Fidelity Ch 03 - Sex Stories

Fidelity Ch 03

... fuck was wrong with me. My mouth felt at home over the head of his cock, but the way he treated me. Why I would put up with this? “You’re something completely different,” he said, pushing my head down. I barely got a breath in once he began fucking my face, careless of my pain or pleasure. Finally, he let go of me and I fell back onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, panting for breath. Matthew stood over me and came, in my hair, on my face, and all over my sports bra. When he finished, he pushed the head of his cock against my lips. I sucked him in, tasting the last of his orgasm. After a minute, it was clear he wasn’t softening. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and slapped it against my forehead. I fell onto my back more from shock than from the impact. Matthew laughed. He grabbed my legs and casually flipped me over onto my stomach. I tried to get up and he helped by yanking my shorts up. They tore off and he entered me from behind with one long push. “Ha, you’re soaked. Again.” It was humiliating. I was furious with his treatment of me, but wet and ready. He fucked me like an animal and I came like a bitch in heat, moaning and biting my lips so I wouldn’t beg him to fuck me deeper. He came inside me and got up to leave, getting in a last word. “No, I want to call you names. But slut and whore won’t do, you’re just a willing wet hole.” As he left, Mathew added, “if you don’t like it, leave.” I lay on the floor wracked with post-orgasmic-post-10k ...

... cramps and cried. -- Work preoccupied the rest of Sunday. I avoided Matthew in my office for the remainder of the weekend. Thank god for work. Monday wrecked me. I spent the morning alternating between humiliating satisfaction and tightly controlled panic. Matthew had all day to think, to pack, to call his lawyer... By the afternoon guilt, humiliation, and fear turned to anger. Mostly with myself, but also at Matthew for the way he’d treated me. Not the rough sex. No, his refusal to talk about it grated. I left at 3 and got home by 4. His old Porsche was on the street. I didn’t let my relief deter me. “We need to talk,” I said. He walked toward me with his hands out low, as if to start a hug, totally disarming me. And again, for a moment, we had a connection of warmth. He crushed it by spinning me around and throwing me against the wall, pinning me with one hand. I heard a zip and then my skirt was up, my thong down, and his cock in me. I wasn’t ready for it, he felt even larger than normal. It took a minute of dry pushing and grunting to take him all the way in. Somehow, I got wet. He stopped abruptly after only a few thrusts. “You’re crying,” he said. “Do you want me to stop?” I looked at him over my shoulder, wanting to see concern on his face, but there was only frosty anger. I shook my head. He fucked me against the wall, I came before he did. Twice. What was wrong with me? It happened again the next night and the next. Anytime I tried to have a serious conversation with ...