The Adult Story Hub

Her first reaction was to cover herself, but he anticipated, and gripped her wrists, spreading them wide so her body was laid bare against the glass. He used his own head to force her cheek to the window. He kept her thighs wide with his hairy legs. After a few seconds she opened her eyes again to look out. If anyone had been watching from the tenement across the courtyard, they were not to be seen now. She relaxed, and held his softening cock with her muscles.
"What a delicious fuck you are," he crooned in her ear, licking her just below the lobe with the flat of his tongue. Her body shivered in response to the tension. He was still moving slightly inside her.
She could feel the swelling as his erection renewed itself, and she wondered what more he had planned...
Surely, he'd had enough? She really should go back to work! The thought flashed through her mind. The director wanted her report that afternoon, and here she was plastered to a window, sweaty, smothered in oil, juices painting the inside of her thighs, her hair a mess, and his thick cock keeping her cunt open. He sensed her stiffening, and released her hands. She looked at her watch and pushed back against his belly.
Her garters and hose would be a mess, stained with lube and her own juices, possibly torn or tattered. How in hell was she going to get cleaned up and back in five minutes? He stepped back, and just as she was about to turn, she felt her ass twinge crimson as his hand delivered a sharp reminder smack.
"Don't turn around!" She complied with building ire. "Look," she said, with her back to him. "You've had your way with me, but now I have a meeting to go to." "You'll never make it." His voice was implacable. "But, you could conference them in. Say you had an urgent call to a client site, got stuck in traffic and will make the presentation over your cellular phone." He frog-walked her over to one of the chairs and thrust her over the arm.
The blindfold reappeared, and darkness descended. The leather warmed quickly under her skin. "The number.," he insisted. She stammered out a response. He bent her forward over the arm of the couch and thrust his cock back in her warm cunt. As he shunted his half-hard member back and forth, she heard the sounds of dialing, then a hard angular object was thrust into her senseless fingers. She heard the ringing and her mind whirled. The Director's assistant answered, and her throat went dry for an instant.
"Francine," she blurted. "I've had a problem. I got held up, and I won't make it back for the meeting. Can you conference me in on speakerphone, then get the slides off my desk and hand them out." Businesslike, she had forgotten where she was, forgotten what had just happened, just barely aware of the cock moving slowly inside her.
She breezed through the presentation from memory and was just wrapping up, when she froze. Suddenly, the enormity of the situation blazed through her mind like wild fire. The voice, the hands guiding her, the alley, the door, the window. An involuntary gasp escaped as she came back to the studio, to her body lying naked over the arm of a leather chair, blindfolded, an unknown cock working her pussy, making a presentation to the Director. She listened in a daze as her proposal was accepted.
Numb, the phone slipped from her hands, and she struggled unsteadily to rise. His hands pressed down her head, and she became aware of a pressure in her bladder. The phone made tinny noises until he snapped it off. Then his hands came back to touch her. Her skin prickled as his fingers traced her ribs to her backbone, then down each vertebrae to her hips.
"Good job!" he chuckled. "Nice presentation!" She wondered if he were referring to her business proposal or to her ass that was raised up in the air. His fingers inched along and softly pinched the hemispheres of flesh. She squirmed as he trailed his fingers up the inside of her thighs and tickled her clit. She felt herself lubricate and open to him. A moan escaped her lips. Not for the last time that afternoon she wondered just how far he would take her. She wondered what he would do when she told him, but she couldn't stand it much longer. She stated flatly, with a touch of insolence, "I have to go to the bathroom."
"I think you'd better ask me nicer than that..." His tone was tinged with the suggestion of severity... Contrition crept into her voice, "Please can I go to the bathroom?"
He withdrew and pulled her to a standing position. He turned her and gave a small slap on the rear to get her walking. Walking behind, he directed her across the room. She felt him reach past her and open a door. He pushed her inside and turned her around. She could feel cool porcelain against her calves.
"Sit." She sat down slowly, feeling behind her with her hands.... She listened to the sound of a condom being removed, and waited. She could hear him breathing, just inches from her. Good god. She had to go pee in front of him too?
Her bladder was saying one thing, but the rest of her anatomy was not cooperating. She tried to relax, breathe slow breaths.... She heard the sound of water running, felt the increasing humidity lick her skin pasty. Finally, her stream of urine started, and she sighed.
She heard the tearing of toilet paper, and was strangely aroused when he blotted the urine and secretions from between her legs.
He raised her up by her arm and directed her to the source of the running water, a shower. The thick heat of the air prickled her skin in a way that made her itch to rub her body against his.
A faint smile of satisfaction appeared on her face as she heard him unwrap another condom. The hands on her shoulders urged her backwards to the wall, and she held out her hips in an open invitation.
He groaned at the provocative curve of her belly, the pouty labia visible beneath her thatch, the tight quadriceps drawing lines down her legs. He splashed the water briefly against her, then noisily lapped up trickles that dribbled off her nipples. He looked down again at her waiting, out thrust pussy. His hand penetrated her in unrestrained eagerness. His finger slid up inside her, swirling and groping, sometimes pressing that delicious spot, just behind her pubic bone.
She sighed to herself. Oh, there certainly was some pleasure in long fingers! He continued to work her with his hands as she sloped against the tiles, hands flat on the wall beside her hips. Her knees opened willingly as he nudged between them. He gripped his cock and swung it upwards against her pussy, making a wet thump that sent shocks through her from her swollen labia. He swung it again and again until she was used to the sensation. Sometimes, he held it against her clit and drew backwards in a delicious sensation of rasping between her lips.
"Use your fingers," he said. "Spread your pussy lips for me. Guide my cock inside your hot, juicy cunt. Spread your legs wide, and rub your clit against my cock. I'm going to slide up inside you now."
He bent his knees and pushed up, once again entering her. Now it was flesh against flesh, bone against bone. She reveled in the sensation of being stuffed and filled and rubbed and scratched. He humped her against the wall for a very long time until eventually her pussy was starting to feel sore.
She wondered at the stamina of this man who fucked her so relentlessly. She felt far away, remote from the sounds and sensations, and realized that she must be getting weak with hunger and exhaustion. He slowed and then rested against her, breathing hard for a moment. Then holding the condom with his hand, he withdrew slowly. She sighed as he pushed back.
Sweat was running between her breasts, mingling with the oil. She could taste the odors of their rut in the humid air as she felt herself slipping into a semi-conscious state. The stream of water from the shower splashed and splattered enticingly nearby. He traced a finger down her neck, across her sticky chest, and down her belly to the top of her matted pubic hair.
He helped her stand upright, and turned her to the side. She stood forlorn for a moment, looking like a small, lost child. His hands deftly removed her garters and stockings. She clung to him in an effort to maintain her balance. Then a gentle warm rain caressed her flesh, in conjunction with the tingling rasp of a soapy cloth. With soft stroking movements, he washed her body from fingertips to toes.
Her legs began to give way, so he sat her down on the floor, back to him, removed the blindfold and shampooed her hair. She closed her eyes and relished the sensuous feel of his fingers massaging her scalp, playing with her hair. She did not attempt to turn and see him, for fear he might stop these delicious ministrations. In time, though, he did stop, and rinsed her hair fragrantly clean.
"Wait," he said gently. Seconds or minutes passed as she gazed uncomprehending about her. She was sitting on the floor of a tiled bathroom, the Italian-style shower was just a hand-held nozzle in one corner of the room. No curtain, just the floor gently sloped to run water into the drain by her feet. She slowly swung her head around to gaze at the nozzle spraying warmly over her legs. She started to turn to look at ...him, and found no one there...
She closed her eyes again, and slumped against the wall, too exhausted to move. Some time later her eyes fluttered open. Through the bathroom door she saw the vague outlines of the darkened studio. She arose and walked on uncertain legs to the door, fumbled for the light switch.
Her clothes were folded on the chair. Her stockings hung drying by the kitchen sink, but otherwise the studio was empty. She took a huge cotton towel from the warming rail, and dried herself as she padded about the studio. It was anonymous. Magazines, a stereo with a few tapes of classical music. No TV. The fridge was bare except for some butter, and a loaf of bread in the freezer.
She made toast and ravenously devoured it slathered with peanut butter the only condiment besides mustard that she found in the cupboard. Yuck, she hated peanut butter. But she needed food. She struggled into her clothes, stuffed her stockings into her purse, and looked around for her garter. No sign. Not in the bathroom, not in the main room, or under the couch or in the corner, or under the bed. Nowhere! Damn. It was a nice one, too.
As she stood by the door, she realized that there was no sign she had ever been here. No sign of anything that had happened that afternoon. She rushed into the bathroom, and checked in the garbage pail, nothing. The toilet had been flushed. The shower was quickly drying. Only some crumbs on the counter, and the butter knife. Compulsively, she cleaned the knife and wiped the counter. Then switched off the lamp and closed the door behind her.
Her entrance into the apartment was greeted by the enticing smells of dinner wafting from the kitchen. Mmmmm. Something spicy and Indian, by the smell of it. Great! The toast had only taken the edge of her hunger. She was *starved*. She flopped down in the big overstuffed chair in the living room, and took off her shoes. He came in from the kitchen, oven mitts still in one hand, shirtless under the cooking apron, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"You're late tonight... Jeeze! You look exhausted." He sat down and started to rub her feet. "Dinner's almost ready. Rough day?" She nodded in assent, "Incredible." She sighed, long and low. "How about we have a bath later, and I tell you about it?"
"Sure." He smiled, got up, leaned over, and kissed the top of her head.
She laughed.
"You are a messy cook, you know?"
She extended her finger to swab up a stray dollop of sauce that had landed on his hairless chest.