Page 17 of Stranger Session

“Stop!” she screams. “Please.”

I pin her arms above her head and grip her wrists. She strains and bucks beneath me, and I smell the scent of her genuine fear. This isn’t the way I wanted to experience her for the first time, but it’s this or nothing. I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.

“Shh. Let your nightmare fuck you,” I growl against her cheek.

“No! Don’t!” she screams as I force her legs apart.

But she didn’t say the safe word, so I keep going.

I rip the panties from her body. Nothing will keep me from her, and I want her to remember what I’ve done as she drives home with her bare ass against the seat of her car.

I pull down the front of my black sweatpants. My cock aches for the sweet, perfect pussy squirming in front of me. She writhes and strains as my cock presses against her slit. She’s already creamy wet. As if she’s already come.

“You’re so wet,” I growl as I fist my cock.

Her eyes widen at the sight of my piercing. I probably should have told her about the two black barbells on the underside of my cock, but I didn’t think about it. It’ll feel good inside her, though.

I draw back my hips and line myself up with her entrance. The moment I sink inside her, a strangled scream comes from her throat. Despite her pleas and begging, I push inside her because she never once says the word that can end this.

Her straining screams wane until whimpers replace them. Am I hurting her? Even if I am, I can’t care. She wants that. She wants all of this. And she shows me as much when her hips begin to move.

“Stop, please,” she begs.

I wipe the tears from her soaked cheeks. “Cry for me. I love your tears. And don’t stop fighting me. It just makes it feel better when you tighten and tug on my cock.”

I remind myself that she wants this as frustrated anger masks her pleasurable spasms. My fingers wind through her hair, and I yank back her head with a feral growl as I pound her pussy. “What am I?”

“My nightmare,” she pants.

Mud clings to her skin as I grind her into the dirt. She whimpers from the force of each completely uninhibited movement of my hips, but I don’t stop.

I almost wish I didn’t have to fuck her this hard and rough, because I want to savor the feel of her warm, wet pussy squeezing me. But it’s not me. It’s the man I’m pretending to be to get close to her.

I’m going to come. Her walls clench around me and pump my cock with her struggles. A feral groan leaves my lips as I pin her and stall my hips, filling her tight little pussy. I twitch with every cry that racks her body. I fight the urge to make her come because I want to worship her pussy. But it’s not what she asked for.

“You were a good little slut, but why were you so wet?” I ask, pinching her cheeks in my firm grasp.

“You already made me come for you,” she pants.

I sure as fuck did not.

I whip my head from side to side to look around. No. He couldn’t have. Could he? How would he know about our little game?

Probably the same way I knew she was in that chatroom. Sick fucking bastard.

I know I should tell her, but doing so will ruin everything for me.

For us.

“That’s right,” I tell her, though I know she didn’t come for me.

She came for her other stalker.

Chapter Thirteen

Mariah

The sounds and smells of the coffee shop usually annoy me to no end. Not today, though. Today I feel fuckingamazing—aside from the ache between my legs, that is. But it’s a small price to pay to feel so alive. Every step reminds me of yesterday. He left some bruises on my inner thighs when he ripped my panties away, and they brush against each other every time I walk.

---