Consensual Non-Consent (Part II)

Previously (from Part I)…

The hunger burning in his eyes, his need for me there for all to see – for a second a wave of uneasiness washes over me again, but I dismiss it as well, tossing it away with the previous trepidation.

After all, this is consensual … isn’t it?


…the story continues…


He crawls over to me on the bed, his cock steel rod hard, and my pussy clenches in anticipation of him sliding into me.  But instead of going between my thighs, he makes his way to my head, trying to coax my mouth open, to take his cock between my lips. He knows I don’t like it, but I guess he figures it’s his birthday, and my inhibitions are lowered in direct proportion to the alcohol levels in my bloodstream… he’s not exactly wrong in this.

He starts to coax me with the addition of his fingers burrowing into my pussy.  With a moan, my mouth opens, and he grabs the opportunity and slides his cock past my lips.  Damn.  I really don’t like giving head, but his fingers feel so good inside me.  I can’t have him thinking this was going to be a regular occurrence, so I try and pull away from his cock, protesting the best I can.  He’ll have none of that though – he grabs my hair and starts to fuck my mouth.

Panic is starting to take root inside me, threatening to replace the lust that has me so on edge.

As I try and fight him off, he jams three fingers into my greedy pussy, my body betraying me with a loud groan, the orgasm building inside me exponentially. He seizes the opportunity once again and pushes his cock down my throat.  Ok – full-blown panic mode now. I gag, trying to fight him off of me, but he just straddles me, caging my arms within.  I try and make some sense of what happening – the drunken fog that has taken root in my skull won’t clear, and my movements are sluggish at best.

He continues to skull fuck me, but with his fingers still thrusting into my sopping wet pussy, he’s keeping me off kilter.  I look at him and all I can see is the face of a man lost to his own lustful desires; a brutal gleam in his eye saying he will have what he has clearly decided was his – no matter what. Is he thinking this is what I want?  He might at that, because clearly, the connections between my brain and my body aren’t working.

As much as I’m desperate to get him off me, for him to be aware of my non-consent (and it IS non-consent damn it!), my body is responding in quite a different manner; my nipples are hard, erect, and sensitive, and aching to be used; my skin is flushed and quakes at his every touch. And my pussy? That lecherous, betraying piece of real estate laying at the apex of my legs, is spilling its telltale juices by the bucketfuls. One more brush against my swollen clit will send me spiraling over the edge in a cataclysmic orgasm the likes of which I have never felt. But still, my mind says NO.

I figure there is one surefire way to stop him.

It’s extreme, but desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.  I have his most vulnerable piece of anatomy right between my lips…between my teeth. If I have to perform a “Lorena Bobbitt” with my teeth, then so be it.

The expression on my face must have telegraphed my thoughts because at that same moment he abruptly releases my hair and grasps my chin.

Bending down to me he nearly growls, “Don’t you dare even THINK about biting me bitch!”

More than just a bit stunned, the thought swiftly vanishes.

After a few more thrusts into my mouth, he abruptly pulls out and moves down between my legs.  Still feeling the effects of the alcohol, I’m not much more than a rag doll as he flips me over, shoves my knees under me, and spreads them wide to accommodate him.

Teasing my drenched pussy with the head of his cock, he says “I think you like it, rough baby. Look how wet you are. How ready you are for my cock.”

…to be continued…

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