It is quiet behind the pub and the air is warm against his skin as she divests him of his trousers. ‘No, don’t… I wasn’t going to… please stop.’ John tries to protest but his penis seems to have grown a mind of its own as it is quite happy to respond to the woman’s ministrations and stands proudly erect as she lowers herself onto it. John feels ashamed at his own body’s reactions as ripples of pleasure wash up his spine as the woman rides him while she pins him to the ground. His mind may be numb but he is quite aware of the strange contradiction of trying to tell her to leave him alone while his body is simultaneously screaming for her to keep going. Below him the edge of the pavement digs into his back, gravel scraping against skin and above him is all wet, warm and female and he moans with what could equally well be enjoyment or agony. She’s rough, unpleasantly rough, she slams his hands into the pavement over his head and pound into him making his back bounce against the edge of it underneath him. ‘Please don’t it hurts’ he tries to make his voice steady but instead of relenting she smilingly slaps him across the face and the proceeds to kiss him. The strange combination of cruelty and tenderness is dizzying. He is a gentle lover careful of his partner’s feelings. This kind of intricate torture is something he has never experienced first hand. To him it belong in porn or the sobbing statements of bruised girls asking for morning after pills and STI screening and neither of those two are categories he ever thought of as applying to him. He cries when he comes and he honestly can’t tell if they are tears of pleasure, pain or just pure shame it all seems to be one and the same at this point. There is no cuddling, no gentle kisses. Once it is over she leaves and John finds himself on the ground in a back alley with his trousers in a pile next to him and with tears streaming down his face and everything just seems very wrong. John struggles to his feet and puts his clothes back on. The Jeans feel tight against the bruises forming on his back but he needs them on and the pain is strangely grounding. By the time he leaves the alley he has stopped crying and even though he is limping he is distinctly more aware of his surroundings than he was some half hour ago, feeling just a little bit more human. That being said he is almost run over twice on his way home because he is far more confused than is healthy while walking around in London traffic. He falls over repeatedly and by the time he makes it home his right hand is bleeding and he has been sick enough times that he is now bringing up nothing but bile. He feels disgusting.
Fill 1 part 2
‘No, don’t… I wasn’t going to… please stop.’ John tries to protest but his penis seems to have grown a mind of its own as it is quite happy to respond to the woman’s ministrations and stands proudly erect as she lowers herself onto it.
John feels ashamed at his own body’s reactions as ripples of pleasure wash up his spine as the woman rides him while she pins him to the ground. His mind may be numb but he is quite aware of the strange contradiction of trying to tell her to leave him alone while his body is simultaneously screaming for her to keep going. Below him the edge of the pavement digs into his back, gravel scraping against skin and above him is all wet, warm and female and he moans with what could equally well be enjoyment or agony.
She’s rough, unpleasantly rough, she slams his hands into the pavement over his head and pound into him making his back bounce against the edge of it underneath him. ‘Please don’t it hurts’ he tries to make his voice steady but instead of relenting she smilingly slaps him across the face and the proceeds to kiss him.
The strange combination of cruelty and tenderness is dizzying. He is a gentle lover careful of his partner’s feelings. This kind of intricate torture is something he has never experienced first hand. To him it belong in porn or the sobbing statements of bruised girls asking for morning after pills and STI screening and neither of those two are categories he ever thought of as applying to him.
He cries when he comes and he honestly can’t tell if they are tears of pleasure, pain or just pure shame it all seems to be one and the same at this point. There is no cuddling, no gentle kisses. Once it is over she leaves and John finds himself on the ground in a back alley with his trousers in a pile next to him and with tears streaming down his face and everything just seems very wrong.
John struggles to his feet and puts his clothes back on. The Jeans feel tight against the bruises forming on his back but he needs them on and the pain is strangely grounding. By the time he leaves the alley he has stopped crying and even though he is limping he is distinctly more aware of his surroundings than he was some half hour ago, feeling just a little bit more human.
That being said he is almost run over twice on his way home because he is far more confused than is healthy while walking around in London traffic. He falls over repeatedly and by the time he makes it home his right hand is bleeding and he has been sick enough times that he is now bringing up nothing but bile. He feels disgusting.