Fashion Expert, Make up Artist, and TV Personality - Sex Stories

Fashion Expert, Make up Artist, and TV Personality

... cups and clasping it behind her back. She straightens the straps, puffing the skirt out around her butt. She yawns, and glances back to the clock. She has between thirty minutes before I arrive. She sat her phone on the nightstand, setting the ring volume as high as it went just in case I text her. She set her alarm for five o'clock, assuming I will be on the later side of my window. Another layer of chap stick is added to her lips before she pulls back the covers on the bed and sliding beneath them. She finds herself on her stomach, facing the balcony. Her right leg is stretched out, her left pulled up to her hip. Her right hand resting under her hip, and her left curled below her pillow. The music from her phone helps to drown out the flurry of thoughts as she fell asleep. Her face is hanging off the side of the bed, normal for the way she slept, her damp hair is strung out behind her. She awoke with a start as the bed dips at the corner. Her eyes shot open, quickly seeing a pair of boots and button down shirt at the foot of the bed. Suddenly my weight pins down her body, pushing the breath out of her lungs. She can't scream as she tries to sit up, her heart racing. She struggles to turn, trying to see me. Was it John? It can't be, it is to early, her alarm hadn't gone off. She has wrapped herself up in the sheets as she slept and curses herself for it; her legs can barely move under my weight and the tangle of sheets beneath the comforter. She tries to push against the ...

... mattress to get on her knees, but I'm on top of her, straddling her hips, my chest pressing against her back. She can make out the side of my body, but not my face. My hand entwined in her hair as she gasps. Her head is jerked backwards and her body forced flat against the mattress. She kicks with her legs, irritated that the comforter is so tight on the bed; she works her hands free from under her. " Stop! Let me go, bastard!" She is pissed. If this is John, what am I doing? She shook her head, immediately regretting it as my grip did not lessen instead her scalp hurt. Finally her arms became free from the mess of sheets and she rears back, managing to get her chest off the bed. My arm snakes around her neck, and she grabs it, trying to pry it away from her throat. She bucks her hips yanking my arm down, to no avail. " Stop it! I swear I will fucking --" My arm tighten around her windpipe, cutting off her words. She gasps and gags for air, flailing underneath me. The covers have slid down and she feels my warm chest against her back, and my hot breath in her ear. " You're going to shut up or I'm going to gag you. Now, you're going bright red, so I'm going to loosen my hold a bit so you can breathe. Try anything and I will make you black out next time, okay?" My grip lightens and she greedily sucks in air, nodding. It sounds like me. My voice is familiar. My tone is not. " What are you doing?" She squirms uncomfortably, panting as she regains her breath. A dark chuckle answers ...