Taking Fiona

Fiona had always been a tease. It was a fact of life, much like the sky was blue and the grass was green; if you went out with Fiona Jackson, you'd better be prepared to come home with the raging hard on of a lifetime. She stood at about five seven, and had the body of a dancer, thanks to pursuing ballet throughout her college career. She had deep, auburn hair, the kind that can only be found in a bottle of Clairol and piercing green eyes, courtesy of her mother. She was twenty three, a recent graduate from Ithaca, and she'd moved into the city to chase her ideal marketing job. She'd lived in town for a few months, and roomed with some of her friends from school, in a flat on the Upper East Side. They were all the same breed, those girls. You know the type, the kind who came from rich families, the type who expected the world to be handed to them on a platter, the ones who looked down with scorn on anyone who didn't fit their vision of perfection. They'd taken to frequenting some of the trendier clubs, deep in the heart of New York City. They all thought themselves above those sorts of places, and overall, the group was more content at a country club then warding off over amorous suitors in the form of blue collar workers, or mid level management executives. However, Fiona had ignited the girls. She was the wild one, the one who had the privilege of her background, and used it to tease, to taunt, to torment.

They'd play a game when they went out, the four of them. The rule was that they never brought anyone home. It made the aspect of the game all that more appealing. They would pick a club, and once inside, fan out. They were all beautiful, the type of girls you would stop and stare at on the streets if you were a man, the type of girls you would curse with your eyes if you were a female. They'd go into the clubs in a pack, making sure to get plenty of attention as a group before they split up. And then, then, the game was on. The goal was to dance with as many men as they could. You know the kind of dancing, the dirty, nasty grinding that can only happen when you're extremely intoxicated on a weekend after a hard week of work. Except these girls made it a habit never to drink on their excursions, and they wouldn't know the meaning of work if it bit them. Each girl would pick a man, and dance with him,, her body pressed against his, perhaps whispering enticing words to him, until his arousal was made evident. Then they'd make some excuse to go to the bathroom, to get a drink, anything, and that was it for the poor sucker. They were on to the next willing guy, the challenge to see who would leave the most men in the club with a case of blue balls he'd be complaining about for weeks. It was really a sight to see, and perhaps that's why they chose these clubs, deep in the city where no one they knew would ever dare frequent. The well bred country club elite, acting as if they belonged in an episode of Girls Gone Wild.

It was a typical weekend for Fiona, and settling herself back against the bar with a glass of water in her hand, she lifted her damp hair off of her warm, sweaty neck. She was dressed the part, to perfection. She was wearing a teal backless shirt that accentuated her fair skin, cut low enough to show off her finer assets, and a denim skirt that fell six inches above her knees, along with a pair of straw, platform sandals. She quickly picked out the other girls, all of whom seemed to be doing a fantastic job, and she couldn't keep from smiling a bit as she sipped calmly at the icy drink. They'd come so far with her. It was really tragic that they were all from the same kind of family as hers, and yet none of them had really experienced the pleasure that came from teasing a man. From finding out he wanted you, making him need you, and then simply…walking away. It was gratifying; in a way that you couldn't relate to unless you were one of the four of them. You could dance with a man, rub yourself against him like a wanton, your hips grinding against his as you felt his arousal growing evident, and the look in his eyes, the look that said 'I want you'. It was all such a turn on. The best part was that they usually went home and ended up going to houses of their respective boyfriends, and fucking them senseless. Maybe it was a bit immoral, but, Fiona didn't really care.

Setting her drink down on the bar, she slipped back into the teeming mass of people, as a Nine Inch Nails song began blaring across the speakers, and quickly, her body found a rhythm. Maybe that was why she attracted so many men out here, the way that she lost her body in the music, the tempo sensual and moving as she danced alone, her face tilted up, an expression of near euphoria gracing her features. Soon, she felt a pair of hands coming to rest upon her slender hips, and she allowed herself to be pulled back against the solid chest of her romancer. Words didn't need to be spoken, not in a place like this. The music was too loud and the air too charged to even try to hear over, and so, she simply went with the flow of things. His fingertips skimmed across the inch or so of bare skin that was exposed between the low rise of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, and Fiona's arms rose up, looping around a neck that wasn't too far above hers, as she pressed herself back against him. The music was pulsing, and their bodies were imitating it, dipping and grinding with the beat, and it wasn't too long before the forward man behind her was moving her hair out of the way, and pressing light, feathery kisses across the sensitive skin there. While Fiona was a tease, she also wasn't dead by any means, and when she felt the stirring in her lower stomach, she pulled away abruptly.

Without bothering to look behind her, she mumbled quickly, "I need to find the ladies room. Thanks for the dance."

It was strictly against the rules of the game to allow yourself to become aroused by the other person, and if, for some unknown, god awful reason, you found yourself reciprocating desire, it was time to move on, to move away, regardless of whether or not they'd fallen into the girls trap or not. If you didn't walk away while you still could, it was possible to end up going home with anyone, an entry level consultant on Wall Street, a convenience store manager, or god forbid, a fast food worker. And that just wouldn't do for these girls. Walking quickly towards the bathroom, Fiona caught the eyes of the other girls, and gave a small wave, indicating that she was fine, and they should continue their escapades on the floor. Pushing open the door to the private room, Fiona turned on the cold water and wet a paper towel, wringing it out before pressing the cool, damp cloth to her cheeks. It was definitely time to get out of here, and maybe she'd have time to go over to her boyfriend Patrick's house tonight. He was in for it if she did, she was a wildcat in bed anyway, but after one of their little dance club games, he was lucky she didn't kill him with her enthusiasm. As she rested her hands on the sink and bent over it, taking several calming breaths, she felt, more than saw, someone come in behind her. Must have forgotten to lock the door.

Keeping her head bent, she snapped in her typical, cool and nasty New York Princess way, "Excuse me, I'm in here. I'll be done in a second, you can wait outside." She was just pushy and condescending by nature, it was simply the way she was brought up, and besides, it wasn't like whoever had come in here was anyone important, probably some trailer trash whore out on her monthly excursion to the city. However, the silence of the bathroom was the only answer she got, and just as she opened her eyes, she saw a hand reach to the far wall and flick out the lights, and then, she heard the echoing noise of the lock being thrown into its tumblers.

Fiona wasn't one to take things lying down, and even though she couldn't see who was in the bathroom with her, she refused to let fear enter into her voice. Her hand was behind her, trying to search out something on the sink to defend herself with, but of course, she came up empty. The best she could do was pump a bit of the hand soap into her palm and hope that if she had to rub it into someone's eyes, it would do. Before she could make a move to the door, there was a pair of hands grabbing her wrists, big, rough hands, hands that made her cry out as her arms were shoved behind her back, and she was spun around towards the mirror, her head glancing off the wall. It took her a moment to gather herself from the unexpected pain, and once she had, she was spitting mad.

"Let go of me. Let go of me, or I swear to God I will scream loud enough to bring this whole place running." Her voice was sharp, venomous, and was answered with nothing more than a casual laugh. The man behind her moved her wrists in front of her, and then held them tightly with one hand, raising them up and forcing the knuckles of her own fist into her mouth, making an effective gag, knowing that if she tried to protest or struggle too much, she'd wind up drawing her own blood and not his.

"Go ahead, sweetheart, scream your lungs out. No one will hear you above all the music out there anyway." His voice was a hoarse whisper, and as he bent down to make sure his words brushed across her ear, his free hand slipped up her bare back, lingering for a moment before sliding under the fabric and across her smooth stomach, pausing there. His fingertips moved across the warm skin of her torso, before making their way upward, and one hand cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching her nipple forcefully enough to elicit a sharp, wordless cry from her.

"What's the matter? Don't like it when someone gives you what you've been begging for?" His voice hardened, and his fingers squeezed her sensitive flesh more tightly, threateningly. "Don't like it when men come to demand what you've been promising?" His hand fell away from her, and Fiona nearly stopped breathing as she heard the sound of his zipper being lowered behind her. It would only be minutes before someone was banging on the door, needing the toilet, and unfortunately for her, the man behind her obviously knew this. She felt his grip on her loosen for a moment, as he dropped his pants past his knees, and taking that as an opportunity, Fiona stepped back, digging her heel into his foot as she reached for the door. He was quicker than her though, and as quickly as she'd moved away from the sink, he was dragging her back, his hands rough on her.

"I thought I told you not to move, you fucking bitch," he growled into her ear, before grabbing her hair near her scalp and giving her head a good bang against the mirror for good measure. "Now shut the fuck up and be still, or the next thing you know, I'm going to shove your head in that toilet and fuck the shit out of you while you drown. Got it?" He yanked on her hair until she gave him something that resembled a nod. She was terrified, and that much was evident in the flutter of her heart and the way her breathing rate has increased. Fiona felt him moving behind her, all of the fight drained out of her for the time being, as he took his cock in his hand and began stroking it. He let go of her hair to lift up the back of her impossibly short skirt, and it was just as he expected, a flash of pale skin and nothing more. Fucking slut, she was. He wasn't going to force her to go down on him, and neither was he going to waste precious time with the formality of making sure she was ready to take him. Lining himself up with her, he could feel how dry she was, and it made him smile behind her back to know that this was going to be most unpleasant for her. Served her right for that goddamn game her and her friends played. With a violent thrust of his hips, he was ripping into her, and his hands immediately fell to hers, trapping them against the sink to keep her from fighting, and the sound of her scream as he did so only served to make him harder..

"Do you like it like that? That's what you fucking get, you fucking whore." His voice was nothing more than a hiss as he tried to adjust to the feeling of his cock inside of her, in such a warm, tight place. It was always better when they didn't want it. He moaned softly as he began moving inside of her, his hand dropping down her stomach to part her pussy lips and soon he found what he was looking for. His fingers rolled over her clit, pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger as he kept up the assault his dick was forcing on her, his other hand raising up to grasp her breast, fingers on her nipple mocking the motions of his fingers on her clit. Starting at her shoulder blade, he nipped and sucked his way up to the nape of her neck, where he bit down hard enough to draw blood.

Fiona was trying to distance herself from the whole situation. Her thoughts ranged from everything from the work she had to do on Monday, to the ways in which she was going to kick this fucker's ass when this was all over with. The idea of having anonymous sex in a public restroom wasn't what appalled her, it was the fact that he was taking it from her, without her permission. No one took anything from Fiona. No one! Who did he think he was, any--. Her internal monologue was cut off as his hands started working on her breasts and her pussy. She tried to continue her little wordless tirade, but this guy was obviously no novice to a woman's body, and she couldn't help the beginnings of arousal, as her breasts growing heavy and her cunt grew moist. Without her permission, a small moan slipped past her lips, and she was horrified with herself. This could not be happening. He could be ANYONE, Fiona. Get a grip on yourself.

The man behind her knew the exact moment that she started responding to his ministrations, and he began pumping into her more ferociously, his hips slamming into hers as the tip of him skimmed against her cervix with every painful thrust. No way was this bitch going to get any satisfaction out of this, not after what she'd done to him out there. Lowering the hand that was caressing her breasts, he wrapped it around her stomach, pulling her more effectively against him. His other hand rose from her cunt and wrapped through her hair, tugging her face up to face the mirror. She felt so good though, wet, hot, tight around him, and with the excitement of taking her in this bathroom, combined with the fight she'd put up, he knew it wouldn't last much longer.

Fiona let out a whimper when his hands moved off of her body, and as he tugged her up by the hair, she was met with her own reflection in the dirty mirror, her face looking pale and wanton as her expression changed every time he thrust into her. Her hands tightened on the chipped porcelain rims, and her mouth fell open, eyes doing a slow roll towards the back of her head as he started fucking her harder, faster, and still, she was turned on. So turned on that she couldn't even look at herself in the mirror that was only inches from her face, because she was afraid she would despise the person looking back at her, the one with lust and disgust mixed in her eyes.

His hand tugged harder on her hair, forcing her head back almost as far as it would go, and as he drew closer to orgasm, his body began shaking, his vision blurring around the edges. His hand rose again from her stomach and grabbed a hold of her breast, crushing it with unforgiving fingers as his world flashed white and he let out a primal yell, his cock twitching inside of her. He pulled out just in time, and grabbing it with his free hand, he began stroking it furiously, letting out a cry of release as he shot his load across her bare back, watching with a twisted satisfaction as it covered her skin, stained a corner of her shirt and dripped down onto her skirt. With a small laugh, his body relaxing into a catharsis that he hadn't felt in a long time, he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up, and without even a word to her, unlocked the door and slid back out into the pulsing, ignorant crowd.

Fiona had just been starting to get into things, had just started ignoring what her mind was telling her, and going with what her body was feeling,. Her hips were moving back against him, her eyes closed so that she wouldn't have to face the person in the mirror, when she felt him pull out. A soft moan of protest left her perfect lips, and the next thing she knew, a warm splash of liquid was covering her body. She heard his zipper go up, and then heard him simply step away from her, and out the door. She was left there, in the disgusting bathroom, the mark of his fingers bruised across her breasts and her chest heaving from exertion, her body aching with an unfulfilled need, left alone, with no one to face, no one who knew about the ordeal, except for herself and the face in the mirror.

*Thanks for reading! This is my first submission to Literotica, so comments and constructive criticism are appreciated and encouraged.