by Gabi Moore
He saw me give pause, and my pride took over my critical thinking abilities. All I wanted to do was finish my most recent assignment and get moving onto the next one, and I didn’t feel like it was necessary to invest a lot of time in this man’s moral inquisition, or whatever the fuck he was trying to do.
“You brought this on yourself,” he said, standing up from the table.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, slightly caught off guard, yet authentically curious what he believed he was going to accomplish next.
“If the police aren’t going to scare you, then, believe me, I will,” he promised. “I’ve made it a personal skill set of mine to learn how to scare people like yourself. I don’t even have to try that hard; it’s something that comes naturally to me.”
“What do you mean, people like me,” I said growing a bit tense at this man’s forwardness.
He got up from the chair, walked behind me, put his hand on my ass and he held me down onto the table.
Chapter 9 - Piper
I would have resisted, but I thought instead to play it cool.
“Seems like you’re just looking for a score,” I said, smiling at him from my position on the table. “I’m not sure how scary that is.”
I tried to push up, to show some resistance, but his hand was held firm on my lower back.
Feeling a man in that much command of my body, while I had just been interrupted in the middle of a private fuck session has its way of putting me in my place. Turns out, I didn’t actually want to get up. Before I knew it, my pants were down, and he was behind me, spitting on my butt cheeks and digging his fingers into my body.
“Maybe I’ll let you scare me just a little bit,” I said, grunting while he slapped my bare ass with his hand.
“That’s polite of you,” he said, punctuating the comment with another slap.
“What a hard-ass. Are all military types total fuckboys like yourself?”
He had already slipped a finger into my cunt.
“Fuck boy,” he laughed, “you’re the one who’s soaking wet.”
He unzipped his pants and slapped me in the ass once more. “Spread them,” he commanded.
Placing his cock up toward my cunt, he pushed inside of me and began to fuck me slowly on the countertop.
Getting taken like this in my own kitchen was a bit incredible for me, but in that moment, all I could think about was how incredible it felt to have this man inside of me.
I moaned, and pushed myself back toward him, trying to get into the fuck and make myself as wide open as possible. His cock pushed harder inside of me with each stroke, and he leaned hard over my body, ramming himself up against me and pulling my pelvis in toward him with each thrust.
The table slammed repeatedly up against the wall, and soon, he was slamming his balls up against my ass cheeks, shoving the entire length of his cock into me. All I could do was hold on while what seemed like eight inches of hard military cock kept pumping me.
He grabbed my hair, with one hand and pulled me back up toward his body. He knew how to fuck like a man, and while this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, it was a lot better than any vibrator could hope to achieve.
I raised a leg up on the table so I could give him better access. Leaning in, he bit my neck and whispered in my ear.
“People like you get in trouble when they pretend to be more badass than they actually are, don’t you?”
All I could do was moan, plead, and rub my clit while he continued to fuck me.
“Cum inside of me,” I begged. “Please cum inside of me.”
“I’ll cum when I’m ready to, and it may not be anytime soon.”
He grabbed my neck and pinned me down to the table, and with one huge hand, he pulled my ass cheek to the side.
I was so completely used, but feeling that intense lack of control was liberating in a way. I could feel him towering over me, and pushing his cock inside of me over and over. He was a strong man, and his power came through with every single thrust.
“Not so hard now, are you?” he said, his teeth grit and lust fierce in the tone of his voice. “Turn over, I want you to see my face.”
I felt relieved at his command because I did want to see his face. I wanted to imprint this moment in my mind. Not because of some overt longing for this man I didn’t know, but out of a queer fascination for accurate details about the fantasy that had already proved itself to be lurking in my subconscious. I had literally, no more than an hour ago, been fantasizing about this very man. Here he was, treating me like he owned me, in my kitchen, on my fucking table nonetheless.
Turning around, I saw his face, and I stared at him, unblinkingly, being bold, and being real — while still offering my body in submission.
That was the key to being a sexual submissive - in my opinion. You stood to gain a lot by letting a man or a woman totally own your body. You stood to understand more about yourself and more about the other person than they every might have shown you in your entire relationship. You stood to learn more in those precious minutes than most people would learn about that person in their entire lives. Sex was a powerful thing like that.
As far as I was concerned, this man had dropped off the package here, and while that was counter-productive to what I was hoping to achieve, he had also brought a cock… which he obviously wasn’t afraid to use. For that last, minor detail, I was prepared to forgive my dad’s indiscretion. Watching him press my thighs up against my body, holding my ass up in the air in front of his cock, I thought I might even help him out with a passport.
Or maybe not, I smiled to myself, my grin turning fast into another rush of pleasure and pain while he pushed himself into me once more. I could get used to this.
My thoughts were immediately shoved aside as I lost track of everything except the slow and persistent thrusting. I was rubbing my clit furiously with my hand, holding on to my forehead, and my ass, alternately.
I continued to moan, and pray, my mouth spread wide, hoping for anything, but not really having much room in my brain to do anything besides get fucked and let myself go. I was in a totally passive position, and I had let this man put me there.
I massaged my clit; occasionally slapping it as I saw fit. I was working up toward an orgasm, but the sensation was really one of fullness more than anything like what my dildo had prepared me for earlier.
Placing a boot on the table, he began to level himself so that his entire cock was sliding into me. Feeling the burn as his lubrication started to wear thin brought a heightened sense of urgency to my masturbation. I began rubbing my clit and squirming on the table, while he pumped himself into me. I looked up at his thighs and saw how powerful they were. I saw the length of his cock push into me, and more importantly, I felt him. It was like he was literally pulling my insides out with his cock, and all I could do was rub my clit and hold my legs toward my chest.
“… Uh, I haven’t ah — ooh,” I tried communicating, but all I could do was grunt and curse. “Fuck…”
My hand rested on my head, and I let my hand press up adjacent the wall next to my head. I decided that instead of making small talk, I should just be giving him more encouragement.
“Fuck it,” I started telling him, between grimaces. “
He pushed my entire body onto the table and rest my legs on the side. He pressed his cock into me once more, and I could feel myself pulling and pushing back in again at his movement. My cunt cupped around the head of his cock and brought him close to me. My tits bounced with the pressure of each firm thrust, and though I gasped and moaned for hopeless release, he held onto me firmly.
Pulling out for a moment, he walked away from the table and sat down on the couch. His dick was firm in the air, beckoning me to sit down on top of him. I didn’t have much of a choice when I think about it. My body was so drawn to him. In that moment, my cunt felt incomplete without feeling the constant friction of his shaft inside of my body. I got on top of him and positioned my hand so that I
pushed the head of his cock into me once more. I gradually lowered myself onto the length of his dick.
I kept up the rhythm, but mostly out of the desire to be fucked, more than any respect for the tit-for-tat source of effort. He had done his job fucking me in the beginning, and now I was here bouncing on top of his body, letting him bury his cock deep inside of me. My mouth was open, and my breasts were pressed down firmly on his chest. Gravity and a little bit of hip action were doing most of the work, and the work was wonderful.
We embraced for a moment, but soon he was on top of me once more.
My ass was spread up in the air, and his hand was pressed once more on my head. He was pushing my cheek down into the fabric of the couch. I could feel his fingers digging into my scalp. And as though he could read my mind, he formed his fingers into a fist and began to pull my hair while pushing me down — sending me into a cocktail of pleasure and pain. I grit my teeth, and spread open for him, wanting him to continue, but also wanting him to finish inside of me. I was looking for the moment when his pride would come down, and he could join me in a collapsed heap on the couch.
At the rate he was going, that didn’t seem like it would happen too soon.
The two of us moved forward in this pattern for a few more moments, and I found that I was addicted to the sensation. As soon as he would pull out, I would back up and position myself in such a way that he could penetrate me once more. I wanted to feel him explode inside of me so badly.
It seemed like he would never stop.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and my lips were pursed, basically praying to the gods of sex that this man would fucking cum.
This guy is unreal, I thought, in a sex-fueled delirium.
Here I was, I'm being taken by a total stranger on the couch in my shitty apartment. Instead of coming inside of me, or coming at all, he pulled out and slapped me hard in the ass.
I collapsed onto the couch, feeling the sensations inside of me. I savored the feeling of being thoroughly, completely, and utterly, well fucked. I could still feel myself contract and twitch with spasmodic pleasure.
“Couldn’t you just,” I started to beg, but then I stopped, and a huge moan came out from the inside of me.
My fingers flicked mercilessly against my clit, and I collapsed into the fabric of the couch. My mouth was open, and I was gaping in every sense of the word. I could feel the contractions pulse through my entire body, causing my legs, and even my toes to twitch with an uncontrollable release.
He turned and watched me, seeming to be unimpressed, as my body basically melted into the couch, leaking and spraying juices everywhere. I gasped, trying to catch my breath, and get some control back into my perception of reality. After a few moments, I looked over at him, a deep calm having set into my body.
“You could have cum…” I said, staring at his cock.
"Not that you don't deserve it," he said, “but I think I'll be saving that for later."
I watched him get dressed once more, and that beautiful, powerful cock disappeared back inside of some cheap, thrift store jeans. I recognized the thermals; then I remembered why he had come by in the first place.
"When you can walk again, you'll have to come get it," he said nonchalantly.
Still feeling woozy, but not one to take an attitude like that laying down, I got up and walked over toward the table. I was more hobbling than anything else. I would have preferred to stay there, and simply bask in the pleasure of a well-fucked body, but my pride had other plans.
He walked over and picked up the bag from the table.
I reached my hand out to grab it, but he was too quick, and before I had a chance to respond, he had deflected my hands away from the bag and brought the bag up to his own shoulders.
I took a deep breath and focused in on him with my entire attention.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“I probably should have done this in the very beginning,” he said “instead of sitting down and trying to talk with a woman like you. Just because you think you’re on the inside of some criminal underworld doesn’t make you hard; it makes you a fool. Every single fool just like you gets chewed up and spit out by whatever big dogs you think you are charming with that pretty smile of yours. Now that I’ve been inside of you, I figure you’ll come around sooner or later for more. Then we can talk about how you want to deal with this bag.”
With the bag slung over his shoulder, he began to walk out of the kitchen.
I got in the way to stop him and even threw my foot up for a kick to his groin. My efforts were pathetic at best. The whole movement was immediately caught by his body. He raised a knee to deflect my leg and then kicked that same leg out so that his own leg hooked underneath mine. With his leg high up in the air, and my balance completely thrown off, all he had to do was push on my forehead with the tip of his fingers and I was down.
My ass landed with a thump on the linoleum, and I grimaced at the pain. By the time I had a chance to actually scramble to my feet, he was in the living room, only five steps away from the door. He wasn’t moving quickly. The cocky asshole that he was, he was confidently striding toward the door, effectively holding my personal belongings ransom.
“Fucking scumbag!” I yelled.
“Call the police,” was all he said, not even turning around.
I reached under the table and pulled out a pistol that I had kept there for situations just like this. Drawing the pistol out, I cocked the weapon and issued my final demand.
“Drop the bag,” I said, with a cold edge to my voice.
Of course, I didn’t even need to say anything, because as soon as the weapon was cocked, the man stopped moving, and put his hands in the air.
I was zeroed in on the back of his body, and ready to lay him out flat. I watched as he turned around, slowly. As he rotated, he let the bag slide down his right arm, until it hung on his fingertips, two feet above the ground.
“You want the bag?” he asked. “It’s yours, but don’t expect my help unless you’re going to come around and reciprocate. I’m just not into unequal relationships.”
I sneered again, but my contempt was broken when a forceful knock came to the front door.
My nerves were jarred, but I took a deep breath and fought to hold onto what little composure I had left. With the weapon still trained on the man, I held my position.
With a burst, the door was kicked open. Little splinters of wood shot into the air to the left side of the man by the door. On instinct, the man dove to his left, still holding the bag, and out of sheer surprise, I pulled the trigger.
Chapter 10 - Piper
Within a matter of minutes, I came to understand why people who own firearms need to be highly trained in their use.
The whole point of owning a weapon is to be able to effectively use it against an opponent, in the service of either aggression or protection.
In my case, I initially was trying to protect myself against what I thought was essentially a thief, stealing my personal belongings. What ended up happening was that I fired on my employer and wounded one of his main men.
A cry came through the door, and the shot was followed by a series of other shots as people fired into my home from outside of the door.
Frightened as I was by the cry of the man who had been hit outside of the doorway, I ducked to the side. Crawling on the floor, I began to move toward the side of the kitchen where I could hide and regroup my thoughts. That fucker still had my bag, but it seemed as though in the moment I had other things to worry about.
From my position in the corner of the kitchen, I heard more gunshots fired into the living room, followed by the dull sound of one body hitting another. A groan filled the air, followed by demands from someone who sounded like my boss.
“Piper, who the fuck is this?” the man demanded.
The man obviously responded with force, as more weapons sounded off. The noise inside of my tiny apartment was so awful, and wh
ile I was concerned for my own life, at least I knew who was there. The problem was that my own lack of cool had started the whole thing, and now the police were for sure going to come. I realized that I had to stop this senseless fighting, otherwise we were all going to go down for assault.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop, the police will be here any minute.”
“You called them?” one of the men who came with my boss yelled at me, recognizing my voice.
“Just cool it with the fucking weapons,” I said, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“You heard her, now, put down the gun,” I heard army boy’s voice rise above the chaos.
Turning around from my place in the kitchen and daring to look into the living room long enough to realize what was happening, I saw that my boss had been knocked over, and was bleeding from the nose. Another man had been shot and was bleeding out on my floor. The wounded man’s back was pressed up against the front door. He didn’t look good. In fact, he didn’t look like he was going to make it out of my living room.
A sinking feeling came over me, and I looked up to see the bullet hole in the door. The wood to the door was cheap, and the light coming through from the day outside only caused a bleak contrast to come into my mind.
I trained my weapon on the man who had stopped by to drop off the bag. The man who had stolen the bag from me, and who had gotten me into this mess. I blamed him wholeheartedly, and I knew that there were only minutes left before the police arrived. I was certain that the neighbors would have called the moment that they heard the first gunshots. My entire cover was blown, I had to think fast.
That was the first time I had actually shot a man.
I wasn’t prepared for the psychological trauma caused by taking such an action. We may think, at times, that we are capable of pursuing a certain type of action, and we may even play around by pretending that we are comfortable moving in a given direction — if the theater of the moment suggests that such an action take place.
