Chapter 4: Wife taken
The room smelled of him: clean sweat, cheap aftershave, and the lingering, musky scent of young male skin. It was overwhelming. A single, dimmed lamp hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light light on the crumpled sheets and the posters of athletes plastered on the wall.
He closed the door bete noise of panic and desire.hind them. The click of the latch was definitive. The thumping bass from downstairs was now a muted, rhythmic throb in the floorboards. Sarah stood frozen just inside the room, her clutch bag hanging limply from her fingers. She was staring at the bed, her mind a whirl.
Before she could turn or speak, his hands were on her. They landed on her shoulders, rough and decisive, and spun her around to face him. Her back connected with the cool, plaster wall beside the door with a soft thud. The impact stole her breath.
Then his mouth was on hers. His lips were hard, demanding, his tongue forcing past her teeth before she could even think to resist. The taste of him—beer and a faint hint of mint—flooded her senses. One of his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to deepen the angle. The other groped her, palm roughly kneading her breast through the sheer blouse and lace bra, his thumb grinding against her nipple.
He pulled his mouth from hers, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek. “Fuck, Sarah,” he growled, his voice thick. “Look at you. All dressed up like a present for me.” His hips pinned her to the wall, and she could feel the rigid, undeniable bulk of his erection straining against the denim of his jeans, pressing insistently into her belly. “You feel that? That’s what you did. That’s all for you, you dirty MILF.”
His hand slid from her breast down to her backside, gripping her ass through the slick fabric of the leggings. He squeezed hard, pulling her pelvis tighter against his. “God, look at this arse. Perfect. Bet your husband doesn’t grab it like this, does he?” He ground himself against her again, a slow, deliberate rotation that made her gasp. “Bet he doesn’t make you feel like this.”
His free hand slid around her hip, over the front of her leggings. She felt his fingers find the clasp at the waist, the small metal popper. He flicked it open with a practiced ease that sent a jolt through her. The sound of the zipper being dragged down was obscenely loud in the small room. The cold air of the room hit the exposed skin of her lower stomach.
“Little tiny knickers,” he sneered, his fingers dipping below the waistband of her leggings. They slithered over the satin of her small, expensive thong. “You wore this knowing I’d have you out of these tight pants. You knew.”
He didn’t bother pulling the underwear aside. He simply pushed the narrow band of fabric into the crease of her sex, his fingertips finding her through the damp silk. A sharp, shattered moan escaped her lips. Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes closing.
“Oh, fuck me,” he breathed, a note of triumphant awe in his voice. His middle finger pressed harder, the silk now soaked and clinging. “You’re dripping. Absolutely soaked.” He pushed the fabric aside and slid two fingers inside her without warning. They entered her easily, a blunt, stretching invasion. “Jesus Christ. This married cunt is pulsing for me. Say it.”
She couldn’t speak. Her hips arched against his hand of their own volition, seeking more of that devastating friction. He crooked his fingers inside her, pressing up, and a broken cry tore from her throat.
“Say it!” he demanded, his mouth back at her ear, biting the lobe.
“Yes!” she gasped, the word mangled. “I’m wet. I’m wet for you.”
He worked his fingers in and out of her, a rough, swift rhythm that made her legs shake. The slick, filthy sound of it filled the space between their ragged breathing. “All that juice,” he grunted. “All this slick, hot fucking juice just from thinking about my cock. You’re a greedy slut, Sarah. Admit it.”
“Yes, I am a slut,” she choked out. She was clinging to his shoulders, her nails digging into the hard muscle beneath his t-shirt. Her world had narrowed to the push and pull of his fingers, the grind of his denim-clad cock against her thigh, the crushing weight of his want.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, making her whimper at the sudden emptiness.
"Let me go quickly to the loo." she said.