Amazing Grace

"No, please!" I shook my head as his wet cock continued to tap against my rosy cheeks, flush with shame and embarrassment.

"Then you better show me something quick before I lose my patience," he ordered. I tried to block out all the circumstances of what was happening to me. Instead I imagined that there was just me and this beautifully large cock that someone had given me to play with. In doing so, I redoubled my efforts and approached my task with all new energy. I licked up and down his shaft and sucked him deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his head at every pass.

Augustine groaned and throbbed in my mouth, letting me know I was getting to him. I opened my eyes and saw that he had relaxed his hand with the gun in it. He was using that arm stretched out behind him to prop himself up while his other hand stayed tangled in my hair, guiding my head up and down on his shaft. I figured I could get him to drop the gun altogether if I really drove him wild. Then I could grab it and turn the tables.

I closed my eyes again and returned to that imaginative space where it was just me and a beautiful cock that I wanted to get off and let my natural inclinations take over. Augustine's moans made it easier to get lost in the raw humanity of our interaction. His cock was wonderfully responsive to every move I made, twitching and pulsing with every flick of my tongue. I knew exactly what I needed to do to drive him completely over the edge but despite my best efforts, I couldn't get his cock in my throat. The head was almost too fat, I could just barely get it past my tonsils before my gag reflex kicked in. And the angle was all wrong. I looked up into his eyes only to see him shaking his head at my failure. "Deeper," he commanded. I redoubled my efforts, tears running down my cheeks as they turned red.

"I'm really trying," I coughed, pulling away. "I almost have it, but I think the angle just isn't right. You're too hard, and too big."

"Maybe we need to do this in a different position, then," he informed me. The next thing I knew I was tied to the bed in a crucifixion pose, on my back with my head hanging over the side. Augustine had rummaged through my things before I got home and found a bunch of my scarves that he could use to bind my limbs.

"I didn't think I'd have to use these yet but I'm gonna put down this gun so I can fuck your tight little throat properly and play with those titties, and I can't have you getting any ideas." I cursed to myself as my plan went out the window. Augustine was smart -- I couldn't let myself forget that. Prison hadn't taken that away from him, just drove him to apply it to devious purposes. My vision upside down, I shuddered when he came back into my field of view and approached me. His cock hadn't lost any hardness. Still shiny with my saliva, it was also dripping with pre cum. He was so excited, thinking about fucking my throat. Again I struggled to breathe.

"Augustine wait!" I begged. "Let me just catch my breath."

"Yeah, you're gonna need it," he said, rubbing pre cum across my lips and slapping my cheeks with his tool. Huge balls hung down low right in front of my nose, cutting off any other line of sight. His musk was stronger there, but I was thankful it wasn't unpleasant -- just manly.

"Please don't be too rough with me," I pled. "I'll do a good job, I promise."

"I'll be the judge of that," he replied, and nudged his spongy head between my lips. "Now take a deep breath," he warned, and slowly pushed into me. By tiny fractions of an inch he continued to push until he reached my tonsils. There were still a few inches to go before the base. Augustine stopped for a second, as if to let me brace myself, then continued pushing past my esophagus. He didn't stop until his balls pressed firmly into my face and his wooly pubic hair tickled my chin.

"Shit yeah!" he groaned and held his position. My senses were overwhelmed as I struggled to inhale. Finally he pulled back and let me take a breath, then pushed into my throat again. He slid in slowly a few more times, just enough for me to get better used to having my throat stretched so completely. Once he was sure I wouldn't heave my guts out, he gradually increased his tempo. Soon he was fucking my mouth like it was a juicy pussy, his balls slapping me about the face on every down stroke.

"That's it, bitch, now you're taking some dick," he affirmed as two hands came to rest upon my boobs.

His course language made me feel dirty and depraved, but for some reason didn't repulse me in that moment. Maybe it was the way his rough fingers began to roll and pinch my sensitive nipples, making them stand at attention. Maybe it was his male scent filling my nostrils that triggered some primal reaction in the olfactory centers of my brain. Or maybe it was the feeling of helplessness at being made to submit to such debauchery that I had secretly always wanted from a lover, but when I was supposed to be feeling anger and revulsion, for some reason I wasn't. Whatever the reason, my brain circuits were misfiring. When one of Augustine's hands left my tender nipple and settled between my legs, I nearly died of shame at the moisture he found there.

Feeling my wetness sent Augustine into overdrive. Long steady thrusts became harder and more erratic. Thick calloused fingers curled possessively into my gooey sex, pinning my clit with his palm and pulling me into his hips as they slammed into my face. I lost the ability to time my breathing and control my gag reflex. I knew he was close, but I didn't think I could make it that long. I feared that I would choke to death, or that one of his thrusts might accidently snap my neck. Through it all I could hear Augustine moaning, grunting, then cursing me for making him lose control so quickly. Again my twisted brain circuits. Strangely I felt pride at my ability to take him like that and push him over the edge. My body was responding to the primitive energy on naked dispaly, and his fingers slid around in me all the more easily.

With one final lunge Augustine thrust past my vocal chords and lodged himself there. I felt his entire cock swell and a surge of energy run down the shaft before a gush of cum shot right into my tummy. I flailed about on the bed, trying to convey to him that I was choking. There were tears streaking up my face and dripping into my hair. Finally Augustine took mercy on me and withdrew until just the tip was inside me. It was just in time for his next burst to come splashing onto my palette, flooding me completely. I swirled my tongue against the roof of my mouth, trying to delay swallowing until I caught my breath. The delay allowed his musky flavor to soak right into my taste buds.

"Don't even think about spitting it out," Augustine commanded, apparently still watching my every move. His slightly salty cum was not at all unpleasant, and I was thankful for at least that small concession as I finally swallowed it down.

Then he was in my throat again, shooting the next blast right into my stomach. I must have been too immersed in my imaginative space where the cock in my mouth didn't belong to my rapist but to an anonymous lover -- for I felt oddly cheated when my taste buds were bypassed. In my normal sex life I love feeling a man explode in my mouth from the pleasure I'm giving him. I love the silky texture on my tongue and, with the right guy and the right diet, I even love the flavor. With Augustine I felt my mind and body at war with one another. My body was craving that from him while my mind screamed no. I kept trying to remind myself that it was all just an act to get him to let down his guard, but my faith was starting to crumble.

As if sensing my need, Augustine pulled back and flooded my mouth again with his tasty seed. An involuntary moan escaped my throat, surely only grateful for the opportunity to breathe and not to taste him once again. At least that's what I told myself while sliding the tip of my tongue through his tiny pee slit and applying suction to hurry forth the next salty blast. Augustine didn't disappoint. He just kept cumming, and I had to gulp him down quickly to keep up. My nipples tingled and my pussy contracted around his fingers with every mouthful. He was grunting obscenities the whole time, music to my ears.

When he was finally spent and his head too sensitive, Augustine pulled out of my mouth and collapsed onto the floor. My chest heaving, I gulped for air. He turned around to prop himself up against the bed, which positioned his head about a foot from mine. Neither one of us spoke while we caught our breath and I tried to clear the fog from my head. My body was buzzing with pent-up need and I couldn't understand why. My neck ached, so I wiggled myself down the bed a little bit to give my head some support. I was still all tied up and couldn't move far, but at least my neck wouldn't snap off from the strain.

"Don't go far," Augustine chuckled, still catching his breath. "We're not done yet." My heart sank but my pussy twitched in conflict. I turned my head to face him and was about to beg him not to take things any further when I saw him lift his hand to his face. The whole palm and all its fingers were wet and shiny, and I was overcome with shame as I realized that it was the hand that had been in my leaky sex that had betrayed me so. His eyes closed and his head rolled back as he smelled my pussy on his sticky fingers. His wide chiseled chest rose over and over again as he filled his lungs with my scent. Strong spasms overtook my womb as I watched him enjoying my musky essence. Augustine reveled in my smell. His mouth opened, and I swear he was about to pop one of his fingers inside before, in a moment of self-awareness, he opened his eyes to see me watching him raptly. His hand dropped to his side.

I tore my eyes away, embarrassed for both of us. He wanted to taste me. In that moment I realized that buried underneath all of his anger, pain, and hatred was also a deep need just to feel the erotic touch of desire from another human being. But he didn't want me to see that need in him, likely afraid that it made him look weak. I had to play to that side of him, I thought, and maybe he would stop this and let me go. The problem is, my body didn't know it was a game. Seeing his need to taste my pussy only caused me to make a bigger mess between my legs. The smell of my needy sex was starting to permeate through the room, adding to my humiliation. That's when I saw it. The gun was laying on the bed at my side. Augustine was distracted and his guard was down, only I wasn't quite in a position to take advantage of it just yet. But it was progress.

After about ten minutes Augustine stood. "I'm thirsty -- what do you got to drink?"

"There's filtered water or juice in the fridge."

"Nah, I don't want no kid's drink. Where's the hard stuff?"

"Oh," I said, cautiously wondering how he'd react to alcohol. Would it loosen him up or make him meaner?

"I know you have some, don't try and lie to me," he ordered, the tone of his voice becoming sterner. I'd have to just pray for the best.

"It's in the upper cabinet next to the fridge," I admitted. I laid there anxious while he left to rummage around in my kitchen. I heard cabinet doors opening and closing, glassware clinking against the granite counters, and the familiar grind of my fridge's icemaker before Augustine returned carrying two tumblers of brandy.

"I figured you might need this to help you get through the rest of the night," he said, nodding to the second glass of amber liquid in his hand. I opened my mouth to tell him that my drug of choice was wine but then thought better of it.

"How considerate of you," I said instead. "Are you gonna untie me to let me drink it?"

"But I like you laying there all spread eagle, open for me," he said in a low tone, rudely violating my body with his eyes. My nipples hardened as I broke out in goose bumps. I had no reply.

"I guess I can give you a short break," Augustine said finally. He grabbed the gun before he set me free, though. "Drink up. I'm almost ready to go again." My mind scrambled, trying to think of a way to stall.

"What did you mean earlier," I began, taking a swig of some of Garry's best cognac and fighting back a cough, "when you said earlier that I didn't know who you are and that I didn't know myself?"

"Mmmm," he said, taking a sip and savoring the taste on his tongue. "This stuff is much better than the toilet hooch we used to make. That tasted like shit." He took another swig, a bigger gulp this time. "I had a buddy inside, everybody called him 'Yac' 'cause he loved this stuff so much. I'm starting to understand why." Was he avoiding my question? I took the time to flex out my wrists and revive my blood circulation while I waited him out.

"Prison is split up into racial gangs," he began, "and each one has a leader. I didn't meet the Black leader until after I got out of seg. My hair was wild, all over the place, and I looked and smelled a mess. I didn't know why he wanted to meet with me, but as soon as I got out that was the first place they led me."

"The first place who led you?" I interjected, shaking out the feeling of needles in my hands.

"The guards. I thought they were taking me to see the warden," he laughed, taking another drink. "Then we headed down this other cell block, all the locks clanking behind us as we passed from section to section, and finally came to this cell with this OG sitting in there, playing cards with some other dudes on his bed. It was the first cell I'd seen that didn't have 3 or 4 beds in it, just one.

"He didn't speak to me right away," Augustine continued. "The guards told him that they'd be back to get me in 25 minutes, then walked off. After the card game ended, he told the other dudes that he'd holler at them later, and they left, too. That's when he started to look at me - I mean really study me - while I just stood there, confused, hungry, and still disoriented as fuck from the 2 months I'd just spent in seg.

"'Are you the one they callin' college boy?' He asked me, tossing me a bag of Cheetos he got out of the commissary. I nodded, afraid to speak as I tore open the bag. I didn't know what the hell he wanted from me and I was too afraid to ask. But I was hungry as hell. I devoured the Cheetos while he continued asking me questions. 'Is your real name Augustine Edwards?' he asked me next. I told him no, that my name was Augustine Shepherd."

"'Ah,' was all he said, nodding as if he understood something more about me. 'You don't look like no ball player, what were you doing in school?' he asked after a pause. I told him I was there on academic scholarship, finding my voice quick. I hated being asked that question, especially by other Black people."

"Do you get asked that a lot?" I interrupted again, this time genuinely curious. Augustine took another swig of cognac.

"I used to, all the fucking time." Immediately I regretted asking, hearing the agitation creep into his voice. "It's like people have such a god-damned hard time believing that I could go to college for anything else other than football or basketball."

"Oh" I looked away nervously and took another sip myself. It was starting to go down smoother, but it still burned my throat.

"He asked me if I knew who he was," Augustine continued, "and I told him no. 'Since she decided to give you her maiden name, I guess Francine never told you anything about me then?' he asked me. That's when I really started to look at him like he was crazy, wondering what the hell was going on. 'Francine is your mother, right?' he asked then. 'How in the hell did he know that?' I wondered."

"I couldn't even finish the question. He began to tell me this story of how when he was a young man -- before getting locked up for aggravated rape and battery -- he made a living fixing up and making repairs in people's homes. It was slow going at first, but then he got 'in' with a white family that trusted him, and they started recommending him to their friends. Those jobs paid better and once he was making enough money, he asked Francine to marry him. It wasn't too long after that when Francine got pregnant, he told me.

"It was about that same time, he said, when the wife of one of his main customers began coming on to him. He tried to politely refuse her advances at first because, he told me, he was really in love with Francine. But this woman was promising to recommend him to all her friends. With the baby coming, he really needed the money and was afraid to turn her down for fear that he'd lose their business and likely some of her friends as well."

I studied Augustine as he told this story, unsure of where the hell it was going. He got this far away look in his eyes, literally transported to another place during his retelling. The cognac seemed to loosen his tongue and the grip on the gun, which hung limply at his side. I kept my eyes on it.

"So he eventually gave in and started messing around with this woman," Augustine continued. "He thought he'd struck gold -- she was fine, he told me, and she loved it when he did things to her that good, respectable women should never allow." I felt an ache in my chest at the sad eternal truth of those words.

"As he explained to me, he loved Francine, but this woman was so hot, freaky and always wet for him that he just couldn't get enough." My mind ran with the graphic description, imagining the two of them going at it in all sorts of wild and passionate ways. It was enough to make my nipples harden as I got further engrossed in the story.

"The woman had two daughters, but they didn't pose a problem during the winter months. He'd come to their house once a week while her husband was at work and the kids were in school. She made excuses to her husband about something being broke or needing fixing. He'd go there, they'd spend a few hours fucking each other's brains out all over the house, and then he'd get paid for it afterward. It was a dream job."

I must admit, the story was getting to me. I couldn't shut off my imagination, and moisture was starting to gather in my sex again. Shit.

"It wasn't until summer came around that things started to get tricky," Augustine resumed after pausing to take another sip of his cognac. "With the kids out of school, it made it harder for them to find time to get together. There was summer day camp, and girl scouts shit, but it wasn't consistent. They started living dangerously, taking risks when the chances of getting caught were greater. But that just made the sex even hotter, he told me. Once he was there to fix the kitchen sink and ended up going down on her while she sat on the counter with her husband and kids just in the next room. He told me how he used to love eating her out because she had the sweetest smelling and best tasting pussy he'd ever had. I could tell it was getting to him, just reliving the memory. Another time, she gave him some head in the back of their house while the kids were inside playing. One time she even lied about needing something from the store, and they fucked in his truck in the back of Krogers."

Why was this turning me on so much? I was really beginning to resent my treacherous body. I squeezed my legs tight and prayed that Augustine wouldn't smell the raw desire leaking out of my traitorous pussy.

"It all came crashing down when she called him over one Saturday to come fix a running toilet. When he got there, the husband was actually at work -- he was a manager at a department store, and they had some big promotion going on that day -- but only one daughter was gone. The oldest, who was about 7, was off on a camping trip. The younger one, who was only 4, was home. 'Don't worry,' she told him. The younger one would be leaving too, spending the day at a neighbor's house whose little girl was having a birthday party and slumber party that evening."