One Weekend Stand Ch. 04

So he did. Moving up behind her, he felt something release in himself. Something more than his cock springing back to life at the sight of her soft pussy lips perfectly framed by the taut flesh of her cheeks. He felt a need, deep inside himself, burst through the boundaries of good behavior that had always separated him, and protected him, from the women in his life. He felt a need, staring down at her ass, her curved waist and hips beckoning to him in the daylight, a need to totally dominate this woman. To subjugate her, using his cock like an avenging sword, to penetrate her and denigrate her, to take her as his own and leave no doubt as to the consequences of choosing any other way, or the pleasures available should she embrace his domain.

Just that thought alone hardened him even more, and his cock head took on a purple shade, thick and menacing. He stood behind her and let the tension build in himself, a hurricane about to blast its thunderous wrath upon a weak human population. Oddly, his brain produced an image of himself as King Kong hanging upon the Empire State Building, roaring his dominance and smashing aside all the puny humans who might come to challenge him. He recognized the feeling, wanted to roar his own challenge, but instead focused his masculine violence on the point where the velvet helmet of his cock met the velvet entrance to her pussy. He could feel his rod literally pulsing with power.

Then, swiftly, surely, violently, he was inside her. Piercing her, penetrating her, a hammer crashing through her gates and desecrating her inner hall. He slammed his hips against her butt, pushing her forward, almost knocking her off her hands and knees. She looked back in shock, a look that rapidly turned to lust, before repositioning her body for his next assault upon her. He fucked her hard, loosing the lust and passion and frustration from all the years, not just from her but from all the women he'd had or wanted or known. He was overcome by lust, the violent kind that romance writers didn't write about and good girls didn't like. But he was no longer sure she was the good girl she'd purported to be.

She braced herself against the battering, like a seawall assaulted by wave after wave of frothing water. She'd been shocked at the sudden change in his demeanor, the wicked glint in his eyes as he'd approached her. All she'd wanted to do was seduce him some more, offer herself up to finish what they'd started in the sex swing. But once he'd entered her, had split her open with a harshness she'd never seen from him, she knew that this time it would be different. Even so, his first thrust had caught her completely off guard, and only by chance did she keep from collapsing onto the bed. But if he wanted to take her so violently, she could understand the need. For too long she'd been playing a part in bed, acting like her husband was in charge but never really believing it. Their lovemaking had been just that: making love. Even the spontaneous was planned, and therefore diminished for it.

With his hands wrapped around her waist, he pulled her back even as he fucked her forward. And fucking her was the only way to describe it. There were no tender touches. No sweet nothings. No pretty whispers. Just flat out, cock deep in the hole, take no prisoners fucking. She let him do it, of course. Let him think that he was taking her. But why, a small part of her wondered, was she even holding back that little bit? Why not drop all her own barriers and not just buy into it? Be the part and not act the part?

She wasn't one of those women who got off on being tied up, or spanked, or pushed around. Though she was beginning to enjoy the spanking a bit more. She wasn't into the submissive thing that so many men seemed to enjoy. But, and here her mind snapped into recognition even as his cock continued to assault her cunt, that didn't mean she couldn't give into the occasional take no prisoners fucking every so often. Especially since they didn't come around much more than every so often. Right?

If she hadn't already made a conscious decision, her body would've already betrayed her. Deep inside her cunt canal, his cock had ignited a spark of intense pleasure, which was spreading with alarming rapidity to her most sensitive spots. His cock wasn't as big as her husband's, but had a girth that had an appreciable effect within the folds of her pussy or inside the confines of her mouth. She felt the heat in her nipples, an intense blaze that seemed to flow directly from the steaming, molten core of her cunt. She felt it at the tips of her toes, burning and urging her to surge backwards against his juice-soaked invader. She felt it along the back of her neck, causing her hair to stand on end and making her buck her head like a horse in full gallop.

An apt metaphor as he rode her hard, slamming against her even as his rod split her on a spit, as if getting ready to cook her and devour her. She heard herself moaning, obscene words spilling from her lips, unformed and unchecked. She swung her body back to meet his cock in mid-thrust, the impact reverberating through both of them. Then, once he'd stilled, she fucked him with her cunt, sliding back and forth along the length of it, grinding herself against him, pulling him down to lay atop her, placing his hands around her pulsing tits, her nipples white hot and hard as diamonds.

All her introspection and rationalizations flooded away, swept aside by the rush of pleasures pulsing through her nerves. Her entire body tingled, every inch of her skin sensitive to the heat of his skin or the very air around them. Her muscles clenched as if she was in the midst of a marathon run, the fatigue palpable and enjoyable. Her breasts felt heavy in his hands, heavier even than when she'd been breastfeeding, and she felt a desperate need to present them to him, to give them to him to suck or tongue or bite or pinch or bind or... whatever he wanted. Her head pounded, her breathing harsh and desperate, her mind unable to process the swarm of input, and reacting by producing an oral litany, a chant almost, of what she was feeling and what more she wanted from him, mixed with moans and cries that sounded more animal than human. "Fuck me. Yes. Fuck me. More. Fuck me. Ohhh. Fuck me. Oh god. Oh fuck me. Yes. Fuck me. I'm yours. Fuck me," she repeated over and over, her voice low and throaty and rasping.

But even with all that her attention was almost totally enraptured by the spot in her cunt canal where his cock rasped, over and over, along the area that some creative book publishers had dubbed the g-spot. At this point, she didn't care what they called it. Only that pleasure was rippling away from it like waves in a pool, sweeping about and bouncing throughout her core, then setting aflame every nerve in her body. It was like an orgasm but one that lasted for minutes and centuries, continuously shocking her without the explosive finality of a regular one. She didn't know if he knew what he was doing to her, didn't know if he was doing it on purpose. But his violent purchase inside her had sparked an incendiary reaction. And she was helpless before it.

Her muscles, once tense with anticipation, were now soft and mushy, and she feared she might collapse in a heap on the bed. Still, she wanted him inside her like this, wanted him taking her with the power of a piece of machinery, a piston plumbing her depths. So she dropped to her forearms, changing the angle, losing some of the intensity but gaining better purchase. He spanked her ass as he fucked her, the slaps ringing through the room, the pain only adding to the intensity of the pleasure emanating from between her legs

.

Suddenly she felt his finger, or thumb, press against the bud of her anus. She knew she'd told him she didn't like anal, had tried it but didn't like it. It made her, in fact, feel like she had to poop. Not at all a pleasant experience. But maybe his brain was as addled as hers. Maybe he wasn't thinking in terms of do's and don'ts. Maybe he was only doing what his carnal desires had instructed him to do. Despite her misgivings, she squirmed her ass against his finger. He was only playing, wasn't he? He didn't mean to spear her ass with his stiff rod, to split her open like no one other than her husband had ever done?

He continued to play with her ass, slapping the cheeks, pinching her flesh, fingering her anus. And despite her trepidation, she lifted her butt higher into the air, as if offering him everything he wanted, with no limits and no boundaries. Suddenly, he bent over her, his cock still buried deep in her cunt, and growled in her ear that he wanted all of her, and wouldn't stop until he got it. The movement pressed his cock back up against her g-spot, and another wave of intense pleasure swept through her, making her fingers tingle and her lungs convulse. Without thinking, she reached around until she found a bottle of lube on the bed and handed it up to him.

He didn't stop pumping her, even as he opened and emptied a stream of oily lube into her crack and onto her ass hole. Then, suddenly, her well-fucked pussy was distressingly empty, and she could feel his cock head gently probing the outside of her ass. Despite the animal-like urgency with which he had fucked her cunt, he took his time entering her anus, sliding the head in and out slowly, as she tried to will herself to relax. He was all the way in before she really realized it, the lube and constant stimulation having loosened her ring of muscles already.

It felt the same way she remembered it, but not the same way. It felt like she was stuffed up, but not as uncomfortably. She felt like she had to go, but it was also something that could wait. And maybe it was his size, but she didn't feel nearly as bloated. Beside, when she looked back and saw the look on his face, a little discomfort was worth it. And it did make her feel like a dirty girl. A very dirty, very kinky girl.

Despite how tight she felt, despite how intensely her anus was squeezing the length of his shaft, he knew that he would be taking it easy on her. That despite how willingly she had offered her ass up to him, he would feel guilty later if he hurt her in any way. He knew her distaste for what he was doing to her, and though she had acquiesced, he also knew that the pleasure wasn't mutual. Call that some flaw in his manhood, but he wouldn't take what wasn't completely freely offered.

Besides, while on one plane he was simply exploring her body, on another he was asserting his control. That part of his manhood, at least, was fully functional. Having his cock in her ass was as dominating an act as he could imagine, especially since he knew that it wasn't something she did all the time. By penetrating her there, he'd now had her in all the ways a man can have a woman. All the ways her husband might have had her, if he'd been as insistent as a man can be. And now he'd accomplished the very same conquest, without pleading, begging or bullying.

He eased himself from her, pausing to wipe the oily film from himself. The other thing was, in his experience, the woman got far more pleasure from anal sex than the man. He knew, if he kept at it, that all too soon she'd be too relaxed, and getting any kind of friction would take a lot more effort. Better to remember the explicit image of his cock buried in her ass, and then just move on.

She was wiggling her ass at him, as if wondering why he'd pulled out, and when he'd return. Truth was, as much fun as it had been to dominate her from behind, he was getting tired of it. And he wanted to see her face, and her eyes, and kiss her long and deep, not just because he could, but because he wanted to.

A simple nudge and she rolled onto her back, her legs spread open for him, her entire body exposed and ready for him, ready to respond to whatever was his pleasure. He scooted her into the middle of the bed and followed her, kneeling between her legs. Bending slowly, feeling her eyes upon him, he pressed his lips to her inner thighs, smiling as she giggled at the ticklish touch. Pushing harder against her soft flesh, he added his warm tongue to the recipe, which changed her giggles to whimpers of contentment. He made his way up her body, kissing and licking her delicate skin, eliciting a mixture of laughter and moans along the way. He took his time with her breasts, using the flat of his tongue to rasp across her nipples, then the soft press of his lips to soothe the affected areas.

When he finally reached her mouth, the whole of his body was stretched over her. His cock would occasionally brush against her legs, causing both of them to gasp at the feel of it. He kissed her, deeply, his tongue invading her mouth with much the same ardor as it had earlier explored her pussy. Swirling within, searching for the walls, fencing with her tongue, lips pressed so tightly together their teeth scraped. The harsh sound of her breathing was loud in his ears. His own panting was like that of a trapped animal, frantic and aggressive.

A small, simple move later and his cock was back inside her, ensconced in a soft, wet sleeve that was so comfortable, it could only be made for that one purpose. He let his weight down on her gently, his hips moving in an uneven rhythm, responding to signals only his brain understood. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, holding him in place and effectively communicating her approval of this latest position. He knew that his groin was rubbing against her pubic mound, probably giving her quite a bit of pleasure, but that was only a byproduct of his efforts. No, he simply liked to watch her face as he sped up or slowed, as he pressed into her from one side or the other, as he varied his strokes for the express reason of drawing a new reaction from her. Usually she kept her eyes closed, but her smiles and murmurs told him so much. And every so often he would hit upon an especially effective combination that would cause her eyes to fly open in delight, and cause her legs to press him closer, as if he could get any deeper inside her.

They continued that way for a long time, or a short one; there was no way to measure it. He hadn't consciously been holding himself back from cumming, not thinking about baseball or any of those old tricks. But soon he was feeling the need again. And in feeling it, knew that he wouldn't deny himself or draw the string of anticipation out any further; even the most compelling series of books needs a climax. She knew it too, releasing him from the cocoon of her legs and pushing her hips hard against him, meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own. Her cunt was fully open to him now and all subtlety and tenderness were thrown to the side as both their feral instincts took over. He slammed against her with ferocity, their bodies colliding with a sharp retort on every stroke, the slap as loud as when he'd spanked her the previous evening, the intent just as obvious.

She'd lifted her legs, clearing the way for his fevered attack. She too, had abandoned herself to the moment, biting her lip and clutching at the sheets as she took more and more punishment from the battering ram pounding at her pussy. He didn't bother to hold back, didn't bother to pull out as his balls triggered his cock to let loose with the first pulse of cum, his hot semen pulled from deep within and ejaculated deep inside her cunt. The sensation was not unlike the first moment of peeing after a long night of drinking, only far, far better. He could feel his cum coursing through the length of his cock, could feel his cock pumping it up and out. It was like a dam suddenly released, the hot liquid shooting through a constricted tube, then spurting out to soak and extinguish whatever fires roared before it. He came deep inside her, and continued to pump into her even after he'd stopped cumming, obeying his body's urges above all else. When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at her, her eyes were still closed, but the blissful smile on her face told him all that he needed to know.

Sometime afterwards he had pulled the comforter over them. And pulled the pillows under her head. And pulled himself from between her legs. And wrapped her in an embrace so comforting that she felt like she might never leave it. So comforting that she tried to engrave the moment into her memory, so she might be able to return to it at any time and relive this languorous, satisfied moment.

That it should come here, now, was...what? A shame? Serendipity? An accident? A blessing? She didn't know what. And that uncertainty almost ruined the moment. One part of her brain told the other to stop analyzing, but the rest of her knew that was about as likely as stopping the sun from rising. It was an obsession with her, and even in those most satisfying of moments she had to answer the "why" and "what now" of what had just transpired.

And what had just transpired? Well, she'd gotten the shit fucked out of her, literally. That thought made her smile, and in some instinctive response he pulled her bare body closer against his chest. And she'd fucked the hell out of him, too. No way! No way she'd ever do all that stuff with her husband, or any of her boyfriends for that matter. Friggin herself in broad daylight? Fucking on a sex swing? Practically begging to be fucked up the ass? Who are you and what have you done with my previous owner, her mind asked her body. It was as if she was not herself, not even a person she had ever wished to be, but some amalgam of characters from the light and dark sides of life. Ladylike, but with the sexual appetites of a man. Demure, but with the promiscuity of a whore. Naïve, but with the imagination of a pornographer.

Wicked. That's how she felt. And the feeling was incredible. She knew that she'd spent most of her life wrapped in a blanket of 'correct behavior,' playing the part that others had written for her. It started with her father, as it always did for most women. But had extended into her relationships with all men, boyfriends and husbands alike. She let them write the script, and she would revise it only a little along the way. And then the blame for any lack of fireworks would be on their heads. But now she was coming to believe that she'd been stuck in a prison of her own making.

She snuggled closer to him, pressing her butt against his groin. They were spooning, and his hand had dropped to the bed cushion. She gently repositioned it atop her breast and felt him respond with a kiss on her shoulder. He was awake. Or drowsing? What was he thinking?

What, for that matter, was she thinking? Admittedly, if she'd been thinking straight, she wouldn't even be here. He'd be secure in bed at his home, maybe just having made love to his wife. Was he that passionate with her? That adventurous? But there was no way for her to answer those questions. And what of herself? Would she have been fucked by her husband on this weekend? Surely. But would she have responded so freely, so wickedly? That wasn't as clear. She did what he asked, watched what he wanted, wore what he gave her, responded as he expected. But rarely gave all of herself or opened her desires to him. When she had, it was always after a night of drinking, as if the alcohol gave a few moments freedom to that part of herself. And, as if the alcohol would excuse herself from needing to repeat her performance, in case he did remember her enthusiasm. "But you did it last time," he'd plead. "I was drunk," would be her defense.

So what was different here? The circumstances, surely. He was married, she was married. And most importantly, not to each other. There would be no repeat performances. This was, for lack of a better term, a one-weekend stand. She didn't see him risking his marriage and life to do this again. My God, it had taken them years to get to this point! And, honestly, she wasn't going to do that either. She'd made her bed, so to speak, and she was going to sleep in it, even if she did have to share it. So, then, what? Maybe it was that very lack of a future that made the weekend so different. She could be whatever she wanted to be, without any need to repeat it. He said he wouldn't judge her. And perhaps that promise extended to everything they did with each other, too.