Fucking Tuesdays

This is, for the most part, based on my life; I've fudged the little details a bit for obvious reasons, but I thought I'd finally put to paper one of my oldest and fondest fantasies. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

*****

Tuesdays were always really rough for me. I had class from noon to 9pm, and it had rained today so I couldn't skate to and from campus. So, 9:30 found me trudging pissily through the night. At the very least, I told myself as part of my recent campaign to be less of a fucking pessimist, I'm almost back at my apartment. My sweet, sweet apartment, whose fridge contained the last amount of soup I'd made on Sunday and which I was absolutely going to scarf down before falling into bed.

"I'm such a goddamn slut for soup," I muttered to myself, mostly for the simple amusement of hearing those words out loud. It's a bad habit, but I'm full of those.

On this particular night, it distracted me from noticing the complete momentary absence of other people or cars on the street, or from feeling remotely unsettled that this particular stretch of the sidewalk had no lights, for whatever reason. Huh. It's really dark right here.

Thus it came to pass that I was, with little fanfare, hauled from the sidewalk and pressed face-first into the gritty, wet side of a building.

"Oh my god," I said. My backpack was tossed somewhere to my left.

"Shut the fuck up," growled a voice from behind my left ear. It seemed reasonable to assume it belonged to the same body currently grinding on my ass.

"I can't believe this is actually happening in real life. I mean, I've fantasized about this at least eight times, but I never thought it'd actually happen to me," I rambled to nobody. I half-heartedly wiggled about in some semblance of an effort to escape. Figured I should at least pretend to put up some resistance. The principle of the thing, and all that.

My head was slammed into the . . . concrete? What exactly is this building made of? I wondered to myself, as stars floated in my eyes and I suddenly—deliriously—felt like I was made of steam. It's not bricks. When did that fall out of fashion? What's the history of architecture in Santa Cruz regarding construction materials?

"I told you to shut up," the voice snarled, its accompanying hand shoving my shirt and bra up over my tits and groping them aggressively. I arched into the touch.

"Sorry my chest is so small," I told him, since I've always had issues with shutting up when told to do so. No punishment followed; this was likely because I began to push my butt into his hips, appreciating the feeling of his growing erection against my sensitive cheeks. I've always been ridiculously easily stimulated on my ass, hips, and back.

"Fucking whore," said my rapist approvingly, tearing my jeans down and jiggling my ass harshly. I refrained from blurting out, "Oh, gosh, am I going to be paid? Golly, that's sure generous of you, Mister," because he'd smashed two of his thick fingers into my hot little pussy and I thought he'd probably stop if I gave him lip service.

Heh. Lip service. My head was still spinning.

"Nngh," I said as he roughly thrust his hand into me six times before withdrawing and I suddenly found myself turned around and on my knees, his dick smearing across my face before I greedily caught it between my lips and urged it into my throat. I hoped my enthusiasm would earn me some praise.

"That's a good little slut," he rewarded me, grabbing two fistfuls of my shoulder-length hair and fucking mercilessly into my mouth. His balls swayed into my chin, exacerbating the mess of spit and tears developing there from repeatedly choking on cock. I cupped them with one hand and rubbed my aching cunt with the other. I really do love being used.

I gasped as he tore himself out of my mouth and dragged me back up to face the wall. Desperate to be filled, I braced myself against the building, pushed my ass back toward him, and spread my legs as much as I could, since my jeans were still halfway down my thighs. I didn't say anything, since begging for it was a little too much like consent for the fantasy, but I did wiggle my hips a bit, frustrated by his new hesitation.

"Fuck, your ass is so sexy," he admitted grudgingly, slipping his cock between my full cheeks and pressing them together with his hands. I was briefly concerned he'd fuck me anally, but by the time I'd managed to persuade myself I could be into it, he'd pulled back a bit to angle himself toward my dripping pussy.

I moaned loudly at the initial stretch, savoring the sensation of my body adjusting to his girth and wrapping, silken, around his shaft. As he grabbed my hips and began to fuck me in earnest, he hissed, "Shit, you're fucking soaked. I can't believe you're so fucking wet, you goddamn whore, shit."

Well, that fucking did it. Between the utter physical ecstasy of being violently used as this stranger's fucktoy and his verbal filth, my natural tendency to babble overcame me.

"Uhhn, yeah, I'm—ah!—such a fucking cockslut, I fucking, fu—cking . . . love it, c'mon, please, make it hurt, fucking hurt me, baby, please—fuck! Yeah, baby, just—like, just fucking . . . like that, God." I keened as he tightened his grip on my waist hard enough to leave bruises that'd last at least a week (I knew from experience) and fucked me so hard and fast I couldn't breathe, could only sob noiselessly with my mouth dropped open.

Without breaking his punishing rhythm, he managed to get one of my shoes off and tug my pants and underwear down over that foot. He lifted that leg up as high as it would go and moved his other hand around my throat, holding me against him that way as my arms flew around his neck for balance.

I silently chanted "yes," nodding dazedly as he choked me right to the brink of passing out, feeling nothing but his dick pushing into me and rubbing exquisitely against every nerve ending in my tight, hot channel, his balls brushing against my inner thighs and his warm breath in my hair.

It was all too much: we were only barely out of view of the street and my clothes were only removed enough to allow access to the desired areas and I had no idea what my partner even looked like, it was too much and it was all so fucking delicious; I wheezed helplessly through my constricted windpipe as I came all over his dick, my whole body trembling through the most violent orgasm of my life. I only managed to remain upright because my partner hastily shoved my boneless body back up against the wall. Totally blissed out, I could only pant and mewl as he continued to fuck me, having returned both hands to my hips to keep them angled toward his rigid cock.

He cursed some more when he noticed that my cum had dripped down my legs, almost to my knees. "That's so fucking hot," he whispered distantly. I could tell that he was close when he swiped his fingers through the slick making its way down my thighs and brought them to my open lips, unexpectedly gentle. Without hesitation, I sucked his fingers into my mouth, swirling my tongue around them and savoring the tangy taste of my release. I knew my lips and tongue would feel indescribably soft and wet on his skin, and I was gratified to hear him repeat, just as quietly, "That's so hot . . ."

I made a small noise of protest when he withdrew from me completely, but I obeyed without thinking when he told me to turn around, voice still dangerous but edged now with the vulnerability of impending release.

Facing him now, I could see that he was about half a foot taller than me with a pretty average frame. It was too dark to make out exactly what his face looked like, but he didn't give me much time to examine his appearance before he had one of my legs raised again and his body pressed against mine. He lined our mouths up together and kissed me in the sloppiest, filthiest way imaginable as his dick slid against my ass, covered in my arousal. My head swam with the sheer carnality of it all as I guided his cock back into my swollen entrance and loved the burn of him entering me again, loved the knowledge that I'd wake up feeling bruised and raw tomorrow.

My lips moved wet and puffy against his as I murmured lowly, "Want you to fill me up with your cum, Daddy. Wanna make you feel so good."

His responding groan came out strangled, and his hips snapped forward twice before stuttering to a halt. I stroked his neck and back and spoke soft, encouraging things—"That's it, Daddy, cum all over my slutty little fuckhole, I fucking love it"—as his dick spasmed between my pussy lips.

Once he'd stopped twitching, I squeezed my walls firmly around his shaft, to make sure I'd gotten every last drop of his cum, and he hissed appreciatively. We stayed like that for a few seconds, sweating against each other and catching our breath, until he'd softened too much to stay inside. We both inhaled sharply as he finally slipped out of my molten depths, and he stepped back to regard me for a moment.

"You're fucking crazy," he told me, his pants around his ankles and me thoroughly wrecked and grinning about it.

"I'm a great fuck though, aren't I?" I was smug and playful as I tugged my clothes back on, ignoring the irredeemably awful feeling of clothes on wet skin. He snorted and pulled his own pants back up.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said finally, once I'd located and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

"Aye-aye, Captain," I saluted, and cheerfully got the fuck out of there.

I damn near skipped the rest of the way home, where I (finally) slurped down the rest of my soup, took a quick shower, and collapsed onto my bed, still grinning a little bit.

Maybe he'd be there again next Tuesday if I looked really inattentive and vulnerable while walking back from class.

"Maybe I'll wear a skirt," I said to the darkness of my bedroom, before turning onto my side and falling asleep.