Graffiti

Moving me away a little his hands started roaming over my breasts again, and they were reacting as though his hands were old friends, blast them. Even with some space between us I could still feel his erection butting against me and I was determined that I would not look.

His hands slid down over my tummy, rubbing my mons and continuing around the curve to tease my pussy, rubbing my lips, easing them apart and sliding his fingers between them.

After an eternity of this, Frank turned me and urged me towards the couch, having me bend over the end of it. I just naturally braced my arms against the arm of the couch, feeling the weight of him behind me.

Oh, god. His hand was between my legs, teasing me, spreading my lips, and I could feel the head of his erection brushing against me. Then it was no longer brushing against me but pushing between my lips, taking possession. I was astounded at the casual way he seemed able to just sink fully into me, transfixing me.

So much for passive resistance, I thought. It hadn't helped in the slightest. I couldn't imagine how I thought it would.

Came the dawn. I literally screamed with fury.

"You bastard," I raged at him. "Passive resistance, my eye. You tricked me. If you hadn't said that I'd have been fighting every inch of the way."

"Really? You mean that you're not the passive type? My mistake. I assume that this means you'll be fighting me from this point on?"

"Damn right I will," I snapped. "I'm an idiot. I actually listened to what you said."

"So now you can feel free to fight me, knowing I don't want you to. Or am I saying that to make you fight because I'll enjoy it? My, these psychological ploys gets so cumbersome, don't they?"

He wasn't really doing anything at this point, providing you consider him standing there, his cock well and truly in me and his hands still playing with my breasts, not doing anything. Was he trying to get me to struggle against him now that he had started or was he trying to trick me into going passive again? How the hell was I supposed to know? Whichever it was, I wanted to do the opposite and he knew it.

"So do you go passive or do you start fighting?" came his nasty inquisitive voice. "To be crude, you're fucked either way. May I make another suggestion for you to reject?"

"What?!"

"Just go with it and do what your body wants. It doesn't really make much difference at this stage."

It made sense. It was also probably what he really wanted. What my body really wanted to do right then was turn around so I could slap his face, but that wasn't going to happen. Fucking hell, I didn't know what I wanted to do.

While my mind raced trying to figure out what to do he started moving. If it wasn't hard enough trying to think while distracted by a cock just waiting, it was twice as hard trying to concentrate once the damn thing started moving. Well, I suppose it made it easier to concentrate if you were concentrating on that cock, but not if you were trying to actually think.

I just gave up. Que, sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, and I was getting fucked. Almost unconsciously I felt myself responding and moving, not fighting it, just going along with what was happening.

Frank didn't make any obvious show of triumph. He just carefully nursed me along, giving me a nice easy rhythm and letting me just rock contentedly along. Oddly enough, I was content. Frank felt good and I was enjoying what was happening.

He didn't keep that nice easy rhythm. He slowly lifted the tempo, letting a hot passion show through, showing me who was the master. I obediently went with him, answering his demand for passion, acknowledging his mastery, knowing that in the long run, I'd triumph. Men are always exhausted, running on empty, long before the woman.

Mind you, I wasn't quite so sure of that after a while. He was driving into me good and hard, and he just kept going. By now I was gasping, making those funny little noises a woman makes when a cock drives in hard, pushing hard to meet him, wondering if I'd last the distance. I wasn't that far off a climax and Frank seemed to be settling down for the long haul.

I was shocked when he suddenly pulled out. Shocked, nothing, I was horrified. I was so nearly there and he'd stopped? He couldn't do this to me.

Thankfully, he had no intention of just leaving me like that. He turned me around to face him, lowering me onto the couch. Then he was kissing me and driving back into me, his hands back on my breasts. (He sure seemed to like touching my breasts.)

It wasn't long before I was once again happily floating towards my climax. Frank was driving in harder and harder and I was bucking under him, getting him to come as deep as possibly, relishing that long hard length as it came plunging down upon me.

Then I was climaxing, clinging to him, any screams that I may have given swallowed up by his mouth on mine, feeling him jerk upon me as he reciprocated, spilling his seed in his own climax.

Afterwards, when I was capable of looking around he was dressed and leaning against a wall, looking at me. I was just lying on the couch, still naked, feeling remarkable comfortable and lazy. Before either of us could say anything a buzzer rang. Frank muttered something rude and went to look outside. I don't know how he saw anything in the darkness, but he did.

"Your friend, Snoopy, is back," he groused. "What is it with you women?"

I jumped up and stalked over to the window and opened it wide, noisily. I heard a startled squeak and saw movement, a shadow among shadows.

"Go away, Michelle," I yelled. "You're too late."

I heard a laugh from outside as I slammed the window.

"Now what," I demanded, looking at Frank.

"It's a bit of a puzzle," said Frank. "I promised to punish one of you if you returned to try to make mischief, and you did and I did. However, Snoopy has also visited, in a separate incident, and she's not here for me to punish. I'm sorry, but it looks as though the selective punishment will fall on you again. Good thing you're already undressed, isn't it."

He had to be kidding. Oh, dear. From the look he was giving me, he wasn't. He was already getting undressed again. What the hell did I do now?

"If you're wondering what you should be doing now," drawled Frank, "perhaps you could consider passive resistance, and see how it works this time."