

I stood up, took her by the wrist, and pulled her to her feet. Holding on to her tightly, I pulled her out of the bedroom, into the living room and down the hall.

"Hey, you said that would be it!"

"What did you expect?"

In my bedroom I tossed her onto the bed. It was amazing how submissive she was being—this was easier than I thought.

Then, as I took my pajamas off, Michelle tried to make a break for it. I caught her, held her hard, and smacked her bottom a few times to show her I was serious. She tried to hit me, then dug in hard with her nails.

We wrestled, but I was just too big for her. We ended up back on the bed. I had left the astroglide on the nightstand, within easy reach. All this tussling with her, so nude and close together, was having a very arousing affect on me. She could feel it pressing against her thigh. While we wrestled, I would give her gentle kisses on her check and neck, just to mess with her psyche.

Using my hips, I positioned myself at her vagina. I rubbed the head against her. Hmmm . . . this would need lube.

"At least use a condom," Michelle asked.

"Honey, I'm taking a big enough risk to do this—what do I care about whether you have any diseases?"

I lubed up my cock and worked it in. I wish I had videotaped Michelle's face. The expressions and sounds she made in those first few moments were priceless. The human experience at its most raw.

I rode her missionary for awhile. The noises she made were few and far between; I tried talking to her, but she was staying silent. I was really holding her down and putting my weight on her. It was part of the turn-on.

My calves were too crampy to finish like that, though. I ordered her on her hands and knees and began to fuck her doggie style.

"I'm enjoying using your little pussy, Michelle."

"Fuck you."

A smart slap on her ass. It stung my hand so I know it hurt her. "Wrong answer," I told her. "Tell me what I'm doing."

"You're fucking me," she said in an even monotone.

"Louder."

"You're fucking me," she snarled.

"That's right. Using this cunt of yours. Keep talking like that. What am I doing?"

"You're using me."

"Yeah."

"You're fucking me."

"Yeah."

"You're screwing me."

"Yeah."

"You're using my pussy. You're raping me. You're fucking raping me."

"Oh god I'm coming inside you!!!" I most definitely was.

As I pulled out, I knew I had to be quick about things. Michelle was still disoriented from the hard fucking she had been receiving, and it was easy to get her off the bed. She had surrendered, had taken her mind away, no doubt feeling helpless for whatever degradation I perpetrated next.

I led her to the carpeted, walk-in closet in my bedroom that I had emptied just for this purpose. I turned on the light so she could see her surroundings—bare white walls and soft pile carpet. I pushed her inside, and then threw in a pillow and a blanket, hitting her in the back with both. "Sweet dreams, Michelle," I cooed to her, and then flicked off the light switch. Perfect.

I closed the door, locked it, and then moved my wooden dresser in front of the door. Wow! Who knew it would all be so easy? Life seemed to be full of crazy surreal experiences like this.

Nope, definitely couldn't go into work tomorrow. I had a houseguest to entertain.

From the other side of the door I heard a muffled Michelle say one last thing:

"Thank you, Bill."

Hmmm . . . perhaps I should have houseguests visit more often?