Wilderness Road Ch. 02

My thoughts returned to the encounter with detective Crenshaw. He had quite a thin, gaunt face and a slightly cruel look about him. Not the kind of man I'd usually find attractive but some deep, dark part of my psyche couldn't help recalling the lean, hard lines of his face now. What if he already knew about the journal? What if he'd insisted coming in and searching the house? How would it have looked; me standing there in my provocatively tight cut-offs and revealing crop top watching as he searched through my underwear drawer, pulling the journal out with a flourish and a stern, yet triumphant look in his accusing eyes?

Of course, I'd protest my innocence as he stood up and moved towards me menacingly, his lips forming a thin, crooked grin. I'd back off, my until my legs bumped against the bed and I fell backwards. I pictured him standing over me, stony-faced, barely suppressing his anger as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his jacket from his square shoulders.

"Well now Mrs Catesby, lying to a police officer is a serious offence," he'd growl, towering over me as he unfastened his tie and pulled it from his shirt collar. "Whatever am I going to do with you? Hmm?"

"Don't. Please."

He makes me feel excited and reckless.

"Come along, Mrs Catesby, I think we both know what you want. You didn't have to let me into your bedroom. Perhaps you wanted me to find the journal. Perhaps you wanted me to know what kind of woman you really are."

"No please," I'd whimper, as I let him push me back on the bed, his rough hands pulling at my tiny shorts roughly, the buttons popping open one-by-one, as I wriggle uncomfortably. Then pulling them down over my legs, in one smooth movement. In my fantasy, I'm not wearing any knickers and his slate grey eyes grow even darker as I try to cover my naked mound with my hands.

I lift my bottom as I slide my hands over my hips, easing my shorts and panties over my thighs, impatiently kicking them down over my legs and onto the floor. I feel the hot kiss of the sun on my bare skin, the triangular tuft of pubic hair glowing bright orange. I slide a hand between my thighs, an urgent moan escaping my lips as I began to caress the aching, swollen lips of my pussy.

I heard his gruff voice in my head: "What a wicked young woman you are, Mrs Catesby, you sorely need to be taught a lesson."

I could almost feel his strong, uncompromising hands grabbing my hips and flipping me over, forcing me to kneel, my face pushed into the pillow as he slaps my bare bottom, my milky white cheeks blushing red. I gasp as he pulls my knees apart, the glistening pink of my inner thighs exposed.

"Please, no," I yelp as I feel him tugging my arms behind my back, and I hold my breath as I feel the cold metal embrace of the handcuffs, hearing the metallic click of the ratchet. I test the 'cuffs, trying to pull my wrists apart, but they're held fast and I can only wait, helpless and exposed, as I hear him pulling his shirt off.

I twist around when I hear the distinctive sound of his zipper, just in time to see him pull his very hard prick from his smart charcoal suit trousers. From this angle, with my head pressed into the pillow, his cock looks swollen and angry, swinging thickly between his thighs as he grasps my fleshy hips firmly and positions himself behind me. I wriggle with excitement and a soft whimper of deep arousal escapes my lips as he rubs the swollen purple head of his cock against my juicy slit. I fail to suppress a little moan of pleasure as he slowly slides it up and down, up and down.

"Hold still," he growls as I feel the thick blunt head briefly pressing against my entrance, then he's easing himself inside my soaking wet cunt all too easily, my aching pussy stretching thrillingly to accommodate his thick shaft.

I'm writhing happily on the bed, my eyes squeezed shut as I picture the scene, getting hotter and wetter by the second. One hand is feverishly stroking my pussy, massaging the wet folds, spreading the warm honey along my slit.

My other hand tugs my tight grey top up over my boobs, and I make myself gasp by rolling one of my tight little pink nipples between thumb and forefinger. My breathing becomes increasingly shallow and ragged as my fingers trace tight little circles around my throbbing clit.

In my head, I hear him grunting as our bodies slap together, a fine sheen of sweat forming on our bodies in the humid atmosphere. I can feel his powerful thighs strain, pushing his thick sinewy cock deep inside my defenceless pussy as I moan breathlessly. He reaches beneath me, his rough hands yanking my top up, my bare breasts swaying between my arms and he fucks me. I groan as I imagine his rough hands crudely groping my jiggling boobs.

All the time, he'd be goading me, his dirty talk making me hotter: "what a hot, little housewife you are, Mrs Catesby. You're loving this, aren't you?"

I have two fingers deep inside myself now, thrusting in and out, pretending it's his lovely thick cock relentlessly fucking me, ignoring my half-hearted protests. He knows what I want, what I need, and he gives it to me. And gosh, does he give it to me! Fucking me harder and harder, driving me to the very edge as my body rocks, and my hips roll. With my other hand, I wet my finger and tease my aching clit, drawing the fingertip back and forth as the pure pleasure begins to overwhelm me, my breath coming in hard staccato gasps as I get closer and closer.

The thought of him coming, his grunts of pleasure getting louder and louder before coalescing into a low howl of pleasure as he spills his hot seed deep inside me, pushes me over the edge and suddenly I'm there, all my breath rushing out in a cry of ecstasy as my body shivers and convulses, and I collapse breathless but completely sated.

I lie there motionless for several long contented minutes, my body spent, my arms and legs heavy. I'm bathed in a delicious mixture of post-orgasmic glow and the golden, afternoon sunshine as I listen to the birdsong and the lazy drone of distant lawnmowers drifting through the open window. All the time my mind is screaming questions: where did that fantasy come from? Is it something about the house? Whatever would my husband think if he could see me? And above all, what's happening to me?