One-Night Stand with the Archangel

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

I tightened my legs and forced his cock deeper inside me, to which I heard him moan. I started to grind like this, beneath him, and as I did I watched his eyes, his face, his body twitch. His cock bulged mightily as I fucked him—I was fucking HIM—and I knew I had him. With this regained composure, I started getting into it—beneath him I wiggled whorishly, making my tits jiggle as I screwed him deliciously. His eyes widened and he moaned my name as he watched my eyes. He released my hands and palmed my tits as my hands gripped his back.

I teased him in my whispers. "Tell me, Mike, is this why you like prostitutes over princesses?" I moaned into his ear as I sucked on the lobe. I clawed against his back as he deeply massaged my swollen tits. He whimpered affirmatively at this. "You like fucking whores, don'tcha Michael? Ohh Michael, tell me how bad you like fucking the dirty girls."

He could take no more, what between my hands on his back, my legs around him, my pussy spasming hard, my body undulating erotically against him, my tongue in his ear, and especially my dirty talk, he began to lose his control. My eyes widen as I felt his giant cock leap inside me, beyond the usual bulge and ejaculation I usually feel in men. Michael arched back and cried out as he forced himself all the way into me, all his weight against my pelvis. And he finally came, and as he did I screamed, for it was like feeling my pelvis explode. I arched and came with him, every muscle in my body clinging to his jerking cock. I felt his cumvein rifle off every shot of cum up into me, and my head tilted back and I yelped with every spasm of it inside my raw cunt. I swear his orgasm lasted a full minute, maybe two minutes! His cum spilled out of me even as he continued to cum.

Reluctantly he pulled his still-cumming cock out of me and, with a yell, he coated my stomach and tits with a few lines of thick ejaculate. Oohhh it was so hot watch him stroke his gargantuan cock and cum all over me, because for one, that beast was INSIDE me, for another, I was smitten, and for one more, I was shivering in my own series of over-the-top orgasms. Finally he rested his cock on my stomach, and as the last of his cum spilled onto my skin, he panted till he caught his breath. When he finally did, he ran his hands all over my torso, spreading his cum all over me, all over my tits and tummy and neck. When offered, I sucked his fingers and tasted the tangy sperm—I looked helplessly into his eyes as I lied there, coated almost literally head to toe in cum, his hands massaging my tits and caressing me, his cum dribbling out of me—I swear he must have pumped a gallon into me, and though I was silently praying he didn't impregnate me, I didn't let him know. All I let him know is that he was the best fuck I would ever have.

Completely drained, he lay on my bed, and I curled up at his side. He was so warm. We kissed, and his hands cupped and gently fondled my tender breasts as we kissed so lovingly for a good long while. I must have fallen asleep at his side as he held me, and we didn't say another word the rest of the night. Last I remember, the clock read 2:30 AM and I purred as I rested my head on his godlike chest, hearing his heartbeat, feeling his hand caressing my hair and shoulders. Like this, I fell into a hard sleep.

A loud banging on the door finally woke me up. At first I tried to ignore it—I was out of it, my head throbbed from the vodka and all the fucking. I stirred and I felt with limp arms across my bed, but there was no one there. I sat up a little, letting my eyes verify what my hand had submitted, that Michael was gone. Clock read 5:45 AM. There was no sign of him, except a puddle of cum, a mixture of both his and mine, on the sheet.

More banging. I was so sore, but I managed to sit up and wobblingly stand. Still more of his cum ran down my legs as I walked, limping, sore, sticky all over, to the bathroom. I looked at the mirror, which confirmed that I had a wild night last night—there was white dry cum all over my chest and tummy and neck, my tits were red with finger bruises and hickies and I swore they had swollen over a cup size—I don't think any girl of proportionate size has ever said her 34D-cups will feel too small, but considering how much they had ballooned, without the use of creams or surgery, considering how much attention Michael paid to them, considering how he used and abused them, I was sure that whatever I wore today, it would be uncomfortable, with or without a bra. My eyes were red and glazed, my skin a little pale, but of all this, the one thing that stood out was a welt under my left eye. I put my fingers to it and winced as it throbbed. I had forgotten most of the night that he hit me, mostly because he was fucking my brains out, but now, looking at the damage and being woken by its reborn sting, I remembered.

Banging again, hold on dammit, I'm coming! I grabbed my silk kimono from behind the door and wobbled uneasily to the door. So sore. Using the walls and the furniture to keep my balance, I slowly made it to the front door. I looked through the peephole—shit, police! I could think of a hundred reasons why the pigs were here—I am a prostitute, after all. Trying to sound sweet and dumb, my voice cracked as I asked through the door, "Who is it?"

Gruff masculine voice from the other side replied, "Phoenix PD, Ma'am, we need to ask you some questions." Oh shit, I thought, who narked me out? Of what I didn't really know, but I had to be in trouble for something. My first impulse was to run to the bedroom and jump out the window and maybe catch some sleep with my pimp or a john—acting on this, I turned too fast, and I almost fell as I felt an enormous twinge from my lower abdomen. Head spun. I underestimated the effects of Michael and vodka. Never had a man fuck me so thoroughly—much less an archangel. Realizing my body had betrayed my will to flee, I reluctantly placed my limp hand on the knob and turned it.

Two men burst into the room, flinging the door open and banging it as they stormed in. One ran into the back of the apartment, into the bedroom and bathroom, gun in hand, looking for something, not really sure what, hoping he wouldn't find anything, thinking if I still had some dope stashed somewhere or something anything he might find and bust me for. I didn't catch his face right off—a short fellow as men go, white guy, dark blonde hair, it was hard to tell in the dawnlight. The other I could see better from the domelights outside my door in the outer hallway—a black guy, kindly face—he stayed with me as his partner ransacked my apartment.

"Are you ok?" the black guy asked in that gruff masculine voice. He put his hand lightly to my arm and looked me up and down. I saw him clearly in the light—maybe too much light—hangovers and light do not mix. I put my head down, partly because I was very tired and sore, partly because I thought I was in trouble, but mostly because the light was in my eyes.

I nodded affirmatively, my hair hiding my face well for the time being.

"Are you sure, miss? We got a call a few minutes ago that a known rapist was seen leaving through your window."

I said nothing because I was speechless. If what went on last night was a rape, I would give anything in the world to have it happen to me again.

"There's no one here, but there are a few things I need to show you," the white guy spoke as he approached us.

"Wait here for a second, miss," the gruff black guy said as the two of them walked around the apartment, one the tour guide for the other. I leaned against the wall and sobbed, not understanding, not believing.

As they walked and talked I sank to the floor and sat against the wall. In their own good time they came back and knelt with me.

"Do you want us to call you a paramedic, miss? The black guy seemed in charge, he was the one talking to me. I nodded no, does one ever have to go to the emergency room because of chronic fucking? His cum was still oozing out from between my legs, and after a moment I was sitting in a small puddle of it.

The black guy pulled my hair gently from my face, to which I heard him say, "Oh Jesus, John, look at this." He must have been referring to my shiner.

As they examined me patronizingly, I mustered a whisper. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain," I found myself saying.

"I'm sorry, miss, what was that?" the black guy asked, though I think he heard me all the same.

"That's why he hit me, because I took His name in vain."

"Who hit you?" he asked with growing diligence, as if I were suddenly saying the right things.

I felt stupid to say.

"It's okay, miss, you're not in any trouble."

Wiping my face dry, I began, "His name was Michael."

His partner began writing this down as he grabbed a small notebook from inside his jacket. "Michael, eh? Was this Michael about seven feet tall, dark complexion, Caucasian, blonde, and wearing nothing at all when he entered?"

He was right about everything, except his skin was gold, not dark. I kept my eyes closed and nodded yes.

His partner was scribbling, I could hear him.

"Miss, did Michael try to rape you?"

I nodded no and started to cry again. We three sat here on the floor as I cried, just wanting to go to sleep and remember the wonderful night last night for what it was, which was perhaps the most erotic night of my life. "Please," I whispered as I sobbed, "please leave me alone."

His partner handed the gruff black guy my purse—I could hear its particular jingling. After a moment he pulled out my ID. "Olivia Lee Lindstrand, born June 26, 1971, yada-yada—is this you, Miss Lindstrand?" Still not looking, I was sure it was me, so I nodded yes.

"Well, Miss Lindstrand," the gruff voice began as I felt him stand, "from your picture you look like a beautiful woman. I don't know many beautiful women who let their boyfriends beat on them, even in the name of love. You're not helping anyone by protecting him."

Getting a little pissed at the insinuation, I dried my eyes again and sat up. "I'm not protecting him," I said in a cracking voice.

"Then tell us something about this Michael."

I felt so stupid as my mouth finally spilled forth the words that sounded so weird once spoken. But they did spill forth, and nothing could put them back as I said, in sheer embarrassment, "He told me he was the Archangel Michael."

Expecting laughter, I shut my eyes tight. But all I heard was muttering and scribbling.

"Did you hear what I said?" I wasn't sure I actually said it, judging from their lack of laughter.

"Yes Miss Lindstrand, we heard you," he said, a little rudely, as if I were interrupting his muttering and/or scribbling.

I struggled to stand with them, but I ended up leaning on the wall. I put my foot over the wet spot on the floor, else they think to take a DNA sample from his sperm or something. Do angels have DNA? I felt my kimono loosen a little, but I did not cinch it to tighten it, else my tits would ache, and they would look at the rest of me and see all the wonderful marks he left on me to prove I was his girl. Victim, they might say, but I was the girl of the Archangel Michael, and though that is such a strange thing to say out loud, at least the three in this room were not acting as if it were all that strange.

About five minutes passed—I could tell because I looked around the pigs and saw my alarm clock was reading 5:57—in which they spoke amongst themselves. Impatiently I interrupted their tête-à-tête; "If there is nothing else I can help you officers with..."


The black gruff guy looked at me up and down, his eyes fixed momentarily on mine, momentarily at my unsteady legs, momentarily at my cleavage, then back into my eyes. "I think we owe it to you to explain what we think went on here. But first we need to confirm something." His white guy partner handed him a piece of paper, I assume by size and shape it was a photograph. He showed me the face on the paper. "Is this your Michael?"

I looked at the face and smiled very warmly. I put my fingers to the image, as if I could caress his lips with my fingertips. "Yes, that is Michael. Where did you get a black-and-white photograph of an angel?"

"Miss, that's a color photo."

I looked at the black guy, my expression revealing my confusion. "But he was golden and his hair was so shiny..." I stopped there because I just felt too weird about the sentence to carry on.

"Miss Lindstrand, this is a picture recently taken of William Sunderman." My jaw hit the floor.

His partner read a page from his small notebook, very dryly. "William Sunderman, born April 14, 1971, graduated from Coconino High in Flagstaff in 1989, from Arizona Western University in 1993. During college he shot up in height to just under seven feet tall, thought this was a sign from God to try out for the Phoenix Suns. When that failed, he still felt it was a sign of something...

"To which," the black guy continued in a less matter-of-fact fashion, "he took on many identities in the attempt to find the meaning of the sign. William the Conqueror, the Greek god Hermes, the Archangel Michael, Genghis Khan, the lovechild of Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin..."

I burst into laughter because I thought it ridiculous, even more ridiculous than before.

Even the pigs were giggling as the black guy continued, "and right now we think he is delusional and perhaps schizophrenic, not to mention a menace to pretty girls like you."

"Look," I finally spoke up, ignoring the ludicrous story the cops just generated, "this is funny as hell, but I swear nothing happened last night to worry you so. I know it's weird for a girl like me to say this, but I was visited by the Archangel Michael, and we made love all night."

"Really," the black guy said to stop me, "then please tell me why the Archangel Michael looks identical to a known local rapist."

"I admit I knew William Sunderman in school in Flagstaff. We weren't boyfriend-girlfriend or anything. I remember he tried to grab my tits and I kicked him in the balls."

The white guy smiled and said among his giggles, "I guess payback is a bitch, isn't it, Miss Lindstrand?"

"Look, Miss—may we call you Olivia?" the black guy inquired.

I hated their tone as they started to mock me. "No you may not."

With a whatever shrug, the black guy continued, "look, we found the broken bottle of vodka on the floor, and from your scent and speech and eyes we can tell you got fairly lit up last night. Freak you pissed off when you were young hunts you down, paints himself in gold body paint, crawls in through your window, listens to you as you mutter to yourself, gives you a cock-and-bull story your drunk ass seemingly buys, and he gets a free fuck out of it. Crawls out before daylight, neighbors see him leave, they call 9-1-1 because they care, we're called in because the freak fits the description of a freak we've been investigating for months, and here we are, talking to a very pretty girl who got wasted and fucked and seemed to like it."

I hated their tone. "You don't know anything about me or what happened last night." I said in defiance.

The white guy handed his partner a business card he fished out of my purse. "We don't know anything, do we? Perhaps we call the number on this card—I don't have to tell you the name, do we? Maybe the gentleman on this card told William—I mean, Michael—where to find the best piece of ass in the neighborhood. Everyone at the station knows the name on this card. Maybe I should call him and ask if he's talked to any giant golden assholes lately. All I have to say is a four letter word that starts with a P and rhymes with PIMP!"

Trying to keep my shit together, I raised my voice and uttered, "I think you two assholes need to leave before I call that so-called pimp and he and his buddies bust a cap in your collective asses!"

The black guy smiled knowingly, too knowingly. Again he looked down my body, again peeking at my tits, my swollen tits that pressed against the silk of my kimono and ached. Calmly he spoke, "Miss Lindstrand, let me give you some advice. You didn't ask for it, consider it a gift. You need to take a good hard look in the mirror and see where your life is headed. You were lucky that you were only raped—you could have ended up dead tonight. I'm sorry you chose to be a prostitute, Olivia, but you chose this life. You are just asking for trouble living like you do."

With that, I opened the front door and bravely looked at them without speaking, yet getting the message across that they weren't welcome.

They walked out the door, but not without the black one muttering to me, "I will be watching you, Miss Lindstrand. Girls who like to fuck always come running to a cop sooner or later." That was not the first time I ever got hit on by a cop. Not the first time one hit on me while in the line of questioning. But this time it did piss me off to no end, and as they left my apartment, no sooner had they set foot outside than I slammed the door behind them. Fuck!

I leaned against the door and looked about the room, saw my broken cell phone and the broken bottle of vodka. I started to think about having Michael inside me and I began to slip my hand inside my kimono and treat myself to some masturbatory bliss. But as I touched my raw pussy lips, I yelped in pain, and I jerked my hand away. Shoulda went to one of those parties up in the hills, rent is due Monday, fuck. I walked to the open bedroom window by which my lover had entered and left, and I looked up into the pink and orange sky of a newborn dawn. I sighed. By myself, with the sperm of an archangel/psycho inside me, with my body aching from the most glorious fuck of my life (or a fairly brutal rape, as the pigs were telling me), with tears welling up again as I gazed heavenward, trying to make heads or tails of all this, I yelled as I began to sob...

"William Dammit!!!"

Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
1 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 15 years ago
Baha.

That was rather hilarious at the end. My god, what a crazy man.

Share this Story

Similar Stories

Comforting My Neighbor's Daughter I fuck my innocent neighbor when she comes to me for comfort.in Mature
Hooked on Black Bareback It was supposed to be just one time.in Interracial Love
Moms at the Beach Ch. 01 Newly single Moms make tempting targets for enamored sons.in Mature
Fucking Mrs. Ava Gorgeous older woman seduces her neighbor's son.in Mature
HOT SHOTS: M.I.L.F Spring Break Loses his virginity to his girlfriend's mom.in Mature
More Stories