Popsicle

I lay awake in Kristophe's bed, trying and failing to quench the thirst for him that dampened my thighs and threatened to leave embarrassing evidence on the sheets for him to find in the morning. I could hear him chastely snoring in his living room; such a gentleman, to let a guest displace him from his room for a night. Or was it deliberate torture? I might have suffered some tosses and turns if I had taken the couch, but at least I wouldn't have to know his scent (part cinnamon, part musk, part soap) on the sheets. Or see, in the dim light, the desk at which he had sat so many nights typing furiously about what he wanted to do to me. It would be foolish to harbor any hope of doing those things in person, of course; he was far too young. And despite knowing my secret desires and having proved online, over and over, the will to fulfill them for me, he had been surprisingly relaxed and restrained the whole visit. A polite host. Barely so much as brushing against my knees when he moved past me to get more drinks. Hiding that lithe, taut body under two layers of clothes despite the warm weather. Of course this only served to torment me the more. Maybe he knew that, maybe he was subtly punishing me for my so-cautious rejection of his youth and ...

... well, I would say "innocence" but it doesn't apply here. So just youth.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted with a hand over my mouth and another holding my wrists tight. My eyes flew open. How the hell had the door opened without my hearing it? "It's my apartment," Kristophe whispered into my neck as if he had heard my thoughts. I felt him insistently pressed against my leg through his boxers and my robe. "You don't think I know how to be quiet in it? The safeword is Popsicle."

Relief flooded through me; but when he removed his hand, instead of uttering the magic word that would allow us both to go back to our normal lives as if nothing had happened, I found myself whispering, "Please don't hurt me."

That wrenched a primal sound from him and he went even harder than I thought possible against my thigh. "You whore," he hissed. I gave him a couple heartbeats, then started struggling. I didn't scream, however; he had neighbors. He effortlessly stretched my arms above my head and produced a soft cord from somewhere to secure them with. It sent a shiver through me to realize he had planned this. Running his hand roughly down my body over my robe, he grasped my flailing ankles and tied them with two more cords, spread-eagle. He wasted no time crawling back up to suspend himself over me, grinning in dark triumph as I tested my bonds with all I had. My undulations nudged my robe looser while he patiently waited for me to spend my energy. His gaze settled on my chest where the robe was slowly slipping farther and farther apart. When I realized he was waiting for a flash of nipple, I stopped moving, embarrassed and breathing hard. He smiled deeper and kneeled up so he could use both hands to explore my body.

His long fingers touched everything through the satin before he lost patience and wrenched it open. While the cool air hit my skin, puckering up my nipples, he let his hands slide up my torso and leaned forward on his elbows to take a breast in his mouth. I spasmed and writhed violently under him but he never lost contact, holding the whole areola in his mouth while flicking his tongue rapidly over the tip. When his teeth lightly closed on my nipple I finally let out a desperate sound. His breathing quickened at that and he started talking in that warm, sinister voice. If I hadn't seen his driver's license I wouldn't believe he was eighteen; he looked my age and sounded thirty.

"You want it, don't you, you hot fucking bitch. I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you and there is nothing you can do about it. These tits are mine, this pussy is mine, and this mouth-" here he shoved two fingers inside it before I could snap my jaw shut- "is fucking mine."

He untied my legs briefly, holding fast against my kicking, and retied them so that I was turned over on my hands and knees. When he moved in front of me and wrapped my long hair around his hand, I had a split second to realize what he wanted before my head was yanked back and his cock, freed from his boxers, was slapping my face. "Open your mouth, whore," he growled.

Another time, another place, I would have wanted to explore the soft skin and hard flesh with my lips and tongue and teeth; bring him to the brink and watch his face as he fought against release, before letting him back down to start the cycle again. Not now. Now I welcomed his length slamming into the back of my throat, his grunting voice, the heat from his thighs as he straddled my bound arms, his hand holding my head firmly still. His stomach muscles flexed deliciously with every thrust. He radiated wild teenage lust but somehow stayed in control. By the time he finally withdrew, trailing a string of my saliva, my pussy was screaming to be pounded hard. "Don't you dare fuck me, asshole," I panted, signaling to him that I wanted just that.

He responded by wrenching my head further back and leaning down to my ear. "I'll fuck you however I want, as many times as I want, and you'll like it. Fucking tease, sleeping in my apartment with nothing on but a robe. I always knew you were a little slut." As he spoke he maneuvered himself around and poised his cock at my slick, smooth entrance. "You're a sexy fucking whore and you knew what would happen if you showed up at my door," he continued as I heard a condom wrapper somewhere behind me. "Take my cock, bitch," he said breathlessly and at the same instant he slipped himself inside me to the hilt.

That's when I started screaming.

Kristophe rammed into me with all his considerable strength, balls slapping against my clit, hand wound in my hair, pulling on it to keep my shoulders from collapsing onto the bed. When his cock started hitting my cervix he seemed to catch himself. Still holding my hair, he leaned forward and snaked one slender arm around to lightly massage my clit, pumping slowly into me from behind. It was more than I could stand and soon I was loudly orgasming. He released my hair, grabbed my hips with both hands and started fucking me furiously again, finally letting go of his precious control, slapping my ass hard, calling me a cunt or a whore with every breath. I could barely hold myself up on my elbows as my climax subsided. My already-hard nipples dragged across the sheets. Kristophe let a hand wander toward my asshole, managing to slip a long thumb inside before his own release took over. I closed my eyes and almost came again, feeling his cock flex and jump inside me, hearing him moan out my name.

I awoke with the sun peeking through the curtains. When I moved to stretch I realized I was still tied up on my stomach, face resting on a cool pillow. Kris lay with a lanky arm sprawled across my back but woke up when I stirred. He chuckled throatily. "As if I wasn't going to sleep in my own bed. The only problem was how to get YOU in it."

"Untie me, you little shit," I mumbled, smiling a little.

He grinned and kissed me on the forehead. "Not a chance," he said; and just as I realized I had not yet spoken the safeword, I felt him hard against my thigh again.