The Afternoon Walk

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An afternoon walk leads to a life-changing experience.
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It was a cool September day -- September is really the first time it starts to get at all bearable in Texas, and I was glad of the balmy breeze. I decided to take my dog for a walk; he was frisky and rarin' to go, and I could use a break from the tedium of my work-from-home job, which usually involved a lot of staring at a computer screen. I changed into a jean skirt -- it was my favorite "dog walking" skirt because it had a lot of pockets -- one for my keys, one for my phone, and one for the poop-bags, and I donned a low-cut tank top since, hey, why not work on my tan? I pulled my long blonde hair back in a ponytail and slipped on my sandals before snapping the leash onto my dog, Norris' (we named him after Chuck) collar, and we both bolted out the door. Well, more like HE bolted, dragging me behind.

My husband and I had moved into the neighborhood about two months ago, and in that time, I'd managed to explore a fair chunk of it on my Norris-walking excursions, but there were still a few uncharted territories. Given the pleasant weather, I decided to venture further afield than we had before; there was one road in particular that had always piqued my interest. It wound away down off the main road where we usually doubled back, lined with trees and sparse on houses, so this time, instead of turning around at our usual spot, I clicked my tongue at Norris and we both jogged across the street and down along that meandering avenue.

There were a couple of homes close to the corner, but after that, it was just nothing but trees for a good while. The sky was blue, clouds were few, and the air smelled sweet and pleasant, and I hummed quietly to myself as I strode along, pausing now and then to let Norris sniff something especially enticing. There wasn't much traffic, and I was grateful for that; when I spied a large field ahead, I hurried my pace, seized with the idea of letting Norris run. He had some whippet in him, and absolutely LOVED to run, but didn't get much opportunity, given our lack of yard. So when I slid through the gap in the fence hemming in the field and bent down to unsnap his leash, he was off in a flash. Probably smelled squirrel. I laughed, watching him race away -- a blur of black and white.

I decided to wander a bit on my own, picking my way carefully through the knee-high grasses, on the alert for snakes. It was probably a bit too cool for them, but you never could tell. As I made my way across the field, I finally noticed a house at the other end of it, partially obscured by trees. I hesitated and scanned the area for Norris; I didn't want to get caught trespassing, especially with my dog running off on his own. Naturally, I spotted him trotting closer to the house, so I jogged toward him, whistling to catch his attention, which proved futile. He wasn't so great at the whole "obedience" thing.

But I was relieved when I noticed the sign in front of the house -- a realtor sign, with the words 'For Sale' emblazoned across the top. I noticed, too, as I got closer, that the place didn't look lived in. It was a nice house, but the yard was all overgrown, there were no cars in the driveway, and a couple of the windows were boarded up. No one would come chasing me or Norris off, then -- that was a relief. When he started nosing around the porch, I simply headed over there, too. The house was pretty nice; the more I looked at it, the more I liked it, and my husband and I had been talking about getting our own; the duplex we were in now was just too small, and we were both itching for a change. I wondered how much a place like this might go for.

The porch creaked as I stepped up on it. Norris had crawled halfway underneath it; perhaps he'd found a cat hiding below. I clucked my tongue at him absently, but I was more intent on the window. There was one by the front door that wasn't boarded up, so I cupped my hands around my face and peered inside. The glass was grimy and it was hard to see much -- just a hallway and some stairs at the far end. I really wanted to get a better look at the place, now that I was seized with the idea of telling my husband about it, so on a whim, I tried the front door. It was unlocked.

"Norris," I called, in my best dog-mom voice. He poked his head up from below the porch, his muzzle lined with a froth of dandelion seeds. I chuckled and shook my head. "You be a good doggie," I told him. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." And with that, I swung the door open and stepped inside.

The place was dim and musty, with a few piles of trash strewn along the hallway. But structurally, it seemed sound; I didn't notice any cracks in the walls or ceiling, and given the foundation troubles in our current place, that was a promising sign. I wandered through the large front room -- what seemed to be the living room, which connected to a spacious kitchen. The cabinets were old and the tile floor was pretty hideous, but nothing that couldn't be improved with some paint and pergo. I nodded to myself, feeling more and more optimistic. As I headed toward that back stairway I'd spotted, I glanced out a window to check on Norris -- I spotted him wandering toward the edge of the field, but well away from the road. I decided it was safe to explore just a bit further.

I passed a little half-bath tucked just by the foot of the stairs, and smiled -- two bathrooms would be a big plus. Yes, this place had definite possibilities. I started cautiously up the stairs; they creaked underfoot, and my hand slid along the dusty railing. It never occurred to me to be frightened.

The upstairs was even darker than the downstairs; the windows were all boarded over, and the sunlight only seeped through from the cracks between the boards. But there was just enough light to see a long hallway, with three doors. Three bedrooms? I hoped the master bedroom had a bathroom attached, and I was already planning a guest room in my head. As I approached the first doorway and stretched out my hand to push the door open, eager to see what lay beyond, I never heard the sound of the opposite door swinging open, and I never even had a chance to scream before a rough hand clamped over my mouth.

"What'choo doin' here, girl?" hissed a voice, low and masculine, as I felt him pin my arms behind my back. I made some sound, but it was muffled by his hand, and I couldn't even glimpse his face. He was behind me, tall and solid, and far too strong. I realized, with a sinking feeling, just how foolish I had been to venture in here, alone. But I could feel the weight of my phone in my pocket. If I could just reach it, I could call 911. Even amid my terror, that idea brought comfort.

"You spyin' on me?" demanded the voice. "You come to chase me out? Fuck that. This my house. Ain't no white bitch gonna chase me away."

I tried to shake my head, to assure him that this "white bitch" had no intention of chasing anyone off, but he was still pressing his hand over my mouth. I tried to struggle, but the guy was huge; he just tightened his hold on my arms like it was nothing. "Mmmphh!" I protested. I heard him chuckle. That scared me more than anything else.

"You a tasty white bitch," he murmured, close to my ear -- close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck. "Mmm, you feel pretty damn good." He tightened his hold and pressed closer to me, close enough that I could feel something hard against the small of my back. "Been a long time since I had me some white meat. Maybe I oughta help myself. What'choo think, bitch? You like black cock?"

Oh my god, I thought, this can't be happening. What will my husband think? Funny, that that's the first thing that went through my head. That, and what'll happen to Norris? I didn't even really think about ME at all. I tried to struggle again, in earnest this time -- I kicked my feet and threw my weight back and forth, hoping to break free of his grip. He just laughed again, and pushed me into the room I'd been about to enter, slamming the door shut behind us.

There was a dingy mattress on the floor, and a pile of clothes and scattered belongings. This must be where he was squatting. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid -- the idea of a squatter had never crossed my mind. His hand finally left my mouth; I dragged in a deep lungful of air, momentarily grateful not to have to breathe in the smell of him. But that breath was expelled in a startled squeal as his hand suddenly plunged down the top of my shirt, groping for my breast.

"P-please," I managed, "don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me."

"You damn right you'll do whatever I want," he taunted. "And you'll start by showing me them titties."

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, my mind raced. He was pulling at my top. Without really thinking about it, I helped him; I was so afraid he'd hurt me if I didn't. As he yanked my top down, I reached behind my back and undid the hook of my bra, and in just a few seconds, my breasts were free, and I could feel the guy pawing at them, squeezing and pinching my nipples, and the hardness at my back was all the more pronounced.

"MmMMM," he enthused, and spun me around to face him, his hands now clamped around my wrists as he bent his head and seized one of my tits in his mouth, making satisfied smacking sounds as he sucked and licked. I couldn't believe this was happening. My mind was in a daze. But the more horrifying part -- the far more horrifying part -- was that I could feel myself getting turned on. I had never told my husband this -- never told anyone -- but most of my sexual fantasies revolved around being raped. Being forced. Being helpless to resist. Now it was happening, and while I was still terrified, there was a deeper part, a hungry part, that awakened, at long last. Oh my god, I thought, and in the next second, don't stop. I was filled with shame.

"Mmmm," he breathed, his tongue making one last swipe at my nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva, "you taste good, bitch. Lemme see the rest of you. Get naked." He was already clawing at my skirt. I couldn't think of what else to do; it's like my mind was frozen. Numbly, I helped him, unbuttoning my skirt and letting it fall, cringing inwardly as I realized, belatedly, that my phone was in one of the pockets. What was I doing? I should struggle, try and break free, call the police. But then his hands were on me again, yanking my panties down, and I couldn't think. I just trembled, torn between shame and terror.

"You one fine-lookin' white bitch," he murmured, and for a second he was just looking at me, his head cocked to one side, hands momentarily to himself. I got my first real good look at him, and I was a little surprised to discover that he wasn't bad-looking, himself. He was younger than I thought -- maybe somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties, so probably around my age. He had a broad nose and full lips and a gap between his teeth, but wasn't ugly -- by any stretch. What kind of homeless guy was he? Then he unzipped his pants, and those thoughts flew out of my head with his next words.

"Get on your knees."

Trembling, I did. I suppose I should have fought harder, resisted, tried to run away, something. But I didn't. I guess it didn't help that most of my rape fantasies involved black men. I suppose that must make me a racist or something. I'd never really thought about it before, but now the thought popped into my head, and I had the crazy urge to laugh, it was so absurd. I must have made some sort of whimpering sound, with my lips clamped together to keep the laughter in. He misunderstood, and reassured me, "I ain't gonna hurt you, bitch, 'long as you do as I say. Do what I say, and you'll be jus' fine."

And then... and then he whipped it out. Not really whipped so much as pulled. Slowly. Trust me, you couldn't whip a thing like that out. Oh my god, my mind whispered again, but for a far different reason. I had thought my husband was well hung. He had nothing on this guy. He stroked it a couple times, as if proud, and then he stepped forward, and with special emphasis, told me, "Suck my dick."

What could I do? I opened my mouth. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was somewhere else, that he was someone else, that none of this was really happening. His cock touched my tongue, I tasted the salty-velvety-smoothness of it, and something in me shifted, or clicked into place. I wasn't terrified anymore. Something else took over. I can't quite explain it and don't want to waste time trying, but it was as if I'd turned a corner, or left something behind, and I had no thought anymore for terror or fear -- it was just the moment. His cock, and my mouth, and lord, I went to town. I started sucking on that thing as if it were the last popsicle on earth.

He groaned, and I felt his hands on my hair, fingers digging into my scalp. I sucked harder. I'd always been fairly fastidious, sexually -- insisted that my husband and I bathe before sex, complained if he was too sweaty. Yet here I was, sucking on this squatter's cock -- and lord knows when he last bathed -- but it was as if I was a different person. He'd told me to suck his cock, and I obeyed. When it was put in such simple terms, it SEEMED simple. I thought of nothing else. My only mission in that moment was to give the best goddamn blowjob I'd ever given.

I sucked, I licked, I rolled my tongue around the head of his cock, I cradled his balls, I bobbed my head up and down the base of his shaft, steadily harder and harder, until the guy was moaning and rocking his hips, fucking my face while I sucked his cock. I couldn't believe how turned on I was. I could feel wetness between my thighs and I slid a hand down there, startled to discover I was slick and ready -- wetter than I'd ever been before. I guess I must have moaned or made some sound, because the guy suddenly pulled his dick out of my mouth and muttered, "Turn around."

All too ready, I complied, dropping to my hands and knees on the dingy mattress, feeling him drop to his knees behind me. And then, oh god, it was there, the head of his cock, pressed against my pussy, slowly pushing in, in, IN! So fucking deep. I moaned and rocked back against him, and he moaned and rocked forward against me, and then we were fucking. Good, long, hard, deep fucking. I was beside myself. I couldn't get enough. With every stroke, I matched him, pushing when he pushed, pulling when he pulled, making the most of all that glorious friction. I was moaning with every plunge, my head cradled on my arms, my ass in the air, legs spread, knees chafing, my body shuddering with pleasure as he fucked me. I was insensible. I could feel him gripping my hips, feel every stroke of that thick shaft, feel every goddamn inch of him deep inside me. It was the best fuck I'd ever had.

And then, just like that, it was over. He pulled out and I could feel his quick, jerky motions, hear the way his groans changed as he spent his thick load all over my back. Part of me was relieved. The sane part. The part that knew what was going on, how wrong this was, how crazy. It was over. But another part said, hey, what about me? What about my turn? I tried to ignore it.

"Uh, damn, bitch," he mumbled, breathing hard. "You liked that, didn't you, slut?"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't trust myself to deny it.

He was already cleaning himself up, swabbing his dick with some discarded piece of clothing. He chucked it at me when he was done. "Get yo'self cleaned up," he said. Get dressed. I'm done with you."

Silently, I did. The shame hadn't quite come back. I knew I should feel it -- I could feel it hovering just out of reach, but it wasn't there just yet. I was still in the moment. Still basking in the crazy high of what had just happened. Still not quite myself. He watched me tidy myself up, swab my back and then gingerly get back into my clothes.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he repeated, watching me.

Wordless, I nodded. I couldn't quite meet his eyes. He smiled his gap-toothed smile.

"You know where to find me. You come back. Next time, I'll make you come. Come so hard you lose your mind. Trust me."

I couldn't say anything. But somewhere deep down, so deep it almost didn't seem like me, I knew he was right. I had liked it. And I wanted more. And I knew I'd be back.

I scurried out of there, fast, without looking back. I raced downstairs, still tidying myself, feeling the shame creep back, finally, now that the high was fading away. I found Norris without trouble -- he was waiting right outside the front door, and he whined and jumped up when I came out, sniffing and wagging his tail. I just snapped the leash on him and practically jogged all the way home. I'd take a nice long, hot shower when I got there. I'd pretend that could wash everything away.

Except that I knew, already, that it wouldn't. Something had changed in me that afternoon -- something I could no longer deny. For years, I had been a good, faithful wife. But in one encounter, I'd become a willing slut, and now there was no going back. I didn't know if I wanted to.

FIN

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12 Comments
guysimple1674guysimple1674almost 4 years ago
Raw and hot

This is one of the best seduction stories, where a married lady is seduced by the raw strength and sex appeal of a strong man. It's a real turn on, please write more.

cindylynn34cindylynn34over 9 years ago
thank you

I would really love reading more on this story

kurtspeierkurtspeierover 11 years ago
LOVE this story!!

I loved this story, and I want to hear/read more from you!! Excellent material and it shows that you love your topic. Write again, if only to me.

Kurt

Coroner619Coroner619over 13 years ago
Not bad at all

Very good for a quick story on the run. I find that thinking too much just ruins the flow of the story. Let an editor find the flaws after, yours had good flow and was sexy. That's why we are here. If someone didn't like it then go read a different one that does it for you. Also I do know plenty of women with rape fantasies who may not actually want to be raped, they use stories like this to feed their cravings and then they go home and put on a blind fold and hand cuffs while imaging this. Thank you for your story.

ZaneJZaneJover 13 years ago
Very well done

Don't be put off by the negative comments; there's always someone fool who forgets that this stuff is fantasy, that not all popular fantasies are tailor-made for them personally, and is probably right now commenting in a Gay Male story, whining about the lack of hetero action.

I love the theme of the woman at first resisting, then giving in completely in the face of profound taboo (it's what I write too /shameless plug over), and I thought you pulled it off extremely well.

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