The Night … You Let the Right John In
WARNING: Dark smut. Minors look away. And always use protection irl.
To the Hamfam. Your collective wickedness and insatiable thirst brighten my days.
Summary: You’ve (F) never met anyone with eyes that sparkled in the dark quite like John’s (M). You blurted it out to him, not too long ago, when the two of you were taking an evening walk together. Why you don’t know, but he has a unique ability to reduce you to a blushing schoolgirl with the raising of a jet-black brow …
You can hear his breath hitch as you slowly cross the small living room towards the couch, placing one bare foot in front of the other on the old wooden floorboards until you’re standing in front of him, looking down.
He leans back a little then, pelvis subtly shifting forward as he does so. His handsome features are filled with questions, a hint of suspicion and, unless the shadows on his face are playing tricks on you, a dash of awe.
He places his half-empty coffee mug on the small side-table, careful not to bump it against the lamp. The lamp whose golden glow is currently the sole source of light in the house.
The way it illuminates only the right side of John’s face makes his gorgeous, ever expressive brown eyes with their thick lashes look otherworldly to you.
You’ve never met anyone with eyes that sparkled in the dark quite like John’s.
You blurted it out to him, not too long ago, when the two of you were taking an evening walk together.
Why you don’t know, but he has a unique ability to reduce you to a blushing schoolgirl with the raising of a single jet-black brow.
You had felt your cheeks go hot with embarrassment, but John had only smiled a strange little smile that you had interpreted as shyness.
He’s a stranger to compliments concerning his looks. Weird as that sounds.
Now, there’s an expectant stiffness to his posture on the couch as he watches you.
You take the bait, and step between his legs, which he readily spread a bit more to allow you space.
After craning your neck to longingly gawk at his face for weeks, this new vantage point feels so exciting, so filled with new possibilities it gives you goosebumps.
As well as a throbbing ache between your legs.
And you haven’t even touched him yet.
Nor has he made any attempt to touch you.
You didn’t expect him to even if, particularly over the last couple of days, you have become certain that not only does he want to, he longs to.
It’s in the way his gaze gets lost in your movements when he thinks you’re not looking.
The way his voice turned suddenly uncharacteristically croaky when, yesterday, he took up all the space in your tiny hallway and you had to edge past him to close the front door and he apologized, endearingly, for being in the way, for imposing so.
As if you weren’t the one who had invited him in.
He makes a show of respecting your boundaries, that much is clear.
Not that you have set any. Quite the opposite.
You’ve desired him, every fibre of his dizzyingly tall, mysterious being from the minute you first laid eyes on him. Despite of how the circumstances of your initial meeting made it all so wrong.
So shameful and bizarre.
That you should harbour such impure thoughts in that moment.
But alas, the heart wants what it wants.
And what it currently wants is for you to seat yourself in John's lap. Naked.
He told you his real name. That means something.
He’s not moving on the couch, but the fast rise and fall of his chest betrays his calm resolve. You’d be surprised if he wasn’t hard already.
You bend down to cradle his face between your hands, and your long hair falls forward like a veil around you both, shielding you from imaginary prying eyes.
“John…” you whisper, lips now inches from his.
He is holding his breath now, but his eyes are wide, unblinking, as they meet yours with a new intensity that nearly makes you lose your footing.
“I’m going to kiss you,” you say softly, and the man swallows and nods, lips already parting.
And so, you do. Kiss him.
Tentatively, chastely at first, then with building passion as he leans into your touch, sighing with what you imagine is starvation for intimacy.
Your mouths melt together so naturally it shocks you both, and the sensation of tongues meeting, exploring, elicits soft moans.
At that, his hands come up to caress your face in return, lightly thread through your hair as if it was precious silk, before moving down your body to rest on either side of your waist.
Where just before he was sitting so passively, he now pulls you closer till you almost fall over, and you have to steady yourself gripping the back of the couch behind his head.
You both grin into each other’s mouths.
Finally, you seem to be on the same page.
You’re about to eagerly place a knee next to him on the couch to lower yourself down onto his lap, when he suddenly winces and breaks the kiss, and you quickly stand up again, letting go of him for fear you may have overstepped after all.
A kiss is a kiss, but maybe taking it further is still somehow too complicated for him.
No matter that, yes, he definitely is very, very hard. The bulge in his pants literally speaks volumes of his need for you.
“I’m sorry,” you begin. “I didn’t mean to force …”
“No.” John reaches for your hand and squeezes it, his palm so hot to the touch you briefly worry if he’s feverish.
His eyes are pleading.
“I do want this. I want… I …”
He stumbles over the words, fingers nervously rubbing the back of your hand, and you look to the floor to give him a moment of privacy to gather his thoughts.
When you look up again after a beat, the earnestness on his face just about makes you melt into a puddle on the floor.
“I want you,” he says, quietly but with conviction, and another wave of pulsing heat shoots straight to you core.
Your underwear is long soaked through, of course, as his scent alone seems to communicate with the utmost horniest parts of your primal brain whenever he’s even remotely close.
It’s intoxicating, and more than once in the weeks of you two getting closer, you’ve wanted to spontaneously burry your face in his shirt, or the crook of his neck (if only you could reach that far up) and inhale his very essence like a fine drug.
John tugs at your hand, a reassuring smile spreading on his face and banishing the shadows of whatever demons it is he carries around with him.
The ones that have him hunching his shoulders whenever he gets lost in thought, making it seem like he could fold in on himself and disappear.
You want to ask him a million questions about his past, his pain, how someone so startling good-looking and charming came to be the way he is.
Came to be here.
But he’s not ready. Yet.
Hopefully one day soon.
“Come back to me,” he says now, and you step forward again.
“I would never want to hurt you,” you say.
“You won’t. But…um.” His smile turns slightly sheepish. “You may have to help me a little here.”
Could it be that…? No, surely not.
Your fingers find the top button of his shirt, and he visibly flinches when you work it open. The shirt he always wears (except when … no, you won’t think about that now).
“John, have you … I mean, are you…”
You almost can’t get yourself to ask, he’s a grown man, for Christ’s sake. Older than you.
Still, a part of you feels stupid for assuming. You don’t know what his life has been like.
He lets out a short chuckle that may be more of a snort and shakes his head. You can’t tell if he’s sad or amused.
“No. I’m not,” he says and inwardly you breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’m just…well, I haven’t… like this … in a while.”
He looks down.
“I’m afraid I’m not in very great shape.”
You cup his chin with your hand and gently tilt his face so you can lock eyes with him again, your thumb smoothing away at old frown lines at the side of his mouth.
“Bad breakup?” you ask, too coyly, and feel even more stupid than before when his eyes narrow.
“I guess you could say that.” There is a slight strain to his voice, and you silently curse yourself for poking, even if you were mostly joking (mostly … ).
You don’t want to ruin the moment, now that you have finally arrived at it after circling each other.
John sighs with something that might be melancholia, might be something murkier. Then he shakes it off, literally shaking his shoulders like ridding himself of a mare, and smiles once more, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“I promise you, you’re not taking advantage,” he says and winks at you in a way that makes you want to giggle.
All will be well, it seems.
There’s so much of him and you want it all.
Inside you and on you.
Although that last part may not be the best way to go – it might be better if you take charge, his ‘situation’ considered.
No need to accidentally put him in an awkward position, so to speak.
That’s fine. You can work around it.
You’re about to straddle him on the couch when you suddenly have another impulse.
Letting go of him, you instead get down on your knees between his legs, placing your palms on his shins before slowly running them up.
John raises his eyebrows in surprise, shifting a little uneasily.
“Just sit still, John, and let me take care of you” you whisper, the new, sensual tone in your voice causing him to inhale sharply.
“I’ll be good to you. And you can just let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”
He nods silently, and you massage the inside of his thighs, fingers drawing little patterns on the fabric, applying increasingly more pressure the closer you get to his belt.
He looks spellbound, his breathing now short and shallow.
When you work his belt open, then his zipper, he lifts his hips a little off the couch to aid the process along, and you pull the garment down without easing it all the way off his legs, so that instead his long limbs are effectively tied at the ankles.
Still plenty of room to maneuverer in, but not enough for him to change positions in a hurry.
His erection is straining against his boxers, and he hisses between his teeth when you trail his length with your fingernails.
“Tell me you want me, John.” You squeeze your hand around his cock and feel it twitch under the thin layer of cloth.
His eyes are hazy with desire now, his hands making fists on either side of him.
When he reaches for you, you swat him away with your free hand.
“No touching just yet,” you smirk, and he leans back again with a cute, semi-frustrated groan.
“I want you,” he says plainly. Stating a fact.
You squeeze his cock a bit more. He gasps, jaw clenching hard.
“More than anything. Please…”
Satisfied, you hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pull them down, finally coming face to face with his entire length, so perfectly big and smooth and already glistening, you instinctively clench.
You can’t wait to feel him stretch your walls, filling every inch of you to the point of pleasurable pain.
But first …
Taking hold of the base, you lick a wet line all the way up the underside of his cock, and his head lolls back as he groans loudly.
It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him curse.
How delicious to make him unravel.
You twirl your tongue around the head, meanwhile lightly pumping your hand up and down the shaft, and shivers run through his body, making his flesh tremble under the palm of your other hand still on his thigh.
When you take him in your mouth suck lightly, flicking your tongue against him, he can’t stifle a bark, and you would have snickered was it not because you have your mouth so full it would make you choke on him.
You try to relax your jaw as much as you can as you bob your head up and down, gradually taking more and more of his cock in while still massaging the base and casually stroking his balls now and again.
His helpless moans spur you on, as does the fact that he’s quite obviously trying to keep from thrusting forward, and you run your hand up his stomach and under his shirt. His skin there is as hot to the touch as his hands.
When you start to work him faster with your mouth, moans turn into rapid gasps, and you realize he won’t last much longer if you continue. It has been a while for him.
Better not push your luck, as you really, really want to get in on the action too.
You pull back and let his cock flop onto his stomach with a moist smack, and you stand up as gracefully as you can with sore knees, and pull your t-shirt over your head.
John watches you with his mouth half open and a look in his eyes like he wants to devour you.
It would be close to menacing if he wasn’t so hot that you absolutely want him to bite into you.
Another time (praying to all things unholy and horny) you’d die to see that look burn into you while his tongue and fingers invade you.
As sorrowful and fumbling as he can appear during the day, you’re struck with a strong suspicion that maybe, just maybe he could be hiding a master’s degree in eating out young women.
There’s hunger lurking in the corners of his eyes as he takes in the curves and valleys of your body.
When you unbutton your denim shorts and slide them down your legs suggestively, those same eyes seem to go nearly feral with want, and you feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand up from the thrill of being wanted like this.
It’s been a long time for you too. You almost forgot about your own sexual powers.
Shorts off and kicked to the side, you unhook your bra and work the straps down your arms, then – trying not to feel the tiniest bit self-conscious – you pull your delicate underwear down and gingerly step out of it, casually flipping your hair over your shoulder as you do so and hoping it just may look like the most erotic shampoo add, John’s ever seen.
Not that he appears to be watching much tv.
When you finally lower yourself onto his lap, placing a knee on each side of his body, he puts his hands on your thighs, as carefully as if he’d never touched a naked human being before.
You snake your arms around his neck and lean in to pretend-bite his lower lip. He sighs needily.
“Yes, you can touch me,” you say, and John wastes no time running his hands up your flesh and around you to grab your ass and pull you flush against him.
You both moan as you grind over his cock, and something about him still being almost fully dressed and you being naked, pressing your body to his, is such an added turn on.
While kissing him, you reach down between you to grab hold of his length and lift yourself up a little so you can position him against your dripping entrance.
“Yes, please, yes…”, he pants into your mouth, but you’re not about to give him everything at once.
Lowering yourself down slowly, you let the wide head of his cock penetrate you, savouring with a gasp how big he feels, before lifting yourself off him again.
He whimpers in protest and tightens his grip on your ass.
Still, he stops clear of thrusting up into you, or forcing you down.
Though he easily could.
His strong fingers are already marking you, you’re sure.
“Be a good boy and sit still, John,” you whisper in between kisses, hoping he won’t be turned off by a little dirty talk.
You needn’t have worried. His cock twitches, and he readily obeys, stilling all movement.
Holding his length like a toy, you lower yourself onto him again, deliberately clenching hard and forcing a mewl from John’s lips. You move up and down over the head a few times, only allowing for shallow penetration to tease him, all the while wanting to scream out loud yourself at how amazing it feels.
With your free hand, you cradle his neck and lean in to plant sloppy kisses on his throat above the collar of his shirt, causing deep groans to rumble through his chest.
You lower yourself down further on his cock, feeling the muscles in your thighs quiver, and John buries his face in your neck and gasps while digging his (blessedly short) nails into your ass cheeks.
“Are you determined to torture me, woman?” he growls, and his breath is fire on your skin.
“I think you like a bit of torture,” you say. “Who knows, maybe you even deserve it…”
You instantly regret adding the last part, it’s too risqué, and worry that John will take offence.
Instead of saying anything back, one his hands lets go off your ass and comes up to lightly close around your throat.
He’s not applying the least bit of pressure, but the dominant nature of the gesture alone drives your lust to new heights, and you whimper. His eyes burn right into your soul.
“Maybe I do…”
And then, without warning, he turns the tables, disregarding your previous order and thrusting up into you so hard, you scream in surprise.
His cock stretches you further than anyone ever has before, and as he buries himself in you to the brim, you grip his shoulders, nearly tearing his shirt at the seams.
He’s so big, but then he starts moving and you find a rhythm that has you grinding your clit against his groin with every thrust.
He’s holding your ass with both hands again now, both steadying you and resolutely guiding you up and down on his cock, and all pretence of you toying with him have gone out the window.
You’re completely at his mercy.
You probably were from the beginning.
Still, his movements are limited from his legs being ‘bound’, and his thrusts become more frustrated, more erratic, as he chases his high.
Your own orgasm is approaching fast, partly from your clit being stimulated, partly from his cock hitting all new spots so deep inside you, and partly from the electrifying feeling of being taken.
You want him to do more, you realize. You want him to punish you.
To ravish you in all the ways you’ve never let any other lover do.
Apparently, your kryptonite is a man who appears all mild-mannered and slightly lost 85 percent of the time before suddenly turning into a beast of teeth and claws and a rock-hard, terrifyingly perfect cock willing to fuck your brains out.
You can feel said cock throbbing inside you, but right when you think he’s about to come before you, John pulls you closer against him so instead of moving up and down, you’re now grinding back and forth, causing perfect, intense friction between your clit and the base of his member.
“I want to feel you come”, he pants, and lowers his face to your chest to lavish kisses on your breasts, taking first the left, then the right nipple between his teeth and flicking his tongue at it, much in the same fashion you treated his cock.
And that’s what it takes.
With him buried deep in you and your nipple in his mouth, you come apart, champagne rushing through your bloodstream and mind going completely, blissfully blank as you gasp to the ceiling. You’re all fizzing nerve ends and clenching spasms, and John wraps his arms tightly around you, crushing you to his chest as his cock pulses deep inside you and he groans into your hair.
Afterwards, you sit like that for a long time, both gasping into each other’s necks, your arms slung limply around John’s broad shoulders, your skin sticking to his equally damp shirt.
If possible, he smells even better to you now than he did before.
When you finally straighten up, kissing his jawline along the way, the strange expression on his face takes you aback.
His eyes are not exactly vacant, and yet … somehow he seems suddenly far, far away.
His cock is still inside you, softening. You’re vaguely aware that his cum will be running down your inner-thighs whichever way you stand up.
There’s really no lady-like trick to scooping up a handful of semen before it hits your couch.
“John…?” you say, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt. “Where did you go?”
“Huh?” As if he’d flicked a switch, the light returns to his features.
He runs his hands tenderly up and down your naked back, and smiles in that disarming way that he does, that brings out the adorable crinkles around his eyes. “I’m right here.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you in for a kiss, and everything is right and warm.
When you break away, he bares his teeth in a cheeky grin. “That was amazing.”
“It was alright”, you smirk back at him, before squealing as he immediately tickles your side.
“Such a tease,” he hums, satisfied with your wild squirming in his lap, and the intimacy of your banter makes your heart thrum so loudly he surely must be able to hear it.
“Okay, okay, I give up” you whine, and his fingers halt their dance.
“It was great. You’re great, John.”
He smiles victoriously, and you can’t help but laugh. Boys will be boys, it seems.
Your curiosity about his past is nearly killing you, though. So, he’s clearly not a novice when it comes to sex, thank God, nor is he as reluctant to taking what he wants as you first thought.
But there’s old heartbreak there.
Possibly mixed with a strong dose of not-quite processed grief, you’re guessing.
Your mouth is dry, and his cock is finally sliding out of you, and so you get up from his lap, predictably clumsily, and make for the kitchen on unsteady legs to get some water for the both of you.
And paper tissues.
You don’t turn on the light and as you stand by the sink and turn the faucet, you look out into the moonlit back garden of your house.
At the end of it, the forest rises up, dark and quiet, but always alive with its own secret universe.
You love living out here so close to the wild, even if you are quite far from the small community’s only convenience store (notoriously stocked with so few items it makes a mockery of the title).
You’re filling water in the first glass when John comes up right behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
You almost drop the glass in the sink, and the man chuckles before kissing your shoulder.
It never ceases to amaze and somewhat annoy you just how damn quiet he can be.
A man of his size shouldn’t be able to sneak around like that.
His chest is bare against your back. He has taken off his clothes after all.
“Did you miss me already?” you ask, leaning back against him, pressing your ass lightly into his naked groin.
“Mmm, maybe,” he whispers, tightening his grip on you.
There’s something a little possessive about it, like he’s holding on to a prize.
You don’t mind being his.
Neither do you mind it when his hands slide down your front.
You put the glass in the sink and turn off the water, and then you have to grip the edge of the kitchen counter hard as John’s fingers find your wet sex and begin exploring.
You can feel his erection growing. Man’s got stamina.
You spread your legs and bend over the counter as he slides his fingers between your folds and around the edges of your entrance, purring at the wetness.
“I’m afraid I may have to take advantage, with you like this …” John says in a slow, low baritone voice that makes your own desire spike again. Even if you’re a little sore after him stretching you wide.
“Yeah?” you shoot back, already breathless. “And what if I refuse you?”
John presses his cock against your ass, and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back.
Lightly but as assertively as when his fingers closed around your throat earlier.
“…I might just take you anyway,” he whispers before kissing your ear.
And though you’re certain he’s joking judging by everything you know about his kind character (which, admittedly isn’t that much), his flat delivery makes your core positively ignite with twisted yearning.
Oh, you’re ready to play along with this.
“I refuse,” you gasp, challenging outraged damsel as best you can without giggling with excitement.
John picks up on the game straight away.
He must have a natural fetich for roleplay. Which in a way suits a man who seems like he’s trying to escape himself a lot of the time during the day.
“Right,” he drones darkly, half-failing to disguise the glee creeping into his own voice. “If you won’t cooperate, I have no other option but to restrain you…”
You’re about to say something back, when he lets go of your hair and quickly pulls both your arms back, almost causing to fall face first onto the counter if it wasn’t for him holding you.
You try to straighten up, but he forces you down, hands securely behind your back.
You yelp in surprise when you feel him quickly tying something around your wrists, but he only shushes you.
He must have taken a belt or a tie or something with him when he followed you in here.
He knew what he was going to do.
Sometimes those with the kinks are the last ones you’d suspect.
What devilish delights.
You’re starting to doubt that you’ll make it to mass tomorrow.
When he’s done tying your wrists together, John positions you on the counter like he was moving a doll around.
Only your toes reach the floor, and despite going along for this weird ride, you feel completely, defencelessly exposed as you’re lying there.
Your heart is beating fast when John takes a step back behind you, perhaps to survey the scene.
Then he’s between your legs again, and you shudder as one of his fingers slides into you almost experimentally. When you gasp with lust, he slides in another finger.
“Mmm, I have to say, I enjoy looking at you from this…new angle,” he says in his low growl. “So helpless and wet…just waiting for me to give you what you need.”
Someone’s certainly gotten a confidence boost.
He moves his fingers in and out of you while stroking himself with his other hand, it sounds like, but soon your own moans are so insistent you don’t notice much else.
He keeps working you, shifting between fingering you and reaching further under you to tease your clit, and you’re objectively impressed at how fast he has you right back at the precipice of another orgasm.
Of course, he doesn’t let you come yet, though.
The counter is a bit low, and you figure John must be bending his knees behind you as he rubs the head of his now fully erect cock against your cunt again and proceeds to enter you in one long, maddeningly slow thrust.
Even now, you have to adjust to the size of him, but after sheathing himself completely in you, he doesn’t give you long to recover before he pulls almost all the way out again, only to thrust into you so hard, the edge of the counter digs into your hips.
You cry out, and he stops at once.
“Of course, of course…” he’s muttering, “so sorry, I didn’t think.”
It’s meant for you, but it sounds like he’s talking to himself.
He leaves you for a second, and you can hear him grabbing one of the kitchen towels hanging from the hook on the door to the garden.
Then he’s back, folding the cloth and pushing it under you on the counter.
Thoughtful. For someone who has tied you up without asking first, that is.
A small gesture representing the mystifying duality within.
“All good?” he asks politely, and you smile though of course he can’t see it from where he’s standing.
“Yes, we’re good,” you reply, breaking ‘character’.
It’s the last coherent thing to leave your mouth for the next several minutes, as John proceeds to fuck you like he hasn’t had sex in half a century.
And here you were just a short while ago, concerned about hurting him.
The vulgar sounds of his hips snapping against your ass, and the wet noises of his cock invading you over and over fill the kitchen, the house and possibly the entire forest behind it, and when he reaches around your body to fondle your clit, you whimper so pathetically, it makes John laugh, even if he’s quite out of breath too now.
“You really do this, don’t you?” he asks huskily and bends over you, and you’re about to scream, yes, fucking yes, and please don’t stop, when you remember ‘the game’.
“N-no,” you gasp, squirming under him for good measure. “Let me go!”
John straightens up and gives your ass a light smack with an open palm.
“Now, little girl, behave yourself,” he scolds you.
“Although … I think, I know just what you need…”
He’s still thrusting into you, but with less force, and you’re startled when you feel his fingers circling your other hole.
Before you can ask what’s he up to, he works a finger into you, and suddenly you’re squirming for real.
It’s not that the feeling is unpleasant, but you’ve never had anyone pay any interest to that part of you before, and you don’t know if you’re ready for the adventure right now.
“John, don’t…” you pant, but once again he shushes you. This time though, he also places his other hand flat on your back to keep you from moving.
“Just relax, you’ll like it, I promise,” he’s saying, his voice oddly detached again, and you realize he’s not just ‘exploring’.
His cock is still moving inside you, but now he’s pumping a finger in and out of your tight ass as well, and the feeling is fast sending you spiralling.
Obviously, John notices.
“That’s a good girl, just come for me. That’ll make it much easier…”
Easier? Oh god, what is he going to do?
You seriously doubt he’ll hurt you, but even so you feel uncomfortable at how much at his mercy you are if things do take a turn into (more) unwelcome territory.
Twisted desires or not.
You want to take back some form control, and the only way right now would be not to come.
Except your body wants differently.
And when John makes an attempt at inserting another finger into your ass, while thrusting deep with his cock at the same time, you’re pushed over the edge, moaning so noisily you embarrass yourself.
You haven’t come even halfway down from your orgasm when he pulls out of you, cock and fingers, and repositions you a bit.
“Ah yes, this definitely fits the height a little better,” he says, and you know exactly what he means when his cock now grazes your ass quite a bit higher up than before.
“Please, John, don’t…”, you snivel, still in the throes of your orgasm, but he’s already dipping what feels like several fingers into your cunt to gather up wetness, before coating the rim of your other hole, and working the juices into you with his long, prodding digits.
You’re feeling panicky. He’s too big. It won’t work.
“Try to relax…” John says, now completely ignoring your continued pleas for him to stop, and you tearing at your bonds.
And then the head of his cock is pressing against your ass, slowly spreading you in a way you’ve never, ever experienced before.
“That’s it, just take it…” hums the man behind you and continues to reach around you to rub your clit, taking advantage of you ebbing climax to coach your body to open up more.
The feeling of being penetrated anally is so overwhelming, soon you can’t do anything but grunt into the kitchen counter as he slowly guides his cock into you.
It’s painful, yes, but coupled with John’s methodical ministrations to your clit, at the same it’s one of the most intense sexual sensations you’ve ever been subject to.
You don’t know if you’re going to pass out or come a third time, or both.
John doesn’t attempt to thrust all the way into you, thankfully, but stops at what feels about halfway, before he starts moving in and out of you, setting a steady pace all the while rubbing your sex.
Whenever you tense up too much, he applies more pressure to your sensitive nub, and whether you want to or not, the pleasure makes your muscles relax, allowing him to pick up speed.
Even though he never buries his full length in you, that doesn’t keep him from fucking you more forcefully, and without being able to see his face, from his groans and laboured breathing there’s no doubt that he’s exercising all his restraint to keep from letting go, and truly pounding into you.
When he massages your clit with more purpose, you know what he wants, and sure enough you feel his thrust start to become more uneven as he approaches his own orgasm.
Your pride wants to hold back to spite him, even more so than before, but, like before, there’s no way you’ll be able to.
And though you bite your lower lip to keep silent, by now John has figured out exactly how to touch you to make you sing.
And so, he presses on, fingers so slick with your juices and his own cum from before slipping and sliding over your nub, even into your cunt, until you give him exactly what he’s after, and your grunts turn to cries like a bitch in heat.
Good thing your inner feminist is so occupied with having her rational, strongly independent brains fucked out that she can’t disown you for getting off on John realizing your most secret, shameful rape fantasy right here in your own kitchen.
In less than an hour, you’ve effectively gone from fearing he was a blushing virgin to being bound and assaulted anally by a man who has abso-fucking-lutely had a lot of sex in his previous life.
However far back in time it may have been.
His intensified attack on your already way, way overstimulated sex makes you crash, screaming and shaking, into the most mind-blowing, laws-of-nature-defying orgasm of your life, that almost knocks you out cold.
The kitchen is gone, the night is gone, there are only blinding lights and John’s hands on you, before he tumbles off the cliff himself with loud, wholly animalistic moans of the deepest pleasure.
This time, he pulls out, but you don’t register a thing of your surroundings, before John’s carefully lifting you up from the counter, having freed your hands without you noticing.
Your feet are on the floor, but you can’t keep yourself up, your limbs don’t work anymore. Your sight feels blurry and still filled with tiny dancing sparkles, like you’ve stared into the sun.
John doesn’t let go off you for a second, gently turning you around and easily lifting you up in his arms, and you lean your head against his chest and close your eyes like a sleepy child as he carries you into the bedroom and puts you down on the bed, pulling the covers aside.
He tugs you under the sheet before stepping away from the bed, and in your daze, you think he might be leaving, which would be wrong, so wrong.
Instead, you hear him turn on the water in the sink in the bathroom, and after a little while he comes back, a tall shadow-figure moving quietly through your house, and gets in next to you.
Only then do you start to come to.
Even though he did most of the work, your body feels so beat and thoroughly sexed out, you think you may never get out of bed again.
The last embers of your third orgasm are still making your cunt throb, while your ass… well, you guess you can carry a cushion around with you for a few days if you absolutely must leave the house.
Nothing suspicious about that at all.
You curl up on your side, facing John who moves a little closer and reaches out to smooth a sticky lock of hair away from your forehead.
There are still beads of sweat on his temples as well. Or maybe he just washed his face.
Carefully tugging strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers then caress your cheek, thumb tracing your brow, and your eyes flutter shut.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispers.
You open your eyes.
He’s looking at you with what appears to be genuine concern.
His face has changed back to that of a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“You did,” you say.
He frowns unhappily. Which, in all honesty, should infuriate you a whole lot more than it does.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was wrong of me.” His voice is nothing but remorseful.
The smooth criminal.
“I mean, I did enjoy it eventually, as I’m sure you, um, noticed,” you say quickly, before checking yourself in the middle of almost apologizing for hurting his feelings.
When in fact he was the one who jumped you.
It’s just, he looks like a little lonely boy.
Or rather, a lost puppy, pining for your approval.
There’s a pause in which you just look at each other.
There’s so much he’s not telling you, but for the first time, it feels like some of his secrets may be about to breach the surface.
When he still doesn’t speak though, you take a deep breath and lay it out.
“I don’t want to feel afraid around you,” you say and hold his gaze. “If you feel that you cannot trust yourself around me or promise me right now that another time you’ll stop if I ask you to, then it’s goodbye, John. You can leave the house right now. I mean that.”
He doesn’t blink. Oh, those strange, strange night-time eyes…
The unsettling fact that you’d never actually be able to physically force him to leave is clawing at your mind, but you try not to let the fear in.
You’ve been around the man for weeks and he been nothing but kind and respectful.
Up until tonight.
There is a dark well in him.
You thank your subconscious for the unhelpful commentary.
“I don’t want that either. I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he replies quietly, honestly. “Not you. Never you. I’ll be better, I promise.”
He moves in to kiss you softly on the lips, and you sigh at the tenderness of his mouth.
“I want to be better for you,” he whispers. “Please don’t turn me away. I only just found you.”
You pull back a bit to study his face.
“So, what happened before? In the kitchen?”
He has the decency to still look ashamed.
“I lost myself. I thought…I thought you were playing along.”
He inhales like the truth is in the air around you.
“It’s been a really long time since I was…since I was with anyone. I got carried away. I’m sorry, truly.”
Now you’re the one to move in to kiss him. You cup the side of his face, and he puts an arm around you, pulling your naked bodies close together.
You don’t care that you’re both sweaty.
If he climbed on top of you and glued himself to you for the rest of the night, you wouldn’t try to push him off.
“You made me come harder than I ever have, John”, you say when you finally break the kiss, and a grin spreads on his face before he remembers how sorry he’s supposed to be, and he tries to adopt a more sombre expression.
You giggle. He’s too obvious.
He knows it, too, and he presses his forehead to yours with a chuckle.
It sounds relieved.
“I’d be very happy to do it again another time. If you’d like,” he says, and his breath ghosts over your eyelashes.
“In any way you’d like,” he adds, hastily.
You’re letting him off too easy, but truth is you’d be overcome with loss if he were to walk out of your life.
The connection has been made.
Somehow, he’s yours.
“So, church tomorrow…?” you ask playfully, and John snorts theatrically, and rolls onto his back.
“I thought we’d already been over this.”
“I know,” you say, and cuddle up to him, bathing in his scent. “But I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about it, recent events considered.”
“Well, I haven’t. Especially considering recent events,” he replies, jokily, and shifts a little so he can put his arm under and around you, holding you to his side.
You reach up to trace his face with the tips of your fingers, claiming him.
Venturing further, you run a hand over his shaved head, feeling the stubble of his hair that’s quickly growing out again.
He looks ridiculously sexy to you as he is now, but you’re predicting he’ll become nothing short of lethal with what appears to be salt’n’pepper locks.
He reaches for your hand and squeezes it.
“I’m not great at being close to people. Never have been,” he says. The humour is gone, leaving only a raw, painful honesty that makes your heart leap into your throat.
You don’t know how to respond.
“I’m not great at … love,” he says. “’Love…is a virtuous mind, whereas attachment…’”
He scoffs at his own words, a bitter, hollow sound. “I haven’t been good at telling the two apart…”
Christ, has he been in a cult?
Is that his secret?
John brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, before turning it over and planting a kiss in your open palm, eyes closed.
You are hit with such a rush of emotion it makes your eyes sting.
It feels like you’re standing on a ledge.
“I could show you...”
He looks down at you, searching your eyes for any hint of lukewarm sentiment.
He doesn’t find any.
“Okay,” he says.
“Show me love.”
He guides your hand down his chest to the nearly healed gun-wound on his stomach.
The wound you cleaned and bandaged all those weeks ago, having dragged his nearly unconscious form into your car and brought him home like a stray dog you found by the side of the road.
The wound that, miraculously, seems to have endured the exercise you just did.
He puts his warm, big paw over yours.
“Show me life.”
Thank you for reading!
Hope you liked it :) I got the idea the other day while furiously vacuum-cleaning post covid hibernation and listening to Robyn’s Show Me Love at full volume on my headphones. Half the lyrics below – if you can handle a dose of candyfloss sweetness ;)
You can find the rest of my fics here.
Show me Love by Robyn:
Always been told that I've got too much pride
Too independent to have you by my side
But my heart said all of you will see
Just won't live for someone until he lives for me
Never thought I would find love so sweet
Never thought I would meet someone like you
Well now I've found you and I'll tell you no lie
This love I've got for you
Could take me 'round the world
Now show me love
Show me love, show me life
Baby show me what it's all about
You're the one that I ever needed
Show me love and what it's all about, alright
Don't waste this love I wanna give it to you
Tell me what you got, show me what you can do
Show me love, show me everything
I know you've got potential
So baby let me in and show me love …