Your Ass is Mine: The Rough Games Collection
Cindy Atherton
© Cindy Atherton 2012
Smashwords Edition
The right of Cindy Atherton to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author or his publisher is strictly prohibited.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
1. The Housebreaker
It was late and, once again, Marsha prepared for an evening of solitary entertainment. Frustrated, forty and fed up with her lot, she came out of the en suite bathroom and looked at the empty bed before her, the duvet and pillows as immaculate as the rest of the room. She couldn’t remember the last time that her husband, Roger, had slept in it, and now he was away on business - at this moment, no doubt, paying some cheap, young whore to suck him off in a hotel room.
Turning back to switch off the bathroom light, she paused when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her brown hair was brushed and silky, falling to her shoulders, and was probably the thing she liked most about her face although she now had to die it to disguise the grey hairs that were beginning to appear. Without her makeup, she thought that her face looked plain, although to an unbiased observer they would have probably judged her handsome rather than beautiful. Certainly her dark eyes were pleasant, and if her lips were not as full as others certainly they formed a nice smile. Not that she smiled much these days.
Her body was still good though. She had put on weight, inevitably with the passing years and she’d never really recovered her former svelte figure after the birth of her two children, both now fully grown and having left the nest. She still had a waist though, and her hips were broad and voluptuous rather than fat, forming a lovely hourglass shape she thought in her blue camisole. Her legs were too short for her liking, but her tits were still fantastic, large and buxom double D-cup tits that filled her clothes very well indeed. Her legs were too short for her liking, but her thighs remained pretty firm - not that anyone really paid much attention any more, certainly not Roger.
He worked as a sales manager and had to spend a lot of time away from home. It was inertia that had kept her here, like a bird in a rather tawdry gilded cage. He made enough to provide a decent home, though now the four bedrooms seemed especially empty, and because of the children she had turned a blind eye to the evidence of his various affairs and liaisons when they began to emerge - the smell of a strange perfume, traces of lipstick on his shirt, the occasional marks on his body on the few times that she saw him naked. She had once overheard him with a colleague discussing the pros and cons of various prostitutes in London, and while her stomach had turned in disgust in a weird way this placated her. She suspected that it was just sex.
She should have left him years ago, of course. The problem was as she grew older fewer and fewer men looked at her. She was still fine enough looking in her way, but nothing like the beauty she had been in her teens and early twenties. Occasionally she blamed her children for ruining her body, but that was unfair and largely untrue. Rather, the simple boredom and drudgery of life as a housewife had sapped away any vitality she once had.
Or nearly sapped it away. Her lot would have been easier to deal with had she lost her sexual appetite, but this remained, goading her as she moved into middle age. She was not as crazy as she had been in her younger days, but the simple fact remained: she wanted to fuck. If anything, her desperation made her even kinkier. To try and seduce Roger back to her bed, she had offered herself anally to him, brought various toys, allowed him to dominate her and abuse her in various ways, but after a brief burst of excitement he had drifted off once more to sport on digital TV and sex with his whores. Their passion had fizzled away.
Switching off the light, she went over to her bed and pulled back the duvet cover. The small lamp on the bedside table cast a dull glow - she didn’t really want to watch herself tonight, she just wanted to cum - and, climbing between the duvet and sheet she opened the top drawer. There were her old faithfuls: a butt plug to stimulate her ass and her favourite vibrator.
“Just you and me tonight, boys,” she sighed.
Hoisting up her camisole, she spread her thighs and idly began to play with her pussy, her perfectly manicured nails spreading apart her labia and rubbing gently at her clitoris. Although she had cleaned off her makeup, after coming out of the bath she had dabbed a couple of drops of perfume onto her skin and the pleasant scent filled the room.
Her cunt was topped with a neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair - while Roger may not have paid it any attention, Marsha refused to give up on herself yet, and she was proud of her pussy. There were stretch marks on her belly (one of the reasons why she always wore a camisole or other night clothes), but her cunt was one part of her that still looked younger than its years. Hard to believe that a son and daughter had pushed their way out of it, she thought to herself.
As she played with the hood of her clit, pulling it back to expose the pink bud beneath, so at last a droplet of wetness began to form in her vulva as she masturbated herself, the lips of her pussy beginning to extend a little, warm pink leaves on either side of her slit. Sliding her fingers down, she rubbed along the length of her vulva towards the perineum then dipped a finger inside, taking care not to scratch herself with the white tips of her nails.
Her breasts were swelling now, the nipples becoming erect with anticipation and excitement. Using her other hand, she pulled down the top of her camisole and began to fondle each of them in turn, squeezing and pinching her nipples hard. Sometimes she wore nipple clamps, binding the dark pink flesh tight between metal clasps, but tonight she simply used her fingers for the same effect, digging in her finger nails and being much more vicious on her large, fulsome tits than she was on her vagina. As she dragged the nails across the pale flesh, red tramway lines were left behind and the sensation made her a little wetter, a little hornier than before.
As she squeezed and brutalised her breasts, so her excitement grew and she began to finger her cunt more viciously now, pumping her fingers in and out, inserting two of them up to the knuckles which became wet and slick with her juices. Retracting them, she started to slap her pussy, making wet squelching sounds as she dug her nails deeper into her left breast, moaning as an orgasm finally began to build. Juices were now streaming from her cunt, flooding towards her asshole, and before she dipped her fingers into her slit again she pushed the tip of a nailed finger into her anus, jabbing it before frigging her cunt again.
Her orgasm, when it came, was pleasant and very welcome, though not as strong as she was able to achieve. Gasping the word “fuck” repeatedly to herself, she let the throbbing sensation ripple through her before she settled back on the bed and rested for a few moments. To achieve a stronger climax, she would need her toys.
Pulling some KY Jelly from the drawer next to the bed, she started to smear it over her butt plug and fingers. The latter she rubbed all around her asshole, occasionally pushing a finger inside and taking care not to hurt herself (though it was a tiny bit sore from where she had jabbed herself). Breathing in and out to relax herself, she took the plug - not the biggest thing she had ever shoved in there, but useful enough to stretch her anally - and slowly pushed it against her sphincter. Concentrating, flexing her anus to make it expand a little, she curled her lips into a silent O as it started to penetrate her. As it expanded the rim of her ass, she felt the strange sensation of pleasure mixed with a little pain and discomfort that had really started to turn her on in recent months, and her cunt let out a trickle of juices. When it finally popped into place, she had a pre-orgasmic tremble and let her arms flop down for a moment while she breathed in and out quickly.
For a while she simply lay there, acclimatising herself to the sensation of a filled butt. Then, picking up the vibrator, she began to work it around her pubic bone, feeling the vibrations of the toy shimmering through her abdomen. That alone was enough to make her almost come, and when she began to slap her breasts, catching the nipples as she flicked her hand across them, she did indeed experience a minor climax - not enough to stop her playing, but rather a precursor of what was to come when she really started going.
Outside was completely dark now, a fact for which Damien was completely grateful. Once he had dropped over the wall of the house into the garden he was extremely pleased to see that virtually no light from the street lamps at the front of the house cast any illumination into this spot. Most of the houses around were dark, though a few had lights on in their bedroom windows. In any case, it was unlikely that anyone looking out would be able to discern him in his black clothes. Taking one final precaution to cover his blond hair with a balaclava, he stalked to the rear of his target.
Damien’s parole officer liked to think that deep down he was just a bit of a lad, that inside he was a good boy who just needed some love and attention to make up for what he had lacked all his childhood. She, however, was a silly bitch. Not bad looking for an old woman though, and he would have definitely boned her if he thought he could get away with it. She was about twenty or so years older than his nineteen years, and the way she looked at him sometimes made him think that she was up for it more than him.
Funny what you think of when you’re on a job, was the idea that crossed his mind at that moment. He shook his head and pulled on his gloves. He needed cash - sure, he was always up for a fuck, but that would come later. Right now he needed to get what he could out of one of the houses of these rich cunts and get out of there.
He paused as he came closer to the back of the house. Was that a light he could see in the one bedroom window? The rest of the house was completely dark, and he was sure this place was empty. It was probably just a lamp left on to convince people that the place had occupants, but it meant that he would need to be really careful. Fortunately for him, despite his youthful age, he had plenty of experience of being stealthy when it came to breaking into houses.
Reaching into the bag slung around his waist, he felt the jemmy and cosh but instead groped around until he felt the glass cutter. The bag itself was not especially large, but Damien was a dab hand at robbery and knew exactly what he was looking for: cash, any jewellery, cards that he could use for fraud. When he was a mere whippersnapper, entering into his teens, he had been attracted by TVs, DVD players, stereo systems, game consoles. Unfortunately, that stuff was incredibly bulky and not worth anything anymore (though he had found a very nice new Sony handheld at one place he’d broken into: that was for personal pleasure, though, not business).
The back door that led into the kitchen was a paltry affair, some fancy stable door contraption designed for cosmetic appeal rather than security. Indeed, the house itself was a walking invitation to someone such as himself. He could have simply smashed open the door but he didn’t want to make any noise so, instead, he placed the glass cutter to one of the panes in the door and applied a suction cup to the glass. Scoring around in a lower corner a couple of times, he simply tapped a hole through and carefully pulled away the roughly circular piece of glass, leaving a space wide enough for him to slip in a hand. As he thought: the inhabitants here really weren’t paying attention and had left a key in the back door - though that made him more cautious. There was probably someone at home after all.
Extremely quietly, he opened the door and entered the house, closing it behind him and pocketing the key. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and there was enough of a glimmer of light for him to make out the work surfaces and utilities placed in an orderly fashion around the room. Everything was neat and tidy, and there was no evidence at all of any pets, which was one blessing.
As he moved through to the hallway, Damien thought he heard a very faint noise which made him pause. At first, he could not be sure whether the glow that appeared to be in one corner upstairs actually was evidence of light, but as he waited in the darkness he was sure that there was light coming from one room. Creeping up the stairs, he heard a sound again, a muffled noise, and halted, cursing silently. There was someone in the house, but as he remained stock still he also became aware that the noise meant that whoever was in there had no intention of interrupting his activities. Grinning to himself, he reached into his bag and grabbed the cosh. Hopefully there would be no need to use it, but he liked to be certain.
Marsha was deep into an orgasm, her cries steadily growing louder and louder. The plug stretching her asshole made her loins more sensitive to the vibrator which she used to stimulate her clitoris, her legs bucking and kicking against the sheets as she brought herself off again and again. Her cunt was completely wet, soaking a large patch beneath her, and she screwed up her eyes, oblivious to everything else but the burning down below and the ache in her breasts which she had scratched and clawed until droplets of blood formed on her pale skin.
It was only after she had climaxed again, exploding in a writhing mess, and collapsed on the bed that she opened her eyes and saw him.
He was over six feet tall, dressed completely in black, with jeans and a black jumper, a balaclava pulled over his head. Around his waist and across his shoulders was slung a bag, and in his gloved hands he held some kind of stick. She could make out nothing of his face other than his eyes which appeared to shine at her and a malevolent smile on his lips.
Screaming, she pulled up the duvet cover immediately and made a grab for her smart phone on the bedside table. He must have anticipated her move, however, as he suddenly appeared to be there. With a violent blow, he smacked her across the face with the back of his hand and picked up the phone. As he looked at it, smirking, she cowered away from him, glad that he had not used the stick on her.
“Very nice,” he mused to himself. “Very nice indeed. Well, I’ll be having that.”
She found her voice. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here? Get out - get out before I call my husband!”
The housebreaker stepped back from the bed and looked around nonchalantly. “Go on,” he said. “Call him. You had the look of someone who wasn’t expecting to be disturbed this evening, and without this,” here he waved the phone at her, “I don’t think you’ll be calling anyone soon. Good double glazing you’ve got on the window. You were making a right racket, but I couldn’t hear a thing till I was right inside the house.”
Without thinking, panicking, Marsha leaped out of the bed, not caring that her buttocks were exposed as her camisole clung to her waist. She ran for the door, but again he was faster, younger, stronger. He slammed his fist against the wooden panels, slamming it shut, and before she could respond he had grabbed hold of her hair, pulling it viciously down. She was shorter than him, much shorter, and she screamed as he half lifted her by her hair, raising her hands and scrabbling ineffectually as he gripped her.
He lifted his cosh and waved it in her face. “Why don’t you just shut the fuck up,” he growled and, snarling, threw her so that she spun around, half landing on the bed with her ass in the air. Her plug, still inserted, was clearly visible for a moment as she struggled to turn round, pulling down her camisole and trying, not entirely successfully, to drag it across her exposed breasts at the same time.
“You dirty fucking bitch,” he said, coming forward to her and bending down, all the while tapping the cosh in his hands. “You really are a dirty fucking bitch.”
“W-w-what are you going to do?” she gibbered. “There’s money, and jewellery - in the d-drawers. Take what you want.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” he replied, standing back up. For some reason she could not understand, her eyes flickered down to his crotch, saw it bulging in his dark jeans.
“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Are you going to rape me?”
“Only if you want me to,” he said. His response filled her with fear, but then she also felt something else inside her, a sudden ache in her cunt.
Without warning, he turned and went to a chair that stood between the bed and the door. Sitting down with his legs apart, he turned his head from side to side.
“I know your sort,” he began after a while. “Nice house, nice kids I bet who have left the home. But it’s all empty, ain’t it. It’s just full of stuff, but that stuff’s not enough. Must be terrible when you get to your age.”
Marsha did not dare respond. She was terrified, listening to his words as though her life depended on it.
“So, when did he last... you know, when did he last do it to you?”
“W-w-what?” she stammered.
“Don’t act all fucking innocent with me. When did your husband last fuck you? When did he get merry with his missus?”
Marsha was surprised to feel herself become indignant. “I’ll have you know we have a very active sex life -” she began to reply.
“And that’s why you need to shove stuff up your arse and cut your own tits up? Come on love. Anyone can see you’re gagging for it, but I bet he hasn’t touched you for a long time. Am I right or am I right?”
Nervous, but also aware of the strange conflict of emotions churning inside her, Marsha nodded.
“Well, whoever he is, he’s a bleedin’ idiot,” Damien told her. “You ain’t ‘alf bad lookin’, not for an old ‘un. Cracking pair of tits on you, love, and from what I’ve seen of your arse, I wouldn’t mind fucking that. Think you’d like it too.
“Anyway, I can’t stay chatting all night like this,” he continued. Slapping his thighs, he stood up. “I got work to do, but I can’t ‘ave you interfering.” Dropping his cosh, he reached into his bag and withdrew a length of rope. “If you’d be so kind as to let me tie you up, I can get on with my job and no one need be any the wiser.”
As he moved towards her again, looking up and suddenly emboldened, Marsha said quietly: “You don’t need to do that.”
“What?” Damien looked down at her like she was a crazy woman.
“You don’t need to tie me up. I mean, you don’t need to tie me up here to keep me out of your way.” His crotch was level with here eye and, tentatively, she reached up and touched the bulge that was still there. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Damien paused for a moment before bending down and grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head savagely to one side as he whispered in her ear: “You don’t want to get involved with me, sweetheart.”
“But I do,” she answered quietly. Her terror and fear had subsided, replaced by something else. “I want it very much.”
“You crazy fucking bitch,” he was talking as much to himself as her. “Are you sure?” She nodded.
He unravelled the rope in his hands. “Stand up, slut and turn round. I’m still going to need this - I don’t trust you not turn into a fucking crazy on me.”
“Yes, master,” said Marsha, obediently pushing herself to her feet and turning with her back to him. She was fully a foot shorter than him and was fully aware of his strong body towering over her.
He pulled her hands back roughly and began to twine the rope around them, tying it into a knot and yanking in such a way that it made her wrists burn, causing her to cry out. “Shut up, bitch!” he growled, slapping her hard across the back of her head. “This hasn’t even begun yet.”
She bit her tongue and he immediately placed one hand on her shoulders and spun her round. Silently, he placed both his gloved hands to the top of her camisole and twisted the fabric. Within seconds, he had torn the seam and ripped down hard, exposing her breasts. Tearing at it again, her underwear was completely open at the front, and he gazed with evident pleasure at the bruises that were beginning to form on each of her tits.
“You like it rough, don’t you,” he observed.
“Yes, master,” she replied.
Bringing up both hands, he began to squeeze both of her breasts simultaneously, pinching the opulent flesh between his fingers. Her nipples were stiff, and his fingertips were making the flesh of her breasts turn red. Lowering his head, he began to suck one of her nipples before taking the aureole between his teeth and biting down, harder than she expected, making her cry again.
“Did I say you could cry out, you stupid fucking cunt?” he asked, letting go of her and slapping her again across the face. When her head returned to a forward position, she lowered her face but stared at him with lustful eyes.
“No, master.”
Damien laughed at this. “Well, okay - but actually, you can cry all you want. You can fucking scream if you want. In fact, the more noise you make while we do this, the better.” Peeling off the glove of his right hand, he unceremoniously dipped it between her legs, crudely feeling along her slit. “You’re fucking wet, aren’t you. You fucking love this, don’t you.” They were statements rather than questions.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Get on your knees, whore,” he told her. Taking a pace back, he began to unbutton his jeans as she awkwardly lowered her body until she was upright on her knees. She was visibly trembling as he pulled down the waistband of his trousers and boxer shorts, easing out an erection that was prodigious. Marsha had virtually been a virgin when she married Roger, and certainly the thing before her was longer, thicker, more magnificent in every way than the measly cock that belonged to her husband. She could not help herself licking her lips when it sprang up in front of her face.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered her and, brown eyes looking up at him, Marsha did as she was told.
Damien introduced the tip of his heavy cock to her lips, holding it there as she breathed on it. Both of them were very still for a moment and then, for his own amusement, he swung his hips sideways so that his erection slapped her on the cheek. “Now you’re going to stay very still while I fuck your face. You understand, bitch?”
“Yes, master,” she said quietly.
Placing one hand around her neck, under her chin, and the other on the back of her head, Damien began to push into her mouth. The first inch or so went in easily enough, but then she had to move her jaw, forcing her mouth open even further as he sought to shove it into her more deeply. Going as far as he could, he withdrew, traces of her saliva glistening on his shaft.
“Spit on it,” he commanded. Marsha did so, a thick glob of liquid that scattered along the top half of him. Using the hand that had held the back of her head, he smeared the saliva along the length and then began to push into her again.
He was rough this time, going to the back of her throat immediately and holding her there. Marsha rose up on her knees, but this simply made the pressure of his hand around her neck tighten. She could not breathe as he began to buck his hips back and forth, fucking her face with force and strength. Panic rose in her breast, but at the same time her cunt began to open even more, gaping with delight as sexual tension was released from within her.
After a minute or so of this, he pulled out completely and she gasped in panic and joy, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “You like that, cunt? Of course you like it, don’t you.” Once more she nodded.
Returning to the task at hand, Damien fucked her more rapidly now, bobbing her head along his shaft faster and faster until she was shaking like a toy, choking on his dick and making spluttering, gurgling sounds. Hitting her too hard on the back of her throat, he triggered her gag reflex and a thick, viscous lump of puke shot up out of her mouth, again causing her to rise up and try to pull away. Letting his cock fall from his mouth as the puke slid all over it, Damien slapped her across the face again.
“Don’t fucking move, bitch. You’re being a very good girl.” With this, he released the back of her head again and pushed his fingers into her mouth, rubbing the mess that was forming around her lips and shoving first two, then three fingers even deeper so that she gagged and looked up at him in panic.
Replacing his hand with his cock, he began to throatfuck her again. Tears were now forming in her eyes, running down her cheeks in streams. Her cunt begged to be fucked, but for the moment she was an utterly submissive mouth, open completely to his will. His erection was incredible - Roger’s was never as hard, never as thick and long as this, and as she kept her lips wide apart she slobbered and drooled over it.
Satisfied that her mouth was owned, Damien pulled out once more and, for good measure, slapped her hard across the face, leaving a red mark that stung her and again brought tears to her eyes.
“Stupid fucking cunt,” he muttered to himself. “You fucking do love this. Well, perhaps I better give you a little reward for being such a good fuck toy.”
He used his hand to drag her upwards by the hair, ignoring her cries of pain and throwing her back on the bed. Her bound arms ached beneath her, and he moved forward onto the bed, his cock sticking out of his trousers as he kicked open her legs with his knee. He still had one glove on his left hand and he had not removed the balaclava. For a moment, she wished he would tear it off, reveal his face and kiss her, kiss her all over - but she knew instinctively that this was not to happen.
Instead, Damien raised his mask just enough to reveal completely his mouth, a handsome red curve, his chin strong and his jawline broad. Dropping to his knees, he raised her legs over his shoulders and gazed for a moment at her pretty cunt.
“Damn, you are a fine woman,” he smirked, looking up at her for a moment before he went to work on her pussy. For a few seconds, he was strangely gentle, sniffing all around her pubis and vulva. Then, without warning, he dove into her slit with his tongue, licking up her creamy juices that had begun to flow more freely while he had been throatfucking her. Marsha began to moan as he licked her, and he moved his mouth up to her clit, taking the hood into his mouth and sucking it.
Releasing his hold on her legs, he began to finger her, more viciously now, pushing two, then three, then four fingers into her, stretching her brutally. At one point she thought he was going to fist her and she was genuinely frightened at how she would handle the pain, but instead he removed his hand and instead placed his fingers on the plug still buried in her butt.
Tugging at it, he ignored her cries as he pulled it out. Her sphincter, excited and stretched by the toy, did not immediately close up but instead remained open to his gaze, a dark, pink rimmed hole against the paler flesh of her buttocks. Returning his head, he began to alternate between licking her cunt and her asshole, all the time reaching up with his hands to her large breasts and mercilessly mauling them, digging in his fingers as he sucked and licked her.
When he had enough of orally stimulating her, he pulled her again by the hair, this time into an upright position on the bed. “Those really are fucking gorgeous titties,” he told her, before using his gloved hand to slap her across her breasts, hitting her hard so that it stung. Her nipples were incredibly stiff, however, and the sensation of pain as he abused her simply made her cunt flow more freely.
Seeing the wetness between her legs, Damien shoved two fingers from the gloved hand into her, hurting her as she did so and making her whimper. Removing them again, he smirked at the wetness on the black leather and pushed it into her face. “Lick it off, you slut,” he told her. “You know you want to, you fucking whore.”
And she did want to. Greedily, eagerly, she sucked the leather, tasting her own salty sweetness and all the time looking up at him. Her breasts stung from where he had hit her, bruises clearly visible now amidst the scratch and claw marks she had inflicted earlier.
Without warning, he used that very hand to yank her by the hair again, this time flipping her over on the bed so that she landed face down, her ass upwards. The sphincter was still winking, fearfully, eagerly, knowing what was to come and still dreading it. He did not need to say a word to her for her to know fully where he was going to fuck her - ever since he had seen the plug in her arse, she knew that when they fucked this was not going to be gentle.
Damien licked his fingers and rubbed them over the end of his cock, a brief flirtation with lubrication, and - still holding her hair firmly in his gloved hand - guided his erection to her arsehole with the other. He pushed tentatively a couple of times, measuring the resistance to him, then shoved with his full force into her. For a few seconds he could not budge any deeper inside her; then, with what felt like a ripping sensation in her anus, he was inside and Marsha was screaming in pain at this violation of her ass.
“Fucking shut it, bitch!” he shouted, slapping her hard across the back of the head and pushing her down to muffle out her cries.
As he assfucked her, he struck each of her buttocks in turn, making them flame red with the violence of his blows. Marsha was whimpering as he did so, tears pouring from her face and snot starting to blow from her nostrils. The saliva was thick in her mouth. This hurt, it really hurt, but all the time her cunt was gaping, yearning.
Her grunts were incoherent, but Damien thought he heard the vague formations of words there as he buried himself to the hint in her asshole. “What did you say, bitch?”
“Uh, uh,” Marsha was crying, desperately trying to find words in the heat and pain and passion of her violation. “F-fuck me, master. Fuck my arse. Rape it - it’s yours.”
Damien laughed savagely as he returned to his buggery, even more forceful now, slamming deeply into her. “That’s right, you fucking bitch. It’s mine - owned, you cunt.”
Reaching under her, he groped and mauled her breasts, then she could feel him building up to his own orgasm, his cock swelling even more and creating an even more intense sensation of pain and pleasure in her ass.
“Fuck! Fucking shit!” he began to curse as he rammed home faster and faster into her. “Fucking bitch! Cumming! Fucking cumming!”
As he slammed home a few final times, shooting deeply inside her, Marsha felt herself black out for an instant as her own orgasm kicked in, a powerful wave of blackness that overwhelmed her. She was abused, fucked, taken, her asshole torn and hurt, oozing out his sperm when he slid off her body, her cunt completely wet and dripping with her juices.
He had not finished yet, however. He applied a finger from each of his hands, one gloved, the other bare, into her asshole, massaging it and stretching it, seeing the damage and abuse he had inflicted on her anus. Reaching backwards, he groped towards the cosh and raised it while Marsha turned her head.
“What are you doing?” she cried out in panic.
“Shut the fuck up, you dirty bitch. I know you can get more up there and that ass is fucking mine.”
As she started to struggle, he pulled her arms up, twisting them in their bonds and making her cry out. Then he leaned his entire weight on her for a moment, forcing his legs between hers and whispering in her ear: “The more you struggle, the more it will hurt.”
Whimpering, she lay still submissively as he introduced the cosh to her asshole. Although it was not actually as thick as his cock, the end was blunter and it hurt her as he pushed into her, but she stifled her sobs and, as he carefully worked his gloved hand which held the cosh in and out of her butt, an inch or so started to slide in.
“There you are - see? Not so bad, not so fucking bad at all.”
With his other hand, he pushed three of his naked fingers into her cunt and fingered her roughly. Marsha’s face was screwed up in a grimace of pain and pleasure, and her breathing came hard and fast as she was sodomised with the cosh and filled with his brutal fingers. Yet this domination of her also made her cunt wet, and soon she was returning to another orgasm as Damien used and abused her.
Eventually, he staggered from her and flopped down into the chair beside the door. “Fuck me,” he muttered. “It’s so hot in here!”
As Marsha slowly turned herself around, her arms and breasts aching, her asshole incredibly sore and a burning sensation all through her loins, she was surprised to see him lift up the edge of his balaclava, revealing his luscious blue eyes and a fringe of blond hair. He grinned at her.
“That was fucking awesome,” he said. “You are fucking awesome.”
Marsha herself could barely move but she felt strange as she heard his words. After a pause, she murmured the only words that could come into her head: “Thank you.”
“Whoever your husband is, he doesn’t fucking realise what a star he has in you.” Damien was buttoning up his jeans again and, returning to life, glancing round the room hungrily. “Sorry, babe, but I’ve still got business to do if you know what I mean.”
Marsha stared at him blankly and he gave a laugh. “Lovely as this evening’s been, I didn’t exactly break in here to fuck you. That’s more, ah, how do you say, an added bonus.”
Understanding at last what he meant, she beckoned to the drawer of the bedside table and the wardrobe. “There’s money in the cabinet and you’ll find a box of jewellery in there. My husband also has cash in his room across the landing.”
“That’ll do nicely - we accept everything except cheques,” replied Damien with a laugh. Standing up, he suddenly pulled a flick knife from his back pocket and came towards Marsha. Panicking, she started to kick out with her feet, pulling away from him as he reached out to her with his gloved hand.
“It’s okay babe,” he told her gently, placing his hand on her hair. “Turn around a moment. Wouldn’t be fair to leave you like this when you’ve been so welcoming.”
As he cut through her bonds, the blood started to rush back into her wrists and hands, causing pins and needles to shoot through her. Damien meanwhile was rifling through the drawers of her cupboard and whistled when he found the case containing her items of jewellery. “That will do very nicely,” he muttered to himself.
Sitting on the bed, Marsha watched him pack everything away into his bag and turn towards the door, apparently oblivious to her very existence. As he opened the door, she called out to him.
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” he replied with a grin that made his entire face light up. “You most definitely will.”