Menthol (CNC)
Finally, you arrive. I watch you walk across the pavement to your home, carrying groceries. I pull up my phone and browse for one of the photos you had sent me. I check the location metadata one more time, and look up as you enter your home. Yeap, it's the right place. Perfect.
I step out of the van and open the side door, grabbing a large cardboard box into my arms. Streaks of sweat run down my cheeks, thanks to the hot day having turned my van into an oven. I figure the sweat can only enhance the credibility of my performance.
I walk across the yard and push the doorbell with my finger, balancing the box in my arms. With a slight delay, you open the door wearing a navy t-shirt and jeans, a quizzical look on your face. You inquire what this is about, and I read your address to you from the label on the box.
"I haven't ordered anything," you shake your head slowly, leaning against the doorframe.
"That's your address, yeah? It says cat litter on the label. Maybe a friend, as a gift...? Look, it's really heavy, can I just drop it off inside and be on my way, I've got a lot of deliveries. All the paperwork's in the box so you can call the pet shop and sort it out."
You watch the sweat drip down my face and nod hesitantly. "Yeah, I mean I guess... You can drop it off right here."
You turn around and step into the hallway, and I follow you, lowering the box onto the floor and pushing the door shut behind me with my foot. You cross your arms and your gaze travels across my frame, observing my broad, tall figure. The discomfort of being in close proximity and behind closed doors with a stranger, much less one of my stature, is evident on your face.
"I can take it from here, thank you. Have a good day," you pipe up, reasserting yourself. The silence lingers between us, and I lean my back against the door, taking in your full physique for real for the first time.
"Well, I can't just leave. That's not how this works in your stories."
"What do you mean, 'my stories?'"
"The stories you write. The ones you post online."
Your eyes blink repeatedly and your pulse rises rapidly as you try to recalibrate to these unexpected circumstances.
"The ones about a stranger in your house treating you like a fuckdoll."
Your breath hitches in your throat and you taste the bitterness of adrenaline in your mouth. You want to flee, but it is almost as if you cannot move, your legs feeling heavier than ever.
"The ones you've been sending to me."
Right then, your legs work again. You turn sharply and rush down the hallway, hearing the rumbling of me chasing at your heels. You feel the sudden burst of speed forward as I grab you from behind and push you onwards, slamming you against the wall. You scream but my hand reaches your mouth and covers it, and my arm wraps around you, pushing your belly in hard.
"Knock it the fuck off," I growl, pressing your cheek against the cool hard surface of the wall. "Don't scream again or I swear to God I'll rape your ass for real."
Your eyes well up, stinging, and you close them, breathing rapidly. You smell menthol on my breath, mixing with my cologne, the scent of which you burn into your memory. I pull the hem of your shirt over your head, covering half of your face.
I pull a roll of duct tape from my pocket and force your arms behind your back. As I bind your wrists with the tape, you panic instinctively, struggling against me and screaming again. I push you back against the wall and rip off a piece of duct tape, fixing it over your mouth.
My left fist finds your hair and you feel the sharp pain from the tightness of my grip. I use my body weight to press you tighter against the wall, and hold your head firmly in place. I push my nose against the top of your head, smelling your hair, and let out a deep exhale.
"I can smell the whore in you, the lust for cock, it's all over you."
I reach around with my right hand and push your bra up, your breasts dropping out of the cups. Your tits hang heavy and full, and my hand grabs one, squeezing it hard repeatedly in my palm.
"You wanted to get my blood pumping, right?" my voice rumbles against your ear. "Well it's pumping now, isn't it, slut? Right into my cock."
I hold your hair in my grip and reach down with the other hand, unbuttoning your jeans and unzipping them in a hurry. Your body freezes in place, your nostrils snorting with a sharp inhale as you feel my rough hand grab your pussy through your panties.
"You send me all those stories, trying to work me up, being a wet and horny little slut," I snarl, rubbing your thinly clad pussy with rough and impatient pressure. "I bet you thought you could just drive me crazy like that, and nothing would happen, right?"
Beads of sweat run down your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you feel me push my fingers inside your panties, my middle finger abruptly pressing at your slit. You are frozen in place between the weight of my body and the wall, my fist in your hair, and your pussy under rigorous assault.
"I am gonna fuck you so hard you'll feel it for weeks," I murmur directly into your ear. "I'll stretch this tight little hole wide just like your stories begged me to."
I push my finger inside you, curling it into a hook as if I was going to drag you away with it.
"And when I'm done, the next time a man fucks you, you'll feel me inside you again."
Your breathing through your nose is rapid and irregular, and your heart is pounding in your ears.
I pull my finger out of your pussy and drag you into the bedroom, push you down onto your knees in front of the bed, bending you over so your bare tits squish against the mattress. I hold you by the hair still as I grab your jeans and pull them down your thighs along with your red panties.
"Such a dirty whore for men, aren't you? Already melting for me," I growl and rub your pussy with my fingers again, feeling the slickness grow each time I speak.
"Those stories, those photos... You make me so fucking hard. Those big tits, that tight wet hole, all for me to use as I fucking please."
I unbuckle and pull down my pants, my cock springing against your ass, warm and hard and throbbing. You feel my grip on your hair tighten and I pull your head sharply backwards, your chin lifting up. I push myself inside you, rough and deep. You feel the heat and the fullness as I begin to rhythmically slide in and out, grunting loudly.
Your body trembles as you are held in place and fucked. Your tits flop around on your chest as I pound you, and your pussy tightens around me like a coil, hot and slick, throbbing and yearning.
"Fuckin' hell you feel good, slut. You were made for this, for my cock, to be used like a fucktoy." The words roll out of my mouth between groans, strained and rushed. "Try and fight it all you want, but I feel how wet you got, how much you crave this."
Your neck strains as I pull your head backwards by the hair, my hips increasing their pace as I feel the familiar tightness of a climax climbing up my thighs. Your pussy is swollen and leaking freely now, your juices running down my balls, your moans muffled by the tape over your mouth.
"This is what you are good for, fuckin' dirty little whore. To be fucked and bred and used. God, your pussy feels good."
I groan loudly, repeatedly, pushing my sweaty groin against your ass as I pulse inside you, emptying my load into your hot, swollen pussy. I grind my hips slowly, and ease my grip on your hair, letting your upper body plop down onto the bed.
I pull my cum-coated cock out of you and rise to my feet, breathing hard, my balance uneven as my thighs feel weak from the orgasm. Your body jolts as I reach down your ass with my hand and wet my fingers in the cum oozing out of you.
"Good slut," I murmur as I lean over your back, my mouth close to your face, the familiar waft of menthol in your nose. I slowly wipe my fingers across your cheek, smearing my cum on your face. "Good little slut, wearing my mark now."
"It was every bit as good as your stories."