Bent

Reality Bites

Jess throws her car keys down on the entrance table, and runs, giggling towards her bedroom, hands playfully covering her butt in that way I find utterly adorable. In the car on the way home from the unspeakable event that had just transpired at Ethan's, I'd leant over, kissed her neck and growled, "Anal only." That was our cue, she knew all too well how the night was going to play out.

I chase her down the hall, she runs, squealing, as she looks back at me in a mixture of dread and delight. She likes this. She struggles as I catch her, circling my arm around her waist, she likes that too. I overpower her easily as she pummels my chest with her small balled up fists, I smile and laugh cruelly, at the futility of her resistance. I yank her skirt off unceremoniously with one hand, using the other to pin her wrists behind her back. I take a second to admire her beautiful face, with those big blue eyes, soft full lips. I wrap her silky, chestnut hair around my fist at the base of her skull and pull it back sharply, drawing a quick intake of breath and see the quick flash of arousal in her eye.

She likes it like this.

I spin her round quickly, lifting her at the waist and physically throwing her face-down onto the bed. She gasps from the shock of it as she lands, looking back quickly, only to see me kneeling at the base of the bed, as I pull the large mahogany box out from its hiding place. Her eyes widen like saucers, and she chews her nails in anticipation.

I take my time as I select what I want, placing the items on the bed, deliberately in her line of sight. I lay the well-used wrist and ankle cuffs out first, followed by the spreader bar and a thick, heavy strap. I notice with pleasure how hard she blinks hard when she sees it. I find the lube and set that out beside her, trying my best not to think how chilling it felt when I was the one bent over, and Ethan was the one handling the lube. I close my eyes and shake my head quickly.

No, don't think like that

.

I cuff her hands behind her back, enjoying the sweet way she resists. I tease her by running my hands lightly up and down the back of her legs, as I cuff her ankles and fix the cuffs to the spreader bar. I reach up, admiring that pert little ass, tightly cocooned in her sheer, black stockings, as I notice that she's not wearing any underwear beneath them.

My sweet little slut,

I think with genuine affection

.

I stroke her ass gently with both hands, before grabbing the lycra and with a loud rip, I tear her tights, shredding them, leaving that quivering round ass framed and perfectly exposed.

Yes,

I think,

this is what I want

, as I reach around under her top, to fondle the delicious softness of her breasts, I sigh as her nipples tighten and grow as hard as pebbles.

This is how I like it

. I pull her back up onto her knees. She's a sight to behold, as the soft curve of her hips emphasizes her tiny waist.

"You remember the deal, don't you?" I say, without giving her time to answer, as I continue, picking up the strap, feeling the weight of it in my hands. "I'm going to apply this strap liberally to your bare bottom and when I'm good and done, I'm going to spread you, and if I find you wet..." I threaten, allowing my voice to trail off.

"Well," I add with mock sincerity, "I'm afraid, if that were to happen, sodomy will certainty feature in your very near future."

"Uh, uh." She whines, shaking her head from side to side, "Please don't. Not the strap."

We both know she's as good as done for. She's probably dripping already. Being trussed up may have got her going, but for her, the mere mention of the strap would have done it for sure.

Ordinarily, I would warm her up a little first, but I'm feeling particularly sadistic tonight. I want to see her flinch and I want to hear her cry. I

want

to hurt her and more than that, I want to defile her in exactly the same way he defiled m...

No, no

, I shake my head briskly again,

don't think of that.

I stand behind her, enjoying the view as I land the first swat of the strap. She cries out and sucks a breath hard through her teeth.

"Mmh," I smile in heartless enjoyment.

Again and again, I rain blows down on her soft, delicate flesh, until she is quaking, shaking and her cheeks are a rather alarming shade of bright red.

"Oh, please," she begs, "Please, please stop." I smile inwardly, completely content that I know her boundaries all too well. I know she's nowhere near them right yet.

"Please," she says again, looking around at me this time, her hair disheveled and her lips even more swollen than usual.

She's coming undone

, I think with utter gratification.

"I'll do whatever you want." She mews softly.

"Whatever I want, huh?" I toss the strap down, and coarsely spread her ass cheeks, drawing that familiar little gasp of shock. I see the slick wetness glistening between her legs. I reach down to stroke her and bringing my fingers to my lips, I taste the sweet, organic taste of her. So familiar. So good. So right.

This is what I like,

I tell myself.

"Please," she says, bargaining now, "You can have my mouth, or my pussy, whatever you want."

I chuckle and say sarcastically, "Both lovely offers, to be sure, but tonight,

tonight

, neither of those are the holes that I want." She's whimpering now and my hard-on is raging and needs urgent attention, so I prepare her and work my way in quickly.

"Bad girl." I say accusingly.

"No, please, don't say that." She says softly, her eyes, darkly reflecting her discomfort. "I don't want to be bad."

"Well," I say reasonably, as I run my fingertips deftly up her spine, "That can't be true, can it?" Before adding, with pure venom, "Good girls don't let themselves get tied up and fucked up the ass."

We are the only two people in her apartment that night, but there might as well have been three of us there, because as I fuck Jess, I feel Ethan there with me. The smell of him, lingering on my clothes, on my neck, wafting up, causing my nostrils to flare. I feel him behind me, the dark heat of his presence setting me alight from my toes, up my legs and my spine. As I touch Jess, I feel myself dissociating, one second I'm him, seeing what he saw, doing what he did, and the next minute, I'm Jess, knowing that a few hours earlier I felt exactly what she feels now. As her ass struggles and gives way, I can't help thinking,

my ass fought him like that

. As she cries out, I think,

I made that sound

. Her little hole stretches to accommodate me,

is that what I looked like to him?

Her ass clenches tightly around my cock,

did I make his cock feel this good?

My orgasm comes so quickly, I grunt in surprise.

*

"Mmmh, so good." She whispers later, as we curl up together. I pull her close, wrapping my limbs around her. This is the aftercare she likes, but tonight, I can't help wondering if I'm the one who needs it more.

I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning and waking several times, drenched in a cold sweat. A sickening feeling of regret washing over me every time I think about what happened.

My God,

I jerked off in the same room as another guy. He saw my ass, and not just my butt, like you would in a changing room, my actual ass. My fucking anus!

Oh Jesus

, not only that, he touched it and that's not even the start. He fucked it.

Oh God

. And I let him.

I let him.

I feel utterly dreadful. So uncomfortable and so exposed.

What is this feeling?

My mom's a therapist, so I was raised on a steady diet of "name what you're feeling", but

this

feeling? This one's new. It washes over me again and again, until finally, in the early hours of morning, I get it.

Vulnerable.

I feel so intensely vulnerable.

*

The next week or so passes in a thick fog. My libido has taken on a life of its own. I'm out of control, to the extent that most nights, Jess has to tap-out, and that's saying something. It's not for nothing she had the words 'kinky' and 'nympho' in her profile. She seems almost relieved to get her period and gives me a bit of a wide berth for almost a week. Without her for relief, I wank like a fiend. Three, four, five times per day. Worse than when I was a teenager. I use every ounce of my strength not to analyze why this is, or what's caused it. I almost succeed, but only because I'm so busy using every spare minute to jack myself off.

It's been almost two weeks, but the flashbacks from that day are still coming in thick and fast...That bit of skin just above his belt, where I lifted his shirt, the hardness of his body, the way it felt when he held me down on the table, that little sound he made when he entered me, that aching feeling of fullness, but most of all, it's that "maybe I will" that gets me.

My God.

These thoughts appear before me like visions, slamming into my consciousness at unexpected and random times. Intrusive and totally out of my control. Worryingly, I've started compulsively checking my phone. This is concerning for two reasons, firstly, it's a worry simply on the basis of the sheer pathetic-ness of it and secondly, I

know

he doesn't even have my number. I didn't give it to him. Rational thought does nothing to quell this behavior though, and I've just finished taking a surreptitious peek at my phone when Jess says, "Oh, guess what, a bunch of us are going to the beach this week-end." My ears prick up, despite myself.

"Sorry baby," she says with a sympathetic little pout, "it's girls only."

I try my best to sound nonchalant, "Who's going?"

"Ummm, well, it's me, Katie, Liza and..." I don't even hear the rest of the sentence. I'm too busy trying desperately not to think about the fact that he'll be alone, or that I'll be alone. I fail dismally and panic descends.

"Aw, are you sure you have to go?" I whine, hating myself a little for being prepared to ruin her plans, "I'll miss you too much."

She looks at me in surprise. Neither of us have ever been possessive before. This is not who I am. It's not who I want to be, so I pull her close.

"Sorry, babe," I say into her neck, "I don't know what I'm thinking. Of course, you should go. I want you to have fun." She smiles happily and chatters cheerfully about her weekend. My mind wonders;

Is it too soon to check my phone again?

*

The girls leave right after work on Friday and I settle in for a movie and a few drinks with my housemates, Ben and Kippie. Kippie's not his real name, and no-one remembers exactly who or why we started calling him that, all we know is that we just do. I went to college with these guys, they are a handful, for sure, but they're like family. They don't seem to notice that I haven't been myself and I like that about them. The movie is almost done when I hear the familiar buzz of my phone. I lurch up and check it quickly, maybe a little too quickly. It's an unknown number:

My place tomorrow, 17h30

That's it. No

Hi

, no name. Just the assumption that I'll know and the audacity to assume that I'll be there.

I leave him on read all night. I sleep badly. Feelings of dread and inevitability gnawing at me constantly. Finally, after breakfast, I text back. No words, just the thumbs-up emoji. Getting through the day proves to be,

uncomfortable

, for lack of a better word. I make a hideous excursion to a pharmacy to buy a douche. Even typing that makes me cringe. I spend ages on-line, googling best-ass-cleaning-practice before finally, hitting the bathroom for an activity that I would describe as mildly traumatic, at best. The absolute worst of it is the

knowing

. The fact that it's intentional, premeditated. This is so, so much worse than last time, when all I had was a small sense of trepidation, just the merest inkling that something untoward was afoot.

I pull up at his apartment, park my car and just sit there for a few minutes with the engine running.

You don't have to do this,

I tell myself for the hundredth time. But there it is again, that sense of inevitability. Despite myself, despite common sense, social norms and my relationship with Jess, I already know that I'm going to go inside.

*

He's left the door open for me and is sitting on the sofa, a guitar next to him.

Does he play?

I wonder. He's wearing khaki shorts and a white t-shirt that clings to his chest just enough to show the curve of his pecs. He picks up the guitar and leans it carefully against the wall. There's something about the way he moves. Deliberate, almost graceful.

"Oliver." He says, by way of greeting. He pronounces it

Ah-li-ver,

drawing out the first syllable and finishing with a hard R. I can't help it, I like the way it sounds when he says my name.

"Ethan." I respond with a curt nod.

We take a moment to consider each other. We are standing three or four meters apart, and I don't know about him, but I can feel his heat from where I'm standing. He walks over to me. There really is something about the way he moves. So considered. His entire body seems to work in concert with itself.

It isn't fair for someone to be this hot

, I think,

or to have a voice like that, it shouldn't be legal.

It just shouldn't.

He puts his hand flat on my chest and leaves it there for a second, setting me alight, while looking into my eyes, giving me time to notice that they look green today. Flagrantly green, mad flecks of blue and yellow visible from this close.

He shouldn't have eyes like this either.

Also, not fair

.

He starts unbuttoning my shirt. He does it slowly. I don't move, I'm using all my efforts to try not to tremble. He pushes my shirt down off my shoulders. This feels worse this time too. It was easier when my clothes were ripped off and yanked down, when I wasn't sure exactly how it had happened. He hooks his fingers under the band of my shorts and eases them down, kneeling down to pull my shoes off, first one, then the other. He runs his hand over my dick, through the soft fabric of my boxers. My abs clench and quiver noticeably as he pulls them down too. I'm completely naked, he's still on his knees. He reaches for my dick, finding me so hard he has to pull it down carefully to guide it to his mouth.

Jesus Christ! Oh God!

He's actually going to do this.

I'm lightheaded as I lean back against the back of the sofa, taking a little weight off my shaky legs. He looks up at me, and then down at me. I see the breath he expels. I see his hunger, his lust, as he takes me into his mouth. I moan softly from the sweet relief of being inside him, from the warmth of his mouth. He swirls his tongue around my tip, leaving the me dizzy. Just like that, I am that record on the gramophone again, and I'm spinning wildly, out of control, just the same as I did before.

I stand frozen as he blows me, taking a surprising length of me into his mouth. I want to reach down and run my hands through his hair, but I'm not sure what the etiquette is for getting blow jobs from men you hardly know. I keep my arms ramrod straight at my sides, involuntarily clenching and releasing my hands in time with the rhythmic waves of pleasure that are overtaking me.

Too soon, I'm acutely aware that I'm going to explode and its coming at me with the speed of a freight train.

"I'm going to come!" I rasp, as I try to pull away. While I'm still unsure of the etiquette here, I'm almost positive it doesn't include spewing my load in a straight guys' mouth. He glances up at me quickly, before grabbing me by the root and sinking his mouth down on me. I see his desire. His

want

. He wants this as much as I do, and the knowledge of that sends me right over the edge.

I come with enough force to pierce the back of his throat. My knees buckle and I sink down onto the sofa. I'm stunned by the intensity of it. Shocked, shaky. When the mist clears, I look down at him. He's still on his knees, his mouth open, slightly slack-jawed. His eyes dark with desire. I swallow hard and clammer to my feet. He is still wanting, his eyes tracking slowly up my torso. I pull him to his feet. He stands close to me. Too close. There's that heat again. I feel his breath on my neck, as he grinds his hard-on against my hip and says simply, "Bedroom."

I lead the way, acutely aware of my complete nakedness and the fact that his eyes are boring into me like a predator stalking its prey. To my shock, I find that I like it. As soon as we get to his bed though, I'm overcome with nervousness.

What the hell do I do now?

I've spent the past two weeks obsessively thinking about him going down on me, to the extent that not once have I paused and imagined the reverse.

Can I do this? Is this what I want?

He reaches back and drags his t-shirt up and off. I'm sure my eyes bulge at the sight.

God,

he's built. He must live at the gym. His shoulders and chest are broad, narrowing at his hips. His abs are insanely defined, the mere act of breathing, flexing and relaxing them, causing little indents to ripple up and down his belly. I'm transfixed, as I follow those lines, and the indented V that disappears into his shorts. I fumble with his fly, unbuttoning and unzipping nervously, as he helps by stepping out of his shorts and his boxers in one fluid movement.

Holy shit!

My eyes widen in amazement and frankly, I confess I feel a little sense of accomplishment. Surely, the fact that I took all that deserves some sort of special mention or commendation? Easily as long as me and definitely quite a bit thicker. I'm overcome with curiosity,

what does it feel like

? I wonder as I reach down for it,

what does it taste like?

As he pushes me downward.

It turns out, it feels so good that the very first contact sends blood rushing back to my dick. I feel myself thickening, hardening with surprising swiftness. It also tastes good, slightly salty and familiar in a completely unfamiliar way. It's hard to explain, but let's just say I'm left with no doubt whatsoever, that,

yes, I can do this

and

yes, I do want this.

Now, I'm on my knees in front of him, my mouth overflowing with him. He obviously doesn't share my concerns about blow-job etiquette, as his hands are all over me, around my neck, in my hair and finally, gripping me securely by the back of my head. He holds me in place as he gently, but firmly eases himself deeper and deeper.

"Yeah," he says, "get it all wet, just like that." The sound of his voice makes my dick pulse viciously.

I'm gasping for breath, struggling, but not trying to get away. No, I'm struggling to take more. I'm ravenous and he is the very thing I want to devour. I splutter as he uses my mouth. The gargling, slick, hollow sounds leaving me shaken.

"Uh, huh," he says, unsympathetically, as I choke, "That's right...Get back down on there..." guiding me down again, pressing his dick forcefully into my mouth.

Fuck

, I think in a rage,

I can't believe I let him blow me like a bitch, and he's using me like this.

My jaw aches and I gag slightly, as he holds me down a little more with each thrust. Until I pull back, coughing and gasping for air. He leans down to help me up, grabbing my neck again and pulling my ear to his mouth, as he whispers threateningly,

"Let's give your mouth a little break."

Oh shit.

I know what that means - if my mouth is resting, my ass certainly won't be. Fear grips my insides, twisting sharply. I look up at him, waiting, I want him to tell me what to do. But he just looks back at me, his pupils so dilated his eyes look almost black. I can't hold his gaze, so I press my lips together, turn my back on him, crawl onto the bed and assume the position - ass up, face down. The tried and true position of those about to be buggered.