Andrea & Harry

"More than I need," he replied. His voice grew colder with each syllable. Andrea discerned the coldness and smiled in anticipation.

"It was 'Yellow, ' wasn't it?" he asked.

"What?"

"The safe word."

"Yeah, 'Yellow, ' whatever," she tossed off. He had no way of knowing she would never resort to using any safe word.

He finished his drink, and instead of placing it on the coaster provided for that purpose, dropped the almost empty glass on the floor and walked to the door. She noted the growing bulge in his jeans, and smirked happily.

"Get ready, sweetheart, the wolf is at the door."

"Oh, I'm shaking, Harry. You're such a mean, old man."

"We'll soon see how old I am," he said, and for the first time since she had met him, Andrea had a sense of foreboding about the future.

He left the apartment, making sure the door was slightly open, and counted to twenty. Why he picked twenty he could not say, but it seemed better than ten and thirty seemed too long. At the count of twenty, he kicked open the door, stepped inside the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

"What?" Andrea screeched in feigned surprise, as he quickly strode across the room and slapped her hard with an open hand.

Despite herself, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he snarled and backhanded her across the face.

"I don't have any..."

He slapped her again, making certain the slap hurt, but not belting her hard enough to leave a tell-tale bruise the next day.

"I said shut the fuck up!"

Andrea sank to her knees in front of him, but kept quiet.

Harry grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the bedroom. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. The heels of her black boots dug into the mattress. Her swollen pussy lay open and exposed through the large tear in the crotch of her pantyhose.

As he looked at her, she knew to spread her legs, and slowly parted the sopping lips with her fingers, showing him the pink. He took in the sight, licked his lips, and then cast his eyes about the room until he saw a belt draped over the doorknob to the closet. He took it, and casually wrapped the belt around her wrists and secured them to the headboard.

"What..." she started to say, and then remembered the admonition to remain quiet, and stopped. He spit in her face, and then punched her once in the belly, driving the air from her lungs.

"I won't say it again," he snarled, and then realized how much into the fantasy he had allowed himself to go. 'I had better remain in control here, or things could get real messy, ' he told himself.

Harry pulled two dresser drawers out and spilled their contents on to the floor before finding some scarf's, which he used to tie her black-booted ankles to the bedposts, leaving Andrea spread-eagled and completely vulnerable to him. He went back to the kitchen and returned with a sharp knife and a shearing scissors.

Using the scissors, he cut her mini-skirt off and threw it on the floor. Her ruined pantyhose clung to her body, but her pussy was fully exposed to his view and he decided to leave them on her.

Andrea moaned softly, drawing a dark glance from Harry. Satisfied that she would remain quiet, he proceeded to cut the purple sweater she wore from her waist to neckline, and then peeled it from her body as one might peel a grape.

Andrea's eyes took on a new sheen, almost glowing with happiness.

Harry descended onto the bed, and buried his head between her legs. After some minutes of licking her gently, insofar as a rapist goes, he had her mad with lust and impatience.

But the game being played called for her to offer at least some form of resistance, and so Andrea maintained a continued struggle in trying to loosen the wrists bound by the belt.

Harry could have cared less. The juices his tongue missed, spooled onto the sheets and when he eventually came up for air, his eyes focused on her cunt and the bee-stung appearance of her swollen labia. He reverted to teasing, sucking and finally pulling on her engorged clit, and sent spirals of psychedelic sunbursts ribboning through her body.

"Fingers," she breathed heavily, feeling safe enough in her current pleasure to risk his wrath.

"Fuck you," he snarled sharply, and Andrea felt the first legitimate tremor of fear course through her body on the heels of a minor orgasm.

But he began twisting her nipples and amplified her pleasure tenfold.

She came hard, but it's doubtful Harry even noticed. He pinched her nipples until they stood up like rosy peaks of meringue. Tiring of tit play, he recalled her desire for his fingers and sent his middle finger into the swampy morass of her cunt. Her strong muscles immediately closed around the digit.

He found her G-spot right away, and heard her moan as his mouth renewed its attack upon her clit. He rubbed away at that sweet, sweet spot and tormented her throbbing clit with his lust-thickened tongue, sending Andrea to orgasmic heights. But because there was now too much pleasurable sensation, her system backed her away from a gigantic climax.

Then she couldn't hold back. She saw herself supine, long milky-white limbs encased in tattered pantyhose, helpless against this man who was ravaging her; helping her to achieve her favorite fantasy. A fantasy long wished for, but never achieved until now.

"Jesus, if you could see what I see," he gasped.

"Huh?" she managed to respond.

"You're squirting buckets," he offered, in awe of what she was doing. He had never seen a woman squirt before. Well, in a few porno films, but that might have been staged for all he knew. But, this... he held one hand under her to catch some of her flow, and continued ramming his two fingers against her G-spot.

At first this extra sensation added a new texture to her orgasm, then it became painful. She wriggled to get away, scooching up the mattress, but her bonds allowed her little leeway in escaping his thrusting fingers. The pain mounted, but Harry kept going.

As sex-drunk as she was, Andrea realized that he had not fucked her, and a feeling of dread crept over her as his fingers continued to stab away at her.

Suddenly, his hands were on her hips. Then his prodigious cock slid unceremoniously into the juiciness of her sheath.

"Nice and hot," he murmured.

The thrusting was brutal. His cock rampaged against all manner of bumps and hidden chambers, as she tried in vain to grasp him about the shoulders, but once again the belt denied her this little pleasure.

The pain on pain afforded her additional pleasure to be sure, but the aftermath began to concern her. Would he damage her badly? Would he stop in time, or continue until she died from the painful pleasure she was now enjoying?

She began to cry out, "Please, oh, no, stop. It hurts. No..." but he paid no attention, and only thrust harder as flecks of sweat flew off his head and shoulders onto Andrea's supine form and the sheets beneath and around her.

He stopped. For a fleeting moment, she thought he was finished, but he roughly rolled her half-way over, again that damned belt prevented a desired action, but half-way was good enough for Harry, as he pulled her ass to him and drove his slippery dick back into the hole he had violated earlier that night in the alley.

Andrea pressed her forehead into her arm, grit her teeth as he plundered her dark passage, her shit-chute, and any other name one might dredge up signifying an anal assault.

Harry came several minutes later and lay still upon her, not bothering to free her. Andrea lay there waiting for him to rouse himself and do so. But Harry had fallen asleep, deep sleep beckoned him and drew him under. It was four hours until he awoke with an urgent need to piss.

On returning to the bed he saw her, still tied to the headboard, and loosened the belt. She remained inert, now sleeping herself.

In the morning, she got up and searched the refrigerator, found some eggs and made them breakfast. They didn't speak until Harry was at the door, ready to leave.

"Call me?" she said, hopefully.

"Sure," he replied. "Maybe tomorrow, huh?"

"I like being spanked, too, you know?"

"Do you?" he said as if considering the act.

"And..." she began speaking rapidly, as if he would just turn away and walk out the door before she could finish. "And there's something to be said for being choked while masturbating."

"Yeah," he replied, smiling wryly, "Something about it making the orgasm a lot better."

"And it's dangerous too. You could die if you're not careful."

"So you need someone to be there with you when you do it, right?"

"Yeah," her eyes were sparkling again; the pain was dwindling away as she thought about the many possibilities that lay before them.

"We could maybe add someone else; make it a three-some sometime."

"Yeah," she said again, "I've wanted to try it. Never have though."

"Well, I'll call you," Harry said, then opened the door and stepped through.

He was halfway down the stairs when she called after him. "You got my number, right?"

"Yeah, baby," he called out over his shoulder, "I've got your number."