Stolen Desire

He didn’t know he could fuck a woman that often in that space of time, but he should’ve known, should’ve expected, that with her, it would be different. Fuck his dick was still hard even now, and he’d just fucked her less than five minutes ago.

He leaned in close and sniffed her pussy before giving her his tongue. Jamie couldn’t believe her body was reacting to him again. Her pussy was sore, and yet, by his second lick, she felt that sweet syrupy feeling in her tummy that ran down between her thighs.

With her mouth no longer covered, it was hard to hide her moans of pleasure. And she burned with embarrassment and lust when her unbound hands reached down and grabbed his head, bringing him closer to her pussy.

She moved her hips against his mouth, her movement wild and abandoned as he fucked her with his tongue. She could hear and feel how wet she was as he ate at her pussy like he’d never get enough.

And when he flicked her slit with his finger, once twice, she pushed into his mouth harder as her head went back against the mattress, and she came with a scream. “Damn, baby.”

She felt him move up her body and spread her legs more as he slid just the head of his cock into her tight, swollen folds. ‘I’m just going to fuck you with the tip, don’t worry.” He had all intentions on doing just that, on keeping his promise to his woman, but her pussy snapped down around his cock, and he saw stars.

“Fuck!” He slammed his cock home, and she came screaming her nails dragging down his back to his ass as she pulled him against her. She pulled her feet up and planed them in the bed, spreading her knees flat, leaving herself open for his powerful thrust.

She lost count of how many times she came, how many times she felt he tightness in her tummy just before that feeling of lying hit and the explosion went off in her cunt. He was pounding away at her, those sexy sounds of his making her blood heat and her pussy surrender.

He covered her lips and drove his tongue into her mouth as his hips slapped against hers, and when he wrapped his arms around her and came deep inside, she was gone, totally lost.

Chapter 8

He pulled out, and she heard the rustling of clothing, as he got dressed while she laid on the bed with her eyes still covered. She felt that sick panicky feeling again in the pit of her stomach. And then she felt the bed compress with his knee as he leaned over her with his hands on either side of her head.

“Don’t move until you’ve counted to one thousand. Only then can you remove your blindfold. If you do before the time is up, I’ll have to punish you, and I don’t want that. I’ll be watching you, if you call the cops, I’ll know.” She felt the back of his fingers caress her cheek gently. His voice was so soft, so calm as he doled out his threats.

She listened as he moved off the bed, her head turning to catch any sound in the room. Seconds went by, but somehow she knew he was still there. “You’re not counting, sweet baby.” She almost flew out of her skin as his voice came from the corner to her left.

“One, two, three…” She started counting out loud and lost track of his movements in the room because she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own voice. By the time she reached a thousand tears were streaming down her face.

She dragged the goggles from her face and saw then why it had been so hard for her to see even a speck of light through the things. He’d spray painted them black where the eyes should be. She curled up in the middle of the bed on sheets that smelt like him and sex.

Her biggest fear now that he was gone was her own emotions, her own sick feelings. She missed him already. Her body felt empty after being filled for so many hours. She buried her face in the pillow and cried because nothing made sense anymore.

For the next week or so, each time Jamie turned the corner and saw her apartment building, her heart rate would pick up, and her head would grow dizzy. By the time she reached her floor and held her key in her hand, she could hardly breathe and always had to stop and catch her breath just outside the door. By the time she opens it and steps inside, her panties are usually soaked right through.

She knew she was suffering a form of Stockholm syndrome, that there was no other explanation for her strange reaction to that night, to him. But she finds herself at odd hours reliving every second of their time together in her head. She regrets not taking a look at him, because now she’d never know who he is.