Welcome to my A to Z Challenge Blog! Like or comment on this post, or vote at the end of the week for your favorites and I’ll continue the top four stories next month! (For details, see my Theme Reveal.) For the last week, each story has an element of non-consent or reluctance. Without further ado, enjoy T is for Tunnel.
At the end of the street where I live, there’s a tunnel. It’s a short tunnel, maybe 25 feet in length. But it turns at a sharp enough angle that you can’t see out the other side until you’re in the tunnel. Most of the time, I avoid it. I don’t like that I can’t see what’s coming. It makes me supremely uncomfortable. But the path around the tunnel takes me an extra half mile out of my way. So sometimes, there’s no way around it.
Today is one of those days.
I take a deep breath as I enter the tunnel. I almost want to hold my breath as I did as a child when we would drive through tunnels, but it will take me too long to get through. I don’t walk that fast. I am listening intently, hoping that I don’t hear any sounds, but I am disappointed. There are footsteps ahead of me, and they sound like they are coming closer. Damn.
The first thing I see as I follow the curve of the tunnel is a pair of shoes. They are nice shoes. Big. You know what they say about men with big feet, I chuckle to myself. Then a pair of khaki pants. Nice pants. Pressed. This guy is pretty dressed up for a walk down the sidewalk. I wonder if he’s coming or going. But then I see his face, and the color drains from mine. The look on his face is dark. Foreboding. I am not sure what to make of it, but I am sure it’s not good.
I stick to my side of the tunnel, hoping to pass without incident. I am not that lucky.
As he approaches, he reaches out and grabs me, his hand curling around my upper arm. I am sure his grip will leave a bruise. He pulls me close to him and swings me around so that my back presses against his front. He performs the motion so smoothly that I know this isn’t the first time he’s done it. His other hand clamps over my mouth, but I wasn’t going to scream anyway. My brain has shut down, and I am too surprised to think. I’m too surprised to remember to inhale so I can cry out.
I am wearing a short skirt, and he releases my arm and pulls the skirt up to my waist. I am wearing bikini panties that connect at my hips with a short string. His strong hands snap the string, and my panties fall to the ground. Instantly, I feel my pussy get wet with desire. I’m surprised at the force of my arousal. He bites into my neck, right where it smooths into the curve of my shoulder, and I realize that he must have opened the fly on his pants because he’s pushing his cock into me. He’s biting me like an animal, holding onto its conquest without hands. One hand is still over my mouth, and the other is now fondling my clit, rubbing it in time with the thrusts of his cock into my soaking wet pussy.
I can’t help it. I can’t help my body’s reaction, and I can feel my orgasm building and building and building, until finally… I cry out, unable to stop myself. My pussy pulses, milking the cum from his cock as he fucks me. As his cock softens and slips from my tender folds, I feel some of his cum slide out with it and run down my leg.
His hands slowly retreat from around my body, but before he moves away from me, he whispers, “Same time next week?”
I answer his question with a nod.
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