Fucy Friday

This is my submission for the

April Fools Day Story Contest 2023

.

This story is a bit of a weird one, for me at least. But I had this idea, and I thought you folks might like it. I'm sure similar stories have been written before, but I've added in my own twists. It's pretty lighthearted (as much as a noncon story can be, I suppose).

I say this almost every time, but

please

tell me in the comments what you thought, both positive and negative. I love hearing your feedback, and I answer almost every comment.

As always, Enjoy:

.......................................................................

Tuesday, March 31st, 2022. 10:23pm

Lying in bed, I glare at my wife in annoyance. We've been fighting. This is not a particularly unusual experience... not really common, but not exactly strange either. We've been married for a little while now. I imagine it's safe to say that the "magic" of marriage has worn away. I still love her, but that doesn't prevent us from getting into some knockout-dragout fights... like the one we're in now.

Delilah rolls away from me, snatching her pillow, and driving her head into it with an audible huff. In the mirror, I can see her squeezing her eyes shut, as if that will bring sleep on faster. Her wavy blonde hair largely obscures her face, but she doesn't bother fixing it. "I told you for the last time, Anthony! I am

NOT

in the mood!"

I scowl, placing my hand on her shoulder and rolling her back towards me, forcefully. "This isn't fair, 'Lilah," I growl. I know that she can see the aggravation set deep in my eyes. "I don't expect you to fuck me

every single time

I'm in the mood. That'd be unfair of me. But this is the fourth night that I've been horny as fuck, and you won't put out. This is bullshit."

"Get your hand off of me, Anthony!" She says, matching my ferocity. "You had your fun today. You love to

fuck around,

now don't act so surprised when you

find out.

I wanna get to sleep. Leave me alone."

"This is horseshit! You don't have to work tomorrow... So don't act like you need to get to sleep early. This is about the dishes, isn't it? I told you that I would wash them, and I meant it! It isn't my fault that you did them yourself!"

Delilah's lips curl up into a smug, shit-eating grin. "I never said anything about the dishes. If you're feeling guilty, then that's on you. I'm not going to explain everything, as if you're an ignorant child. You love pissing me off. So be it, but now I'm done with your silly games."

I stay silent for a long moment, racking my brain in an attempt to figure out what she's talking about. Finally, it dawns on me. "Are you mad that I pranked you? Seriously?! That was just a harmless April Fools joke! There's no way you're still mad about that. I didn't wipe

actual

shit on you!" I search her face to see if I've hit upon the source of her frustration, but I can't make out any clear answer.

"It isn't even April 1st yet," she growls, distaste thick in her voice. "You can't just pull a prank at any time, and call it an April Fools joke. You got that crap all over my hand, and I almost threw up, Anthony! You know that I have anxiety already. I almost had a panic attack!"

"April Fools is tomorrow... I was only a handful of hours early," I sigh. "I knew I couldn't prank you

on

April 1st. You've gotten too watchful on the actual day. So I did it the day before. Big deal..."

"I was trying to HELP you when you pranked me. You acted like you needed toilet paper, but then you smear fake shit on me as I hand you the roll? You screwed me over when I was trying to assist you! That's so fucked up!"

"But I had to make you think..."

"And you

FARTED

right before I opened the door, so at that moment, the room literally smelled like shit! I was completely convinced that I had your feces all over my hand!" There is a fury in her voice that doesn't match the harmlessness of the prank. She must be mad about something else entirely. The joke I pulled was perfectly benign. I don't know why she's making such a big deal out of it.

"The fart was just a lucky coincidence! I already told you!" I am finding it incredibly difficult to stifle my laughter. The mental image of her gagging with the slimy, chocolate "shit" smeared on her wrist... that was so hilarious.

My situational timing was off though; I do have to admit that. She had just finished the dishes, so she was already pissed when I pranked her. That was unfortunate.

"You are a selfish, self-centered narcissist, Anthony! You just love joking around, and doing your own thing. You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself. I need you to pull your weight at this house and stop goofing around when I'm trying to be serious."

I can feel my anger returning. "Look, that's a really compelling argument and all, but that doesn't change the fact that this is the fourth time that you've come up with some excuse to avoid fucking. Sex is a healthy,

NECESSARY

part of our marriage. I'm not a cheater, so you know that I'm not getting pussy from anyone but you. I'm cool with that... but on the flip side, when I need pussy, you're

literally

my only option."

Delilah glares at me. "So what?"

"So I don't need you to doll up, or talk dirty to me, or anything else. I need you to roll on your fucking back, spread your damn legs, and give me a hole to fuck. I don't even care if you're wet... I'll just spit on my dick."

"You're awful!" She snaps at me angrily. "All you ever think about is yourself and..."

"Oh no!" I interject, quickly. "I would have

preferred

to make passionate love to you. But you didn't want that. Now I'm DEMANDING one of your holes... and you'd

better

comply!"

"Or what?" Her voice is as cold as a gravestone.

Sometimes lines like:

"Or what?"

or

"Whatcha gonna do about it?"

are secretly playful, sexual banter. A devious invitation. Not this time. She's pissed, and she's not giving me an inch.

That's too bad, because I'm pissed too, and I'm about to give her

seven

inches.

"Don't mistake my kindness for weakness, Lilah," I say, my voice somber and deep. "We both know that I'm a hell of a lot stronger than you, and the only thing keeping me outside of your cunt right now is my own self-control. Please,

PLEASE

don't give me an excuse to lose my composure."

"Whatever," she says, with a roll of her eyes. "I'm going to sleep. Go jack off, if you're so damn horny."

I am livid now. I suddenly realize that my dick is hard as a rock, and my fingers are clenched into fists. She thinks that she can ignore me, underestimate me, walk all over me? She's about to learn.

"Have it your way, bitch!" I snap, and I roll her over again. This time I apply a lot more physical exertion, rolling her body under mine and immediately straddling her thighs.

"LET ME GO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" She hisses. Her voice is loaded with lethal venom.

"I tried to be nice!" I retort. " I warned you and you wouldn't fucking listen!" I pin her arms above her head, gripping into her forearms with excessive force.

"You're hurting my wrists, you fucking son of a bitch!" She spits her words at me. I can sense that she's angry at me for defying her wishes, but that isn't what bothers her the most. I'm showing her how helpless she is. That must be the greatest insult of all.

"Play stupid games," I laugh. "Win stupid prizes." I shift my weight, sliding my knee in between her thighs. This requires a decent amount of effort, but I am beyond determined.

"I wanna go to sleep!" She keens, "This isn't right! You're literally raping me!"

"Not yet..." I say, with an innocent grin. "But I'm about to. Now spread your legs!"

Her body is pitching and writhing beneath me. I feel like a cowboy, riding a wild bronco. Except no bronco ever had tits this fine.

To accentuate this point, I move her hands together, and grasp them with my left hand alone. She tries to break the grip, but she's at a terrible angle. Also, what I said before is true, she isn't half as strong as me.

With my right hand free, I move it down to her large breasts. Her thrashing is making them jostle seductively inside her night shirt. She never wears a bra to sleep, and I have never been more happy of that fact.

I reach down the neck of her shirt, stretching the fabric until I can hear the threads beginning to give way. "You're ruining my shirt!" Delilah exclaims, as if she thinks I care. I ignore her comment entirely, as I firmly grasp one of her tits. She gasps, both angry and hurt. And perhaps aroused? Don't know. Don't care. I hope so, but it won't have even the slightest effect on my actions.

I squeeze my fingers into her breasts and savor the soft flesh within my grasp. It's amazing... I know I can't explain why digging my fingers into her tits feels so incredible; I just know that it does. They're like huge, sexy stress-balls, I guess. As I squeeze my fingertips in, I can feel my desire climbing, and my stress dissipating,

Delilah's stress, on the other hand, is rising steadily. She tries to pitch out from under me again, but we both know that if she couldn't do it before, she won't succeed now.

My wife is beautiful and delicate, but that doesn't translate into physical prowess. My own body type isn't anything particularly impressive, but underneath, I still have a lot of muscle. She's feeling every ounce of that muscle now, as she tries desperately to free herself.

I manage to get my legs between hers, and force them apart. She's still trying to free her arms, and isn't paying enough attention to what really matters. I work gradually. First my calves are separating her calves, then my thighs.

It takes a lot of effort to part her legs, but the moment I slide my hips in between her thighs, I relax. She can squeeze all she wants now, and it will just tire her out more. Any rational human would know this, but being controlled, subdued... dominated, like this... it's making it hard for her to form logical thoughts.

The only barrier that remains now is her thin, teal, cotton panties. Too bad. I reach down, lacing my fingers through the soft fabric. With a mighty pull, I snatch her undergarments away. The sound of tearing cloth fills the room, and her panties are reduced to fragments in my grip.

She lets out a hurt gasp. "What are you doing?! Those were perfectly good panties!" Looking down, she realizes how far I've gotten, and she stops trying to free her arms. "Anthony! If your cock even

touches

me, I'm gonna scream bloody murder!"

I shrug. "Scream then, bitch." A vicious smile spreads across my face. If you scream loud enough, maybe the neighbors will call the police. They'll bust in, and all those cops will get a fine look at your naked ass... getting plowed. Won't that be a delicious sight for them?" My eyes widen as I continue. "I'll go to jail, maybe... but then you'll be alone, and everyone will know you as the woman who got raped by her husband."

I chortle, scornfully. "That isn't a very nice title to have. Plus it'll mean you'll definitely be up all night talking to the police. If you really want sleep, you should probably just relax, shut the fuck up, and let me go to work."

I can see my words weaseling their way inside her head. She hates this situation, sure. She doesn't hate me, though... not really. She just wants me to leave her alone, but I'm not gonna. She has to decide if she's willing to lose the life we've built over this one fucking.

Of course not. She was bluffing. I can see moisture forming in her eyes as she realizes that I recognized her play. Her body relaxes slightly.

I've won. Delilah doesn't want to lose me permanently; not over some shit like this... I'm not a bad husband; not really, even though I can be rough around the edges.

Her body shudders, as my cockhead touches her clit. I lower my free hand down, and place it directly on her vaginal opening. I can feel her moistness immediately.

"Damn, Delilah! Your pussy is slicker than a slip-n-slide! You

sure

you don't secretly want this?" I tease her, smiling lustily into her face, and I notice as she blushes in anger and frustration. No part of her mind wants this. Her body on the other hand? It's more than ready. She's ashamed of her womanhood in this instant; I'm certain of it.

Delilah wants autonomy, respect, and equality in our relationship... but her cunt just wants to breed. It loves being violated, penetrated... raped even. It doesn't care one iota about her mental anguish. It

LOVES

my cock. Time to give it what it wants.

I drive my hips forward, burying myself inside her in one swift motion. There is a soft squishing sound, as her womanhood gladly receives my entire length. Her eyes shoot open, as the pleasure and defeat flood in together. My cock is a perfect, custom fit for her, and we both know it. She moans involuntarily, as soon as my sack slams against her entryway.

I can feel her muscles relaxing, as she gives in to the euphoria. There is no reason to fight anymore. I've won, and we're both going to enjoy this. It's inevitable.

I start pistoning in and out of her rapidly, and I can feel her entire demeanor change. A moment ago, she was a wild animal, trying to keep me out. Now, on the other hand, she's a

wilder

animal, trying to force me deeper. I try to plant a kiss on her lips, but she turns her head.

"Oh? We're playing hooker rules? No kissing, just fucking?" There is audible aggravation in my voice.

"You don't deserve kisses, you... ugh!" A moan escapes her lips, unbidden. "...you bastard."

So the fight's still on? I didn't realize. She's going to enjoy my dick, but not give me the satisfaction of acknowledging our love? That's super fucking petty. Too bad, I can be petty too.

I grab one of her nipples and pinch it. She gasps loudly, and I plant a powerful kiss on her open mouth. She shuts her mouth immediately, as if to bite me, but I pull back, shoving her head back down into her pillow.

With one hand, I grip her throat, while I dig into her left breast with the other. My cock is still surging inside her, bathed in moist heaven.

"You're a fucking..." She pauses, trying to focus her words, but she's distracted by the obvious, rising pleasure. "...a fucking son of a bitch."

"I sure am!" I agree with a vicious smile. "You have no idea!" I can feel the orgasmic pressure building, as she wraps her smooth legs around my butt, pulling me closer. "Thank me for fucking you, 'Lilah! Tell me how bad you want it!"

She shakes her head madly. "NO!" She lies, poorly. "I want... ohh.. I want you to stop..."

The sensations from my cock are otherworldly now. It's getting hard to hold back my climax.

"TELL ME YOU WANT TO CUM, 'LILAH! OR ELSE!"

"NOO!" She doubles down on her obvious bullshit. It's a power struggle, and she won't give in... out of spite.

Fine. She wants to be spiteful, I can be spiteful too.

I orgasm immediately, filling her cunt with all my sticky, white cum. I can see the realization dawn on her as she feels my cock pulsing. Waves of ropey semen flood into her, and immediately we both know that I've robbed her of her orgasm.

"WHAT THE FUCK!? ANTHONY! DID YOU JUST CUM?!? I WAS SO DAMN CLOSE! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!?" There is a raw, palpable anger in her voice now, perhaps even more intense than before.

"You said you didn't want me inside you," I reply coldly, as I draw my slimy cock out of her. "So I got out. I gave you ample warning."

My grin is cruel and selfish. It's just as much of a shit-eating grin as she had earlier. I tell myself that she got what she deserved, but part of me feels bad.

As my arousal slowly fades, my rationality begins returning. That was a shitty thing to do. Taking her against her will wasn't exactly

nice.

But stealing her climax was the cherry on the shit-sundae.

"You are

SUCH

and asshole, Anthony!" She wails, and suddenly I realize that she's kind of right. I felt as if I had plenty of justifications for my actions in the moment, but that doesn't help either one of us now. I fought fire with fire... but only she got burned. When my hormones were raging, I didn't care, but now I feel remorseful. I

do

actually love her, and I don't like to see her hurt. I am a real bastard sometimes.

Nevertheless, I refuse to apologize. She was an asshole too. If I say that I'm sorry now, I'll only be admitting weakness. It's better to stay strong, at least for the moment.

"Good night, Delilah." I mutter, rolling over and pulling up my boxers.

She takes her pillow like a club and hits me over the head. It doesn't really hurt, but it's her way of venting frustration. She's REALLY pissed now. Time to ride out the storm.

She spends the next 10 minutes verbally berating me. I don't bother responding. No words can help at this point... except, maybe an apology. And I've already decided not to do that.

After about 15 minutes, she tires herself out and rolls over, in an attempt to fall asleep. I can hear soft sobs from her side of the bed. If I were in her shoes, I'd go rub one out... but she doesn't really think like that. The intimacy is what she longs for. That's what I stole from her tonight. I got everything I wanted from the sex, and I left her with nothing. Fuck. I wish I hadn't been so cruel.

If she wasn't so angry, we could always go for round two, and I could get her off that way. But there's

no fucking way

she's gonna let me back inside her again tonight.

I fully realize that I should be apologizing right now and trying to comfort her... but I don't. I just sigh and close my eyes.

I'll try to make it up to her in the morning. We'll see...

.......................................................................

Friday, April 1st, 2022. 7:15am

The morning sunshine is illuminating the blinds of our bedroom window, and I can feel myself slowly regaining consciousness. I slept like a stone last night; going to bed right after sex always grants you the deepest sleep.

I notice one strange sensation, though. I'm feeling a deep sense of sexual frustration. I mean, I'm

really

horny right now, as if I haven't fucked in a year. I know I just got some last night, but my brain is telling me otherwise. If Delilah is in the mood for some makeup sex, I'm

totally

down for it. I won't hold my breath though.

Opening my eyes, I realize something is really out of place. Somehow I ended up on Delilah's side of the bed. That's weird. I can see her nightstand, with all her makeup and feminine products, sitting below her massive vanity mirror. Did I roll over her somehow in my sleep? Did she roll over me? I have no memory of either.

Maybe she got out of bed last night, and then when she came back... she crawled onto my side of the bed...? Why would she do something so out of the ordinary? It's bizarre. I can't remember anything like this ever happening before. She must have crawled over to my side at some point... that doesn't upset me or anything. It's just so abnormal.

I blink, as I look into the bedroom vanity. Blinking a second time, I feel a strange sense of confusion. The reflection in front of me confounds all logic. I can only see Delilah in the mirror. Well, I suppose I can see myself... but my reflection is

behind

hers. It's like I'm seeing through her. I can't even see my own eyes... just hers, staring back at me.

So she's awake. Judging from the expression on her face, she doesn't look angry right now. That's good. Maybe she's forgiven me for being an asshole last night. I certainly hope so. Because, damn, I am

seriously

horny as hell.