Ivy's First Guest

This is my first story. I hope it's alright. Entirety written August 31 2021 in the span of one or two enjoyable hours. A work entirely of fiction.

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it was a beautiful summer day in the city where Ivy lived. She was a fresh-faced twenty two, blonde with bright eyes and an easy orthodontist-perfected smile, and had just moved to be with her boyfriend, Charlie. They were deeply in love, with the inside jokes and the raucous laughter of an early-phase couple, having dated for two years and just recently started to hint to one another that maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, to be together through youth and old age, to never go on a first date again.

It was a beautiful summer day, and she was having a ridiculous time at the market. She didn't speak the local language well yet, and stammered her way through transactions, eventually managing to get out with carrots, mushrooms, and her life. There was a visitor coming soon, an old friend of hers she hadn't seen, well, ever. They'd met playing video games a decade ago, and she thought of him as a friend. She wasn't worried about anything then, not really... but she had to admit a sneaking worry about Charlie's feelings. She loved Charlie - she was offering to host the guest because they'd had a good time slaughtering giant in-game weasels and trolls together, not because of anything else. They didn't really know much more of one another than that, and Ivy was admittedly more worried that the guest would wind up uncouth, intolerable, or just an ass. How well did she really know him? Not well. Yet it seemed wrong to leave this friend in the lurch while he was in their neighborhood, and they had room for him. His name was Gabriel and, as it turned out, she needn't have worried. Well, not about any of that.

Charlie was busy, and simply glad Ivy had a friend visiting. She'd been lonely since their move. He trusted her completely. She had an innocent look about her, slightly wide-eyed, a bit dollish, petite. She wasn't beautiful, but she was vibrant and young, carefree. She decided they would all go to the farmer's market and a series of cafés and hikes when they had their guest - hopefully first of many. She put her worries aside, from the unfounded (what if he's a maniac) to the plausible (what if he's incredibly hideous and I stare and shame myself for doing so). She'd seen a picture of him, she thought, but she wasn't sure and it felt weird to... ask? On the other hand, what if this was a case of friendship-catfishing? Was that a thing?

She needn't have worried. When the day came and Gabriel arrived, she discovered that he was devestatingly handsome, more than his photo suggested. Ivy, ruffled and awkward and slightly pink-faced, stood at the door to let him in.

"Oh! Gabriel! You must be - hi, come in. Sit down, or stand, or we can - do you want to put your things away, or-"

He was tall, lithe, with dark hair and a sculpted chin. His face was all angles, slightly hawkish, focused and intent. She found it difficult to meet his eyes, so reached an awkward hand out for a handshake and noticed the way his sleeves stretched around his broad shoulders, his clean long-fingered hands.

"Ivy! Oh, it's wonderful to meet you, you've a wonderful home."

He interrupted her stammers and laughed, a tension-breaking huff, and took her into a hug that she returned - startled and panicking internally. It would be fine, she thought. He's nice. His hand smoothed her lower back as they stopped hugging and her heart jumped in her chest. She introduced Charlie, and while they made smalltalk she forced herself to calm down. It's just meeting a novel person, it's just hormones, it's nothing real. I love Charlie, she told herself, and on feeling the truth of that sentence she knew it would be alright. She didn't think about why the former sentence hadn't brought her relief.

"Right, then! Let's eat, are you hungry? Your coat and bags can go there and there, if you want to settle in the guest room is up there."

There was only one bathroom, and calling the loft space a guest room was a bit of a misnomer, but overall it was a pleasant home. Gabriel found his eyes returning to Ivy, noted the way she averted her gaze, the flush at her throat, the way her breath hitched slightly over his name at times. He felt himself getting hard; she wasn't his type, but the fact that she evidently wanted him, while in the same room as her boyfriend... well. Charlie had noticed something, but he couldn't have possibly imagined the truth - instead, he kept assidiously asking Ivy if she was alright, or if she was feeling sick or wanted some water. She eventually excused herself claiming a slight head cold, indeed, and that was the last of it. For that day.

That night she lay in bed next to Charlie, holding his hand and tried not to think about the man upstairs. She told herself there were just two more days. Two more days and the madness that had overwhelmed her would pass.

She dreamed when she finally fell into fitful sleep. She dreamed that a tall, painfully handsome companion stood too close to her, the warmth of his body palpable. She dreamed she was wet, and he was hard, and they watched one another.

When she woke up it was with frustrated longing, impotence. Her bed was empty - Charlie had gone to work. Ivy went down to breakfast, after a shower restored some semblance of sanity. Her shirt was wet with the water from her hair; she was used to it air-drying, coming from a hot climate. Her nipples were visible through the fabric, though she didn't yet realize it. Perky, small, perfectly shaped breasts that were accidentally on display - at least up to a point. Or two points, in this case. The thin white material hugged her as she poured milk into her cereal, and the flounce of her lacy skirt brushed her thighs.

She heard Gabriel coming down the stairs, with his towel and a bottle of shampoo. He was on his way to the shower, hair mussed with sleep. At the sight of her, he came to a brief stop, dark eyes widening.

"Uh, morning. Pardon me."

She watched him go before looking down, confused. With a muffled curse she stormed back to her closet to change, face red and indignant. As the water started pouring behind the bathroom door, Ivy couldn't stop visualizing the man she'd seen behind closed eyelids last night, the one in her dreams. The one in the shower now. She felt a warmth, wondering if he'd be so brazen as to touch himself. Wondering if he'd think of her. She felt a flame of curiosity - or told herself it was just curiosity. But she wouldn't do anything, of course! She was just about to select a new shirt when she heard a metallic clank from the bathroom and an "oh DAMN-".

She ran in immediately, reflexively.

"Are you alrig-" she stuttered to a stop at seeing him. The glass walls of the shower, dripping with water, hid nothing. He'd snapped his hands down to cover himself on her entrance, but she could still see that eye-searing instance of his body, imprinted on her mind in a split second. His thick, hard cock, nestled in brown curls. He'd - had he been touching it? No, surely not.

"Just the, mm, towel rack. Fell. But it's... fine. Don't worry about it." His voice was amused.

She glanced wildly around, tearing her eyes from him and stammering out an of course, yes, so sorry, thought you slipped, sorry, bye. And left to lock her door, bury her head in her pillow, and try to think about anything but the shape of him and how he'd feel.

A knock at her bedroom door came. "It's me. Gabriel. Obviously."

She sighed. "I'm so sorry, again. I didn't mean to, I mean, your privacy."

He said, "It's fine, I know you were trying to ensure my safety, I was startled at first but... I understand. I hope we can go on like this didn't happen."

She opened the door with a look of ecstatic relief. "I am so glad! I want that, too." Reaching out to hug him, she realized just a bit late that he was only in a towel, putting just a thin layer of wet t-shirt between her breasts and his body. "Oh no, I-"

He'd not been able to finish in the shower, and suddenly felt himself hardening again at this hug, which he took as a blatant invitation. Gently stepping into the room, he closed the door behind them and moved in to press their bodies together again, one hand slipping under the hem of her shirt, the other up her skirt to feel her wetness. She let out an involuntary moan into his ear before jerking away. "No- I don't want this," she said plainly, eyes wide. "I have a boyfriend I love, and I cherish my relationship. I... you're very - but I can't ruin my life like this. Please."

Gabriel may have been named for a member of the heavenly host, but he wasn't one. He'd felt moisture between her soft thighs, seen the flush rising over her. He heard her words but what he heard below was: "I want you. I need to tell myself I don't want this, but I do."

So he smiled almost cruelly, and said: "Then I'll do it for you."

He pushed her, then. First by grabbing a pair of her own panties hanging from the drying rack by the window, wadding them up and thrusting them in her mouth, tying them in place with a bandana. She fought back, but - somehow didn't manage to win ground, or cause significant harm. He had her by the wrists and knelt over her as he tied them. She was feeling real fear, suddenly. Had she allowed a monster in?

He peeled her shirt off of her first, moving her arms over her head where he then held them. Her skirt was left on - he liked the way it framed her, when he lifted it up over her waist and used a finger to hook into the band of the white satin panties she had on. Dragging them down to her ankles, he stared for a moment at her shaved vulva, the soft folds between her legs, the glistening dew. Just for a moment, before he leaned down and began to touch and lick her, still wearing his towel. The very tip of his tongue slid around her opening from top to bottom and back, while his fingers caressed her vulva and stroked gently over her hooded clit.

She had long since stopped bothering to try screaming, but when he kept licking and licking her, she couldn't stop from moaning. Regardless of the gag, it was obvious she had given herself over to enjoyment. When he stopped, she felt a thrill of anticipation - and then panic.

He dropped the towel to the floor. His entire length was on display to her. He smirked, "You don't have to peek in the shower now."

Her expression was slightly deranged, blushing and lustful and frightened all at once. He teased her with it, giving his cock a few strokes with his hand, moving it up her body, trailing the tip over her cheek. With a disappointed look at her mouth, occupied by cloth, he shrugged and said: "If you really want me to stop, just stay silent..."

With that, he hoisted her legs up - over his shoulders - and began to press into her. There was no barrier between them, and despite her fear and disgust - or maybe enhanced by it - she felt pleasure. Her body stretched eagerly to accomodate him, her muscles twitching as she almost sucked him in with her need. He got three fourths of the way into her before he could go no further, filling her completely. She was moaning under him now, wordless sounds of want, and he let out a primal growl, forcing himself another few centimeters in. He pulled partly out before thrusting in again, and again, until finally he was hilted inside of her, feeling her warmth and wet clenching around him, velvety soft. She in turn felt filled more than any prior point in her life, felt a tingling flush in her extremities, a heat in her core. As he continued to fuck her, she felt the rush of her incoming orgasm. His cock seemed to pulse inside her, sending her off on an explosive climax that left her breathless. The pulse was the precursor to his own orgasm, so as his cum sank deep into her, she clenched and clenched, drinking it all out of him as though trying to drain him of his semen. Even after they were done she felt herself tensing around him, trying to get one more drop.

He was still hard after - and the continued ministrations of her pussy kept him that way. He looked down at her face, and she tried to stare back impassively, though the lace spilling from her mouth and the sheen of sweat over her brow made that difficult. He saw defeat in her eyes, and smiled, thinking that he had a surprise for her; he pulled out slightly, knowing she'd expect him to be done now... and then thrust back inside her once more.

He continued to use her until he came again, dipping his cock into her squeezing pussy as her desperation for his cum was proving unquenched. He marveled at how tight she was, how needy. "Cumslut," he said. "Whore," he mocked. "My own little slut, wanting my cum even if it ruins your life, you want to squeeze it all out of me don't you?"

She cried silently, unable to stop herself, hating herself for how true it was, how much she wanted it - needed it. By the third time he was growing tired, so he turned her over on her front and lay atop her, sliding into her from behind. This angle made him feel deeper than ever before. She'd only had sex in missionary before, and the way his tip pushed into her and stroked over the nerves inside with every thrust drove her mad. She came again and again, little orgasms that sent shudders through her body, and he lasted through them all - thanks to having taken his pleasure twice over, he set a langurous pace for this. When he came at last, it was with a satisfied groan.

He bound her to the bed and left, rinsing off in her shower. She could hear him singing something and she felt a sudden crash in emotions - guilt, dread, fear. He didn't return for some minutes.

When he did, he was dressed and had his suitcase with him. He smiled his odd smile again and said, "I will let you loosen your gag, and leave you enough to get out of your bonds. As far as how you want to get out of this, good luck. You might call for police but we both know how it looks... how it is. I don't see many signs of struggle, hm? Anyway, you can say I received word of an emergency... my aunt, maybe, a surgery. Good luck, yes?"

He loosened the bandana around her mouth, dropped a pair of scissors on the end table beside her, and excused himself with a wink. She was still struggling to push the wadded pair of panties out of her mouth and trying to decide if she had enough time to run the laundry, while the devilish Gabriel was leaving the front door of her building, a jaunty whistle in the air behind him.