Fuced

Fucked By My Brothers Best Friend

By: AnonymousNin.

One

Now

When I was eighteen, my brother's best friend, Thomas Rossenburg, would fuck me.— I hesitate to say rape: neither of us knew what rape was. At the time, we lived in a tiny, Christian, town in a northern part of Virginia. This was well prior to mandatory Sex Education, and our town was fighting the good Lords battle to keep it that way.

I also hesitate to say rape because I do not, to this day even, know if I find any fault with Thomas as a person, we were both young knowing nothing about sex.

Two

Then

The first time Thomas fucked me was on a summer evening.

Earlier that day, Thomas had come over to our house to hang out with my older brother, Owen, and at some point in the day he had left his hat somewhere. Thomas, having scolded himself for losing yet another article of clothing, rushed back to our house in a frantic search.

My brother Owen and I lived with just our mother, who often worked late into the evening, and it just so happened that Owen was down at the park fooling around with his girlfriend, at least I assume: meaning it was just me at home when Thomas arrived in search of his cap.

Three

"Hey Angie" Thomas said, "long time no see."

"Yeah, it's been awhile. Gross, you're wearing that same white t-shirt again," I replied, following Thomas's lead.

"I know, I know, it's just that I can't seem to find my hat, you know the New York one. "

"Ah, I don't know if it's here, but let's go check Owen's room," I said.

And with that we bounded up the stairs.

I entered Owen's room first, and I immediately spotted his hat and hid it behind my back. I then stood off to the side of the room.

Thomas rushed into the room and began his boyish turning over of things, making the room an even bigger mess, and multiplied all the potential hiding spots.

Thomas's frustration visibly increased with each failed search of the room, and his face began to turn red. Watching Thomas's frustration, I couldn't help but giggle from my little corner, and I placed his hat firmly on my head.

"What is it that you are so happy about Angie?" Thomas asked, giving up his search.

He shifted his gaze to my adorned head, "that's not funny Angie, screw you".

But I, still gripped by my giggles, shot off like a dart towards my room. Thomas chased me, and I barely made it inside my doorway when he tackled me and pinned me to the floor face down, his weight sitting on my back.

Victorious in his search, Thomas snatched the hat off of my head and placed it onto his own,

At that moment I could tell that something funny was going on: Thomas had his hat back, yet the nineteen year old just sat there, triumphant, with all his weight on top of me— keeping me pinned down to the floor.

"Get up Thomas, I can't breathe," I said.

"Yeah, well you deserve it," Thomas replied

The raw sense of frustration in Thomas's voice was still there.

Thomas sat there on top of me for a good minute or so, as he slowly suffocated me from behind.

When I was completely out of breath, Thomas threaded his hands inside the waistband of my shorts and panties and pulled them down revealing my privates.

"Here, how do you like it, being made fun of," Thomas said, and he spanked me— hard.

I let out a little scream, or I would have if I could. I now found myself choking. unable to breath. I thought I was going to cry from the sting of Thomas's spank. My face grew hot, I was afraid that at any moment Owen or Mom would walk in and see my spanked butt.

I began to cough and sputter, and Thomas knew I was not lying when I said I couldn't breathe, He shifted himself off my lower back and layed on top of me— still keeping me pinned to the floor, his pelvis now pinned down mine.

This was not a fair fight, I must have been 115 pounds and Thomas, at least 170 at the time.

I was able to breath again; but Thomas's hands began to move. He pulled down my pants and panties even further, till they were down at my ankles, preventing me from moving my legs— and he gave me another harsh spank.

"How do you like being made fun of Angie," Thomas repeated.

"Stop, stop, you win Thomas, you win,' I replied.

That's right, I win,".

I was breathing heavy; I heard a small "zip." Thomas began to shift his weight on top of me— and I felt a pressure beginning to build against my privates.

Thomas slowly entered me as he kept me pinned, and it hurt.

"What are you doing, Thomas, you win," I said

Thomas did not reply, but I could hear him begin to breathe heavily, as he shifted back and forth on top of me, the pressure in my privates waxing and waning. My nipples hardened and began to chafe being rubbed against the floor.

Thomas moaned, and the pressure on my privates stopped. I could now feel a wetness growing on the back of my shirt.

Four

From that day on, everytime Thomas would come over to hang out with Owen, at some point, when Owen was not paying attention, Thomas would sneak up to my room, pin me down on the floor, and moan until the back of my shirt was wet.

Thomas always took me face down on the floor, and would spank me hard if he knew no one was around to hear.

I did not know what Thomas was doing to me, and felt no need, nor desire, to tell anyone. Eventually I came to accept that this was just what boys and girls did, or rather, what boys did to girls.

After the fifth time Thomas pinned me down and took me, I got in the habit of removing my pants and laying face down on my floor in my panties to make the process easier for him. I would even save my favorite pink panties for days when I knew he was coming over.

Five

The last time Thomas pinned me down, he kissed my neck until he came.

For the first time, I felt his lips and tongue; his warm breath; his muscles keeping me in place— all as the pressure built against my privates, growing wetter— it was too much this time. My body betrayed me; my pelvis rocked back and forth against his.

I whimpered; the muscles in my legs cramped up. Thomas was unrelenting with his moans and kisses against my neck.

I could not stop myself from shaking and rocking; the pressure on my private parts waxing and waning; Thomas moaned into my ear; I whimpered into the floor— until he made my back wet.

Thomas went down the stairs, and i layed there in my wetness,l whimpering, rocking my pelvis into the floor.

Six

Now

Summer ended, and I went off to college where I had my very first Sexual Education class— and even then, I still failed to put the pieces together on what Thomas had done to me.

That discovery did not come till years later, when I told one of my boyfriends (now husband) about my first sexual experience. My then boyfriend told me that I had been raped by Thomas.

As a grown woman, I look back at the last time Thomas fucked me. I am torn: on the one hand Thomas took me without my consent, given, this was before either of us knew what consent was. Yet, on the other hand, I find myself waking in the middle of the night, wet, having dreamt of him— pinning me down.

And even now, even when I am with my husband— who I know loves me very much— a small, well hidden, part of me thinks of the times I awaited Thomas on the floor of my room: my pretty pink panties on, wet with nervous anticipation. For him to come in, kiss my neck, grind my nipples into the carpet— as I let out the occasional whimper. For him to moan in my ear as the pressure built and built against my privates. For him to be inside me until I could not help but grind back into him— and for him to walk down the stairs, leaving me on the floor.