Twice Bitten

I know the old but well-maintained truck parked behind the venue is yours. There's more than an hour before opening, who else would it be? I don't have a plan when I suddenly pull into the parking lot. I know that what I'm doing is stupid as I walk back behind the building, knowing that the front door will still be locked. My heart is almost beating out of my chest as I throw the back door open and walk into the kitchen. There's a gun in my purse, and my hand is curled around it.

You don't even look surprised to see me, much the less scared. You should be. You should be trembling, like I was last Friday, you don't even know it yet. Instead you just smirk in that arrogantly self-satisfied way you have. "I wondered when you'd be back for more," you say.

I see red. The gun comes out. My hands are shaking, but we're only a few steps away from each other in the tight confines of the bar kitchen. Up this close, it would be nearly impossible to miss. I expect this to wipe that smile off your face, but it only gets broader. "So the kitten has claws," you remark, syrupy concern in your voice. That same false concern you used on me in the bathroom, when you held my black hair back and offered me some place private, some place safe, after I'd been so sick. I didn't suspect a thing when you led me into the walk-in cooler.

"Fuck you!" I shout, my finger on the trigger. You'd fucked me first. I was so drunk I didn't even realize what you were doing at first, when you pushed me onto the floor and pulled down my ripped skinny jeans. The band was playing deafeningly loud outside, but in the walk-in even the bass was only a muffled thump. No one could have heard me scream. Well, joke's on you now. No one's going to hear this either.

"If you insist," you finally say with a shrug, stepping towards me. I tighten my finger on the trigger and raise the barrel towards your head. You stop. You'd paused there in the walk-in cooler too, for just long enough for me to wonder what was going on before I felt the cold, thick oil drip down between my cheeks. This pause feels a lot like that. You don't stop because you're afraid of me, you stop because you wanted a better look. "I like the skirt," you say after a moment of this.

I've always felt like a badass dressing this way, that's why I do it. Pleated skirt with chains and silver skull buttons, fitted low on my hips so that my bare belly can show off the piercing with a broken heart charm dangling from it. I'm wearing a black Lamb of God t-shirt that I've cropped short, thin enough you can see my silver nipple piercings glinting through the fabric - I've had the top since high school, since my first big concert. I've been going to major events and to shitty dives like this for over a decade now. You're the first time it's ever gone poorly for me. The same clothes that once made me feel powerful now make me feel very, very vulnerable.

You take another step forward and I yell until you stop. "I don't care what you like," I insist, breathing hard and fast by now. "I should kill you for what you did to me!" It's all I've been able to think about all week. The shock of the cold liquid replaced by the incredibly warm head of your cock as you rubbed it between my plump ass cheeks, getting the oil everywhere. I was so drunk I could only squirm a little, but your hands on my hips held me down. You're well over six feet, I'm barely over five in my Doc Martens. I never stood a chance.

The pressure of you trying to force yourself inside me was uncomfortable. I just kept asking what you were doing, why you were doing it, but you didn't answer. You just kept pushing, kept adjusting until you got the angle just right. My anus was on fire when the head finally popped in. Felt like I was being split in half- your cock was thick as a beer can, and I'd never taken anything more than a finger back there before. I screamed, but no one heard. No one came to save me.

"You're not going to shoot me," you say. "You've never cum that hard in your life." I can feel my cheeks burning even behind my usual coat of makeup at that statement. You'd forced your cock in inch by burning inch with me crouched on the floor, but you hadn't fucked me that way. You'd pulled out, then pulled my pants off entirely, and flipped me over. You wanted to see my face. You pushed my legs up until I was folded over, and the second time you entered me wasn't any less painful.

I could feel every ridge, every vein, feel your cock pulse and twitch as you fucked me like an animal. But none of that was the worst part. The worst part was when your fingers found my clit, and it was swollen, engorged. Alcohol always makes me horny. I don't know how many times I came, pain and pleasure mixing as my asshole spasmed around your shaft with every wave of unbearable ecstasy, until I finally felt your own orgasm. Those final strokes had been brutal. I could still feel the prickle of your pubic hair against my anus as you buried yourself in me, balls-deep, unleashing your seed into the deepest part of me.

You're forcing my hand again now, walking towards me. There are only three steps between us now. I squeeze the trigger, looking directly down the sights at your smug face.

Nothing happens.

You grab the gun before I have a chance to question what's going on. "You forgot the safety," you chuckle as you wrestle the firearm out of my hands, setting it down on a nearby counter. "But I like this game. The danger makes it feel more real," you say as you grab my wrists. I didn't even notice the zip ties among the takeout containers and saran wrap on the shelf next to me, but you clearly know they're there. My wrists are bound together before I even have a chance to say no.

Why don't I say no? It's not like I want this. My heart is racing as you spin me around, pushing me over a counter a little ways away from the gun. Just far enough I can't reach it. I feel the rush of cold air as you flip my skirt up, and hear you whistle as you admire my black lace panties. You yank my panties down and spread my cheeks, and I brace myself for what comes next - but instead of cold oil, I feel your hot tongue.

I yelp, startled by this. How can someone as tall and broad as you kneel down without me noticing? Somehow your face is now buried between my cheeks and you're lapping at my pucker like a dog in heat. Your beard scratches at the sensitive flesh between my cheeks, but squirming does me no good. You wrap your arms around my legs to keep me still as you go to town, and I feel the tip of your tongue press against the tight ring of muscle. I squeeze down as tight as I can to keep you out, but it's a losing battle. After a few seconds of pushing, your tongue bursts through into my ass. I hear a lusty moan and I'm shocked to realize that it's come from my own throat.

I've never let a man do this to me. Not even one who's talked real sweet and bought me nice things. How did I wind up here now with you eating my ass like alt girl booty is some rare delicacy? There's no denying your enthusiasm, the little noises of lustful appreciation you make as you tonguefuck me in a way I never knew could feel so good. It isn't long before my pussy is dripping, and this doesn't escape your notice. I jump when one of your hands runs down my slit, but you're still holding tight enough that I can't go anywhere.

I can't keep track of how long the eating and teasing goes on. Your tongue goes in, you tongue goes out. Your fingers run the length of my snatch, from clit to taint, spreading my juices around so that I'm thoroughly sodden. I'm on edge the whole time, squirming, but you don't relent. Not until you're ready to. You finish up and rise to your feet; I can feel you looming behind me, the weight and heat of you not quite but almost touching me.

"Say that you want me," you growl in a low tone of voice. I hear your belt, your zipper.

"No," I answer, defiant, but we both know what my husky tone of voice means. I don't have to look over my shoulder to see you shrug and grab the bottle of oil meant for the grill. It's not cold this time, and this time, you use a finger to push it inside me. After the good tonguing, the finger doesn't hurt at all. If anything it feels good, too good. You only spend a few moments fucking me this way before you add a second finger.

You're a working man, and probably a musician. Your fingers are thick, strong, calloused. Even with the oil I can feel the texture of them as they spread my ass, feeling it, feeling the way the muscles stretches to accommodate. Two fingers are enough to make me whimper, after the intense fucking I received I'm still not fully recovered.

"Say it," you demand again.

"No," I answer.

Your other hand finds my clit. I feel you part my lips so you can feel it more completely, rub it, make little circles around it. All the while your other hand is working my tender anus over, making it good and smooth, loosening it up in preparation for the much larger penetrator you have in mind. Every time I think about that I tense up, but between the gentle, teasing clit massage and the slow fingerfucking my ass is getting, I don't stay tense long.

You abruptly slide a third finger in. This one hurts, though not too much. I whimper, feeling my thighs tremble. You take this opportunity to use your foot to nudge them further apart, so that I'm basically laying on the cold metal counter with my legs holding very little of my weight. You can force your fingers in deeply this way, your knuckles pressed right up against my ass. I'm just starting to get used to this when you abruptly pull the gentle, teasing finger away from my clit and flick it. I jump in surprise, but you're ready for this. Your fingers curl in my ass, holding me in place like it's a handle.

The pain is almost blinding at first, unexpected and sharp, but it fades almost as fast as it started. I cry out, more in shock than anything, feeling my anus grab onto your fingers as my body tenses. The sharp pain in my clit is replaced by a deep throbbing. You go back to fingerfucking me, spreading all three fingers slightly to continue stretching my ass. Sore and abused, it's reluctant to give any more than it already has.

You flick my clit again. "Say it."

"Get fucked, you-" my insult is cut off by a third flick. I inhale sharply, but release with a moan as my clit aches needfully.

"Say it," you demand. I don't even have a chance to shake my head before you flick my clit.

"Say it." You flick it again.

"Say it!"

"I want you!" I finally shout, hoarse and hurting. You stop flicking and rest your finger lightly on the very tip of my clit, not stroking, just leaving it there as a promise of both pain and pleasure. Both my clit and anus are starting to suffer from the harsh treatment, though my desire to cum is not at all diminished, strangely enough. This buys me a reprieve, but you're not done yet.

"Where do you want me?" you ask smugly.

When I hesitate you pull your finger away. I understand the wordless threat. "In my ass," I mutter, ashamed.

"And do you want to cum while I fuck you in the ass, slut?" you ask.

"Yes," I whimper. My clit is so engorged that I can feel my pulse in it. Your fingers are just resting in my ass now, just holding it open.

"Say it all together now," you urge me. "Let me hear the whole thing, or you're not cumming today."

I'm so humiliated. My face is bright red, my voice barely above a whisper. "I want to cum while you fuck me in the ass," I finally say.

You've clearly been waiting for this moment. Your fingers pull out of my ass and a second later, the head of your cock is there. I've never felt a cock this hard before. It feels thicker than last time, if that's even possible, but at least you're more patient. You slowly ease the tip in, pushing until the entire head pops into place. I cry out softly, but this time you pause there, letting my body adjust. The head alone is a massive invader, and I can feel the skin around my asshole stretched tight to accommodate.

When my breathing slows a little, you push further in, stopping when I wince. It hurts, but not like last time. Now it's a deep ache, like a muscle pushed too far, not the searing pain of skin tearing. I'm still dripping wet, but your hands are to either side of me, bracing against the stainless steel countertop. I can hear your breathing, your little grunts and sharp exhales of pleasure as you bury yourself in my hot, tight ass. Eventually our hips meet, and you stay there for a while, resting your weight on top of me, as deep inside as anyone could ever be. The tip of your cock is pressed against places I can barely imagine as you rearrange my guts for a good fucking.

But, like last time, we're not quite ready yet. You pull out and I hear you make a sound of approval as you watch my asshole twitch and start to close, at least until you grab me by the legs and flip me over. Now instead of being bent over the counter I'm sitting on it, my ass hanging over the edge. It would be a difficult position to hold my balance in, but you're there to support me, to guide my hips back on top of your shaft.

Your rock hard cock is once again buried deep inside me, this time with the help of my own body weight to impale me. I whimper in painful pleasure until, at long last, you're hilt deep. "Look at me," you growl, reaching up and pulling my hair until I'm sitting up, chin raised, staring you in the eyes as you begin to thrust.

It hurts. Even after all the prep work, something this fat in my poor little ass hurts like the devil. But even without the alcohol, my clit is fully engorged, and your free hand finds it. It only takes you a couple of seconds to dissolve me into a squealing, squirting puddle of a woman, but you just keep going. Your fingers seem to have endless stamina, as do your hips. You're fucking me violently, any compassion from earlier forgotten in pursuit of you own pleasure, though there's also plenty of my own. My clit is so sensitive after the first one that it hurts to be played with so roughly and I try to push you away with my bound hands, but there's no point. I don't stand a chance against you and you know it.

My second orgasm hits unexpectedly and I hear myself moan whorishly as my ass tries to milk the cum out of you, but it's far too soon for that. I would have collapsed against the counter at this point, but your hand tangled in my hair keeps me upright, keeps me looking at you as you stare into my eyes as you fuck me through a third orgasm, then a fourth, before I start incoherently begging you to stop pushing them out of me.

You relent and let me go. I fall back in blissful exhaustion, finally relaxing enough that there's no pain as you continue to jackhammer my butthole. Amused by the sight of my tits bouncing around inside my shirt, you reach up and casually rip it open. "Hey!" I protest. It's not that I'm suddenly shy about my body with you currently being inside of it and all, but I liked this shirt and now the front is completely ripped open except for the collar, hanging in tatters over my pierced and tattooed chest.

You ignore me and grab a titty in either hand, using them like handles to fuck me for a while, squeezing them until I whimper. When you grow bored of this your fingers find my nipples, tweaking them, then squeezing until I cry out and my anus squeezes around your shaft. My pierced nipples have always been sensitive, and I can feel another orgasm building as you play with them, but the next course you have in mind is a little different.

You wrap your arms around me and pull me in against your chest, then in one smooth motion pick me up. A hundred and ten pounds of woman, held casually in your arms, my legs splayed around you and your cock still impaled in my ass. The buttons of your denim coat are cold but you're a million degrees even in the cold air conditioning of the kitchen. I can smell the sweat on you as you continue to pound me roughly. I've never been fucked like this, held up by your body, touching nothing else, in zero control of what happens next. It's so hot that I can feel my greedy clit throbbing again.

You kiss my neck roughly, biting it, until you find the sweet spots that make me whimper and moan and buck my hips, my anus tightening around your cock as it continues to brutalize my ass. I can feel it twitching and growing harder, and I know you're getting close. You break away from the kissing with a low growl of "fuck" and I know you're only a few moments away. You set me on the counter again and reach one hand between us.

It's electric when you find my clit, and my final orgasm tears through me with the force of a hurricane. I bear down so hard with the overwhelming sensation that you give up on thrusting and just bury yourself in me, letting the spasming, milking sensation of my orgasm do the work for you and push you over the edge. I feel every twitch, every pulse of cum from your heavy balls being shot deep inside me.

You collapse onto me when it finishes. I can barely breathe, but I don't try to get you to roll off of me until you're good and ready, which takes awhile. I feel some cum leak out when you finally pull yourself from my body, but it's a few seconds before I can bring myself to care enough to stand up. My panties are still around one ankle so I step into them and pull them up so I don't drip cum and oil down my leg - my butthole doesn't remember how to close all the way yet.

You pull a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of your pocket and start smoking. Feeling shaky, I grab my purse from where it's fallen and head for the door before you can change your mind about letting me leave. I'm almost there when I hear you say "Wait".

The gun! I remember it and hurry back, wide-eyed, shoving into my purse. To my surprise, when I look up from doing this you're offering me your denim jacket. I look down at the scraps of fabric which used to be my crop top and accept it. It fits like a tent, covering my hips and my hands, but it's warm and it's comfortable and it smells like you. I stand there for a moment after putting it on, completely unsure what I want to say, what I want to do.

"The Repugnant are playing tomorrow at nine," you say. I blink slowly, not sure if I heard you right. "The Repugnant - they're a local group, sort of thrash with a bit of indie inspiration. I'll see you then."

I open my mouth, but close it again without saying anything and just turn to leave. I resent you just making that assumption about me, about what I'll do.

I resent that you're right.

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Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism & suggestions for my next story are always appreciated.