Forced Erotica

by Emmie Combs

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  You insert the key into the lock on the front entrance and swing open the door. You drag your luggage into the entry way and throw your keys onto the table. After quickly flipping through the pile of mail waiting on you, you head through the dark house to the bedroom. As you pass through the living room and reach over to turn off the lamp on the side table, you notice the voluptuous blonde of your recent dreams quietly sleeping on the couch.

  There was a glass of wine sitting on the table beside her and a book lying across her lap. She was stretched out on the couch with her red painted toes peeking out from under the blanket that covered her. You sit on the coffee table in front of her and just watch the beautiful woman before you sleep. How did you get so lucky to have this woman in your life?

  She must have sensed you watching her because she started to stir. You try to catch the blanket as it slips off her lap, but the sight of pale thighs, sexy underwear and a thin cotton tank bring you actions to a halt. Her green eyes flutter open and she smiles as she notices you sitting there.

  "Hi Baby. I tried to wait up for you but I must have fallen asleep," she says as she sleepily stretches her arms above her head pulling her shirt tight against her nipples and up on her soft stomach. You can just make out the outline of her nipple rings in the soft light coming from the lamp. The sight of her pale creamy skin coupled with your recent dreams creates an instant erection.

  She sits up on the edge of the couch and you move to sit beside her. As you pull her in close for a hug, she playfully rubs your hard on.

  "Somebody missed me while he was gone."

  You can only nod your agreement as you struggle for breath after that simple touch. Her quiet laugh brings back the thoughts of the dreams you had during your flight. She quickly stands up in front of you and then straddles your lap facing you putting her beautiful breasts right in your face.

  "Mmmm," she moans as she rubs her cotton covered crotch against your stiff cock. "You did miss me."

  You take advantage of her gentle rocking motion to capture her nipple through the thin material of her shirt. She places her hands on your shoulders and throws her head back while dry humping your cock and having her nipple sucked by your talented mouth. You can tell by the dampness you feel coming from between her legs that she will soon reach orgasm.

  "We will have none of that," you tell her as you still her movements with your hands on her hips.

  "Please," she begs.

  You shake your head no as you escape from beneath her. She makes a sound of protest as you roughly pull her to her feet and drag her to the end of the couch where you bend her over the arm.

  In one swift movement, you free your cock and pull aside her panties. Without any warning, you plunge your cock hard and deep into her wet pussy. Her gasp is something between pain and pleasure but you don't relent. You wrap one hand in her long blonde her and pull her head back as the other hand reaches around to roughly pinch and pull at the rings attached to her nipples.

  You fuck her pussy until you feel your orgasm build. Just as you feel your cum shoot deep into her, you lean close and pull her head back so you can whisper in her ear. "Your body is mine. Others may use it, but it will always belong to me. Do you understand?"

  "Yyyesss," she pants. "I belong to you."

  At her words, you can feel your cock twitch with its last spurt of hot semen inside her. As you pull out, you can feel a mixture of your cum and her juices drip from her pussy. You push her away from you and order her to the bedroom. She moves to adjust her twisted panties, but a look from you stops her. She moves quickly towards the bedroom with you following close behind with your softening cock still hanging out.

  She heads to the bed to sit but a quick flick of your wrist brings her to stand in front of you.

  "On your knees, whore. You're gonna suck me hard again."

  She quickly drops to her knees and begins to lick and suck your cock. While she works to make you hard, you begin to unbutton your shirt to remove it. You stop her motions so you can kick off your shoes and remove the rest of your clothing.

  "On the bed, on your back with your head hanging over the edge," you order. You move towards her as she obeys your command. As soon as her head moves over the side, you plunge your now hard cock down her throat. You don't slow down as her eyes water and she starts to gag. Back and forth, you fuck her face until you can tell she can't take anymore. You pull out of her mouth and move onto the bed. She can't move as she gulps for air.

  You pull her by her legs back up into the middle of the bed. Your cock bobs in anticipation of the wet pussy before it. You spread her pale thighs, push aside her panties and in one quick motion run your tongue through her outer lips from the opening of her pussy up to her clit. Her deep moan of pleasure coaxes you on.

  Using your fingers, you spread her pussy lips and stare at the glistening treasure before you. You reach out with your tongue and flick her clit. She gasps for breath as you lay siege to her clit with your lips and tongue. Her hands are pulling at your hair trying to bring you closer.

  You can tell from her breathing that she is about to cum. You shove two long fingers into drenched pussy and start finger fucking her hard and fast. As you feel her pussy start to spasm and squeeze your fingers, you sit up, push her legs into the air and you begin your assault on her ass.

  You know from previous experience that her ass does not take a cock easily. She is so wet and mixed with your own cum there is no need for lube. You put the head of your cock against her sphincter and gently start pushing in. You hear a quiet whisper of encouragement coming from her mouth so you push a little harder and feel her ass slowly start to give. All resistance is futile when you feel the muscle finally give, allowing your cock into the hot passage of her ass.

  You only give her a second to adjust before you start moving back and forth, in and out of her ass. It is hard to believe there could be anything tighter than her pussy but the tightness of her ass causes you to cum in just a few strokes. You force your cock deep as you feel your cum filling her ass. Your cock frees itself with an audible pop as you collapse beside her gasping for air.

  When your heart stops racing and you can breathe slowly, you pull her close and whisper in her ear, "Yes Blondie, I missed you."

  The End.

  Domestic Bliss

  Norman Plunchnik didn't know why he spent each morning lately lying on his back, with his secretary's thighs wrapped tightly around his cheeks, her juices pouring into his less than eager mouth for what seemed like hours. God knows, a five-minute quickie used to be enough. Once he got his rocks off, he could return to work. But no longer. And Pam had become absolutely insatiable. Right now, his tongue felt as though it had spent the last half hour in a blender, and still Pam rocked back and forth violently on his face, the walls of her cunt contracting around his nose as his obedient tongue lapped furiously at the bud of her clitoris. Her gasps were becoming quicker and quicker now. She grabbed his head and forced Norman's mouth even tighter against her mound. She jerked violently, threw her head back on her shoulders, and let out one of her patented shrieks, as orgasm number twenty-three overcame her. Norman wasn't sure why he bothered counting them. A way to relieve the boredom, he supposed.

  He only prayed the new soundproofing he had installed in the office was working. Otherwise, the patiently-waiting Ellen Griebstein was getting quite a show out there in the reception area as she waited to see her mysteriously delayed attorney.

  He wasn't sure why he had begun to indulge in such practices. Certainly, Monica's all too frequent bouts of infidelity had instilled a need for some kind of revenge. And the fact that she had tried to put out a contract on him last year hadn't helped matters. He still couldn't quite bring himself to forgive her for that one. Sure, her lawyers had proved beyond any doubt in court that it had been a clear case of entrapment by the F.B.I. and those bastards on CNN. Were it not for the U.S. justice system's amiable willingness to let any crimin
al defendant go scot-free if she (or rather Norman) could hire a Dream Team of attorneys to exploit every available legal loophole, Monica would be sitting down in the state prison this minute, right where she belonged, getting buggered alternately by bull dykes and redneck guards, as she deserved. Instead, she was sitting watching Jerry Springer, smoking cigarettes and tossing down whiskey sours back at the house, where she was undoubtedly getting buggered by the pool boy.

  Monica had never quite been the same since their darling daughter Clara, she of the navel ring, barbed wire tattoo, shaved head and chicest of heroin addictions, had run off with those two bikers. No Harvard Med School for her. Still, that was no excuse for Monica's occasionally successful attempts to screw the lights out of every hapless male that happened to saunter by the front porch of their humble domicile, or for hiring some greaseball to pump five rounds of lead into Norman's admittedly defective brain, for that matter. He wasn't quite sure exactly why it was that he stayed with her. Perhaps it was because he suspected that he was at least partially to blame for her insanity. He could have been a better husband, he thought to himself, as he watched the delightfully bouncing bottoms of Pam's breasts, barely visible now as he peered up at them through her pubic hair. She lowered herself onto him more tightly and grasped his hair. He felt the increased flow of her juices into his still famished mouth and the walls of her cunt beginning to tremble against his chin once again.

  Here goes number twenty-four, Norman thought, as he sent his enflamed tongue into even more feverish motion. He sincerely hoped that wasn't the beginning of a temporomandibular joint problem he was feeling in his jaw. As Pam began to shriek once more and threatened to pull the few remaining hairs out of Norman's already depilated head, Normal suddenly realized that he had left the briefs for this afternoon's session back at the house. He'd better drive back and get them right after he took care of the always patient Mrs. Griebstein. But first things first. After all, one had to have one's priorities in order. And he would need to finish taking care of Pam before he could get to Griebstein. He redoubled his efforts, feeling the beginnings of number twenty-six on his tongue. If he worked her hard, he could probably induce the next five in rapid succession. Thirty usually did it. Although the way Pam was lately, you never knew.

  As Norman pulled into his driveway, the first thing he noticed was the mail truck, oddly parked on the street directly across from his house. "Et tu, Cliffy Claven," he muttered to himself as he shut off the engine. Postal workers were known to be a tad testy at times and prone to scattering each other's brains across the mailroom walls with various sorts of automatic weapons. Still, Norman figured it might still be fun to give the two lovebirds a little surprise. He silently opened the door of the house, sneaked through the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs. As he grasped the handrail, he found it to be covered with a sticky substance having the general consistency of cum. He grimaced, wiped his hand on his shirt and continued to make his way to the top of the stairs. Once there, he noticed a trail of slime on the carpet leading from the stairs to Clara's old room, where Monica had taken to sleeping lately. From beyond the door, there emanated a rapid series of Monica's trademark denials and affirmations. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh no, oh yes, oh no..." she panted in seeming indecision.

  Norman pushed the door ajar and was instantly greeted by the unseemly spectacle of the mail carrier's undulating ass as he pumped his way in and out of the obliging Mrs. Plunchnik. The courier's bobbing butt seemed surprisingly tanned and well-toned as it completed its appointed rounds, forming a striking contrast to Monica's pasty, alcohol-soaked flesh. Surely the possessor of such an impressive gluteus maximus could find something better to diddle than his present company, Norman thought to himself as he switched on the light.

  "I must say, you have found a very creative approach to tipping the mailman, Monica," Norman said. He turned to the steroid-enhanced mail carrier. "I came to collect my briefs and I suggest you collect yours," Norman told him, patting him on his well-developed rump. The postman's flesh was strangely oily and surprisingly cool. Norman felt a wave of pleasure come over him the instant he touched the mailman's flesh. He felt himself becoming instantly erect, surprisingly so in view of Pam's recent ministrations back at the office.

  The postman turned and grinned at Norman, as if aware of Norman's state. The irises of his eyes seemed to spiral. Nonetheless, he proceeded to disengage himself from Monica and picked up his clothes. His movements were almost preternaturally swift and graceful. He seemed almost to glide out of the room.

  Monica remained sprawled on the bed, her sagging breasts and potbelly a counterpoint to the postman's perfect flesh. She opened her legs wider, as if to taunt Norman with her splayed sex. "At least somebody around here can still get it up," she informed him, cackling and reaching across the bed for a cigarette.

  Norman grunted and left the bedroom for the office to retrieve his papers, talking care not to step in the fresh trail of slime that led down the hall.

  Heavenly shades of night had fallen by the time Norman returned to the house. He liked to postpone his arrival until well after dark these days. That way, there was a ninety-nine percent probability that Monica would be fully into her alcoholic stupor and he would be spared her usual diatribe. Tonight, for instance, he had eaten a sumptuous dinner of twice-cooked pork at the Hunan Pavilion, while trying to ignore the many eyes pitying him for his single-diner status. He had followed that up with a full hour of fascinating browsing at the CVS store next door to the restaurant, checking out the latest paperback releases and becoming intimately familiar with the contents of various brands of toothpaste.

  Oh well, time to face the music, he thought as he turned off the ignition. As he got out of the Lexus, he noticed a light on in the bedroom of the house next door. He looked up. Sure enough, Helga Anderson was parading around in the buff again, her magnificent rose-nippled Viking breasts displayed to all and sundry with wanton abandon. It was high time he started to get to know his neighbors better, Norman thought. But not tonight. He barely had enough energy to insert his key into the lock as it was.

  As he crossed the threshold, his nose was assaulted with a strange odor. Perfume. Monica never wore perfume. A red glow emanated from the general direction of the living room, the result of Monica's latest experiments with mood lightning. Reluctantly, Norman entered the living room, poised for yet another confrontation.

  Improbably, he found Monica both unconscious and alone. But this was a different Monica. She wore the peignoir she had bought at Victoria's Secret during the first year of their marriage. Her breasts jutted firmly. Her stomach was taut. Her limbs were tanned, with superb muscle tone. Gone were the dark bags under her eyes and the nascent wattle on her neck. She looked truly magnificent, the perfect picture of health (and seduction).

  "I'm sorry about this afternoon," she cooed. "Sometimes, I get so horny. Things haven't been right between us and I miss you, Normy." She gave him a Shirley Templesque pout of the lips and looked up at him with deep, strangely enlarged eyes.

  As he came closer, Norman noticed the drying trail of slime leading up to the chair she was sitting in. He felt strangely compelled to reach out and touch her. He stroked her hair, and then reached down to cup her left breast, his hands tracing her erect nipple through the thin silk of her nightgown. As he touched her, an electrical charge seemed to surge through his body. He felt a strange tingling in his balls. His penis became not just tumescent, but granite hard. His genitals throbbed with a sweet but urgent pain he had not felt since he passed his eighteenth birthday.

  He scooped Monica up in his arms and began to carry her to the bedroom. Her skin felt oily and cool, not unlike the postman's this afternoon. Norman's always pesky and troublesome cerebral cortex slowly began to turn off its lights one by one. His brain stem was fully in charge now. Nevertheless, as he passed Clara's old room, some stubborn higher brain center registered the low moaning beyond the door. It was Monica's voice. The other Monica.

 
Norman eagerly tossed the new Monica on the bed. She immediately crawled over to unbuckle his pants and unzip him. She took his impossibly enlarged member in her mouth as she tugged his pants down his thighs. That mouth had depths no human mouth could ever have, Norman thought, as he stepped out of his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. Nevertheless, he allowed her to lay him supine on the sheet, his cock still firmly embedded in her mouth.

  She crawled on top of him, into full sixty-nine position and she continued suck away at his cock like a calf at its lost mother's teat. He could smell the sweetness of her vagina as it neared his nose, and he began to lap at the bud as the lips of "Monica's" cunt swallowed his nose. The soft walls of her flesh began to squeeze and milk his nose and face, displaying more motion and skill than any human cunt ever could.

  The Monica-thing's mouth then left his cock to engulf both of his balls at once. The empty air of the bedroom felt cruel against Norman's throbbing cock and Norman longed to be enveloped by her flesh once more.

  It was not long before his wish was granted.

  The Monica-thing slid down his chest, her hot cunt pulsating against his enflamed flesh every inch of the way. She plunged Norman's swollen prick deep inside that sweet orifice as she took his balls in her hands and began to squeeze and rotate them as she slowly began to ride his shaft. Her motions became faster and faster, and her superhuman cunt began to pulsate around Norman's member and milk him for all the sperm he was worth.

  She squeezed his balls tightly when he came, emptying their entire contents into her greedy cunt. As he poured his hot jism into her, Norman suddenly had the sensation of something entering his penis and flowing in the reverse direction down his shaft. He balls tingled and began to pulsate strangely as Monica lowered her soft flesh onto his pelvis and thighs. He fell asleep in seconds.