His Fortress of Fornication

Standing outside the door to your desire, you are keenly aware of your body.

Your rapid heartbeat is putting a frantic pressure on your overtaxed lungs. You feel light-headed from a hyperawareness of your Take a Chance eau de parfum.

Both your mouth and pussy are wet.

You can't seem to impel yourself to take the last step and knock.  Your cowardice and common sense almost save you, but then the door opens without warning, startling you.

He is wearing a fluffy white robe, and you strongly suspect he's wearing nothing underneath it.

He smiles. "Did I scare you?"

His selfies didn't even do him justice.
You are about to fly away with Superman.
He looks exactly like David Corenswet.

You quip, "How'd you know I was here? X-ray vision?"

He points to the obvious device mounted to his right, saying, "Ring cam."

You just stare at his movie star face.

He grabs you by the hand. "Get in here!"

You're lost.

The moment the front door is shut behind him, he sweeps you into his arms.

His lips are otherworldly.

His tongue tastes like whiskey and marijuana.

You can feel his erection pressed against you.

When he breaks the kiss, he says, "Let's get fucked up."

You already feel like you're high.

His house is nice, but you aren't impressed with a color scheme that you're certain was the Wife's idea. Seeing the bookcase, you wonder if she reads.

You're fairly certain the stud in front of you is All Brawn and No Brains.

He has you sit down on the couch with him.

You were hoping he'd take you straight to his bedroom.

He has a blunt rolled. On the coffee table you see not only the Jack Daniels he likes but also the alcohol you prefer.  

You discussed all your preferences (and kinks) online.

But as he pours shots for each of you, you admit, "I'm kind of a lightweight. I usually drink mixed drinks."

His smile is sly. "This is an unusual night."

You snicker.  "That's for sure!"

He raises his shot glass; you do the same; you clink glasses and throw back the booze. "Whoa!" You shake your head, your eyes watering.  The potent taste sends a powerful punch straight up your tongue to your brain.

"You're so hot." He feeds your ego. "I love your hair."

Feeling buzzed already, you tell him, "I love your Everything."

He opens his robe just for a moment to flash his dick, smirking, "You're really going to love this!"

Wide-eyed, you readily agree. "I'm sure I will!"

Firing up the blunt, he takes a long hit and holds it, then passes it to you.

You playfully accuse him. "You're trying to get me wasted and take advantage of me, aren't you?"

Exhaling, he smirks. "You can't take advantage of the willing."

You pull the marijuana smoke into your lungs, only for your lungs to reject it. You start coughing and as you hack & gasp, your thoughts feel lighter and fuzzier.

When he takes the blunt back to suck another hit, you reach for his crotch.

He slaps your hand away. "Not yet."

Not knowing if you feel dominated or rejected, you're too drunk to censor yourself. "You’re certain your wife will be gone all night?"

"I'm certain. We can spend the entire weekend frolicking in the nude if we want. No one will ever be the wiser."

“Sounds like fun to me.”  You giggle.  “I’ve never ‘frolicked’ before.”

After only a few puffs of the cannabis, your brain is swaying inside your skull.  Finally, Superman stabs out the blunt in the ashtray.  When he goes to pour you each another shot, you tell him, "I really don't need any more."

He insists, "Yes, you do."

Shit-face plastered, you ask, "Why?"

"Because I said so."

You do as he instructs, now definitely feeling dominated and loving it.

You each do a final shot.  Then he takes your chin as if he’ll kiss you.  He looks into your eyes as if he's assessing how inebriated you are.

He nods. "Yeah. That'll do."

After a quick peck on your lips, he stands up, dropping his robe on the couch.

Seeing his ribbed body, his hairy chest, his impressive penis, you inhale a startled gasp. All the follicles on your body, including your pubic hairs, feel like they are brushed by static electricity.

He tells you to, "Come with me."

You'd follow that bubble butt anywhere— to the depths of hell if that's where it led you.

You're barely aware what his bedroom looks like.

Standing beside the bed, he starts masturbating.  

You see no reason for him to do that when you're here!  

But when you reach for his cock, he again slaps your hand away.

Sitting down on the bed, he orders you to, "Strip for daddy."

You're really eager to show him your breasts. You know from your selfie exchange that he's turned on by them.

When you finally throw off your bra, you're intently watching his face. And you're thrilled your big reveal makes him light up like a kid just given Halloween candy.

You kick off your shoes, unbutton your denim shorts, then pull off your panties along with your pants, standing on one leg, then the other, your breasts bouncing.

"Turn around." His strict tone is so sexy. "Show me that ass."

You swivel, bend over, slapping one cheek, then grabbing your buttocks to jiggle them both.

His voice is raspy.  "Come to daddy."

You slide over to where he’s sitting, stepping up between his legs so he can fondle your tits.  You throw back your head and moan as he licks first one nipple, then the other.

For the hour after that, he tells you exactly what to do and you do it without hesitation.

First, he has you play with his cock.

Then he makes you suck it.

It's the perfect size. 

His crotch smells like a heady mix of his manhood and his Obsession for Men cologne.

While you take your time performing fellatio, he holds your bobbing head.

You nearly have an ego-orgasm when he rasps, "I really love your long hair."

By the time you make him cum, you’re pretty certain he loves your mouth too. 

You have a powerful climax of your own by causing his. Being responsible for his gasps becoming grunts becoming shouts becoming howls makes you proud to be alive.

You’re deep into forbidden territory. 

You know it.  

You don’t care.

Your bodies glisten with a sheen of sweat.  Your special oral push-ups were enough of a workout to burn off some of your buzz, but you’re still loving the tipsy you have left.

And Corenswet ain’t done yet.

He proceeds to fuck you for many celestial minutes in the missionary position, eventually making you climax a second time. Through the waves of your orgasm, he pounds you especially hard, looking at you like he’s bemused. 

He barely gives you any chance to regain some semblance of thought before he roughly pulls out of you. Flopping over on his back, he opens his legs and holds up his glistening dick, commanding you to, "Ride me."

"Yes, sir!"

You climb on, reinvigorated already just knowing you will control this fuck: the rhythm, the ride, the tease and satisfaction— all yours to command.

But just knowing that throws you over the top yet again.  The intensity of this man's presence is just too much.

You have never had anyone turn you on like this, a rough brute who awakens a primordial savage inside you.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! OOOH, DADDY!!!"

Your eyes rolling up into your head, you scream like you are terrified, collapsing onto his chest, panting, your big boobs in his handsome hands.

He growls, "Don't stop!"

Oh no, not this time. After going three times yourself, you’re now prepared to show him your very best skills.

You go long.

You go hard. 

You vary the speed of your strokes, squeezing him tight with both your legs and your vagina.   

The slap of your buttocks on his thighs throws down the sensual beat to accompany your squeals and his groans.

Again, you are totally focused on David Corenswet's face.

He has a painful (gorgeous) grimace.

He looks strained.

You’re his kryptonite and you know it.

Then you see his eyes widen with surprise...

"YOU FUCKING SLUT!"

You are yanked so violently by your hair, your head feels like it's nearly ripped off your neck.

"GODDAMN FUCKING WHORE!"

You're yanked right off the bed, landing on your side, whacking your left hip.

Then suddenly he's in between you and the Wife’s rampage. "Honey! Sugar!" He grabs her by both arms. "Calm down! This is nothing; she’s nothing!  This is no different than those sluts at Myrtle Beach!

Rubbing the back of your throbbing head, thoughts boil beneath the pain.

I'm ‘nothing?’!  ‘Sluts at Myrtle Beach’?!?

"She's just some ho for me to fuck this weekend to give you a break!"

And then, right after the prick calls you a ‘ho’, he actually deflects and gets away with it! "What the hell are you doing home anyway! You know you shouldn’t come home unexpected! You know that! Why didn't you text me?"

Your head and hip aching, you look up to get your first real look at this maniac. 

The Wife isn’t as beautiful as you are. She’s not tall and statuesque.  Her tits certainly can’t compete with yours.

But in one way, she does resemble you.

She has long blond hair identical to yours.

Shock and rage compete for the wordless space in your mind. Crawling over to your clothes, you sit on your butt and try to get dressed, getting a foot tangled in your panties. You cast them aside.

You shimmy into your jeans, then put on your shoes.

And while you’re scrambling on the floor, the Wife is yelling, "I did text you! Three times! Sandy got sick and Harmony said she'd rather stay home anyway because she's fighting with her boyfriend again! The whole weekend got postponed! I even called to have you come get me, but you didn't pick up...!"

"Probably the damn Wifi—"

"I had to take an Uber! Only to come home to find you in our bed with this skanky bitch!"

Getting up off the floor, you reflexively grab the best weapon nearby: the laptop computer off the computer desk. Wielding it like bat, you screech,

"I’LL SHOW YOU A BITCH, CUNT!!!"

You attack the Wife, smacking her upside her pretty head.  

You feel internal cracking inside the tablet and hear the glass panel shatter, the popping of keys.

The impact causes lacerations to the Wife’s head and ear, cutting open a gush of blood. Screaming, she instinctively reaches up to grab her head, which is the only thing that prevents her from being struck in the face again. 

Instead, she takes your second hit to her forearm.

The Wife flounders backwards, falling back on the bed, shrieking.

You somehow hurt your right wrist during the assault, but you are still ready to go again.

Then Superman flies in to save her, knocking the laptop out for your hands, pushing you back violently. "WHAT THE FUCK, bitch! What the fuck is WRONG with you!!!"

The Wife is half-laying half-sitting, holding her broken left arm with her right hand, blood flowing down her face. Wobbling, she wails David Corenswet's real name.

Half the bastard’s size, fists clenched, chin up, you yell at him, "Fuck you, you player! Fuck your simple-ass bullshit!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!"

Senseless, self-destructive, you fire back, "CALL THEM!"

He goes to grab his cellphone off the nightstand.

With one last satisfied look at the damage you did to the Wife, you storm out their bedroom, not even giving a shit you’re still topless.

In the living room, you vent some of your rage.

He said he bought your favorite alcohol for you!  

So that means you own this bottle! 

You pick it up and throw it as hard as you can at the greatest concentration of the glass in the room, breaking a lamp, vases, and the glazing of one of the pictures.

⚞CRASH!⚟

tinkle ting ting

He charges out of the bedroom, holding his cellphone to his face, shouting into it, "My wife was attacked! She's bleeding! I need an ambulance right away!"

He's still naked and still erect!!!

The mixture of both threats— him and the cops— motivates you to flee the scene.

Outside, it started raining sometime during the fuckfest. His property is secluded, no one can see, but you still instinctively cover your breasts with your hands as you run to your car.

Slamming your bruised ass behind the steering wheel, you feel the first surge of heartbreak. Then physical pain knocks away emotions; your head pulses with sharp pains where hair might be missing.

When you look at your face in the rearview mirror, you are startled to see you have a black eye.

How'd that happen?

You start your car and drive away from the scene of the crimes.

Wet, hurting, dazed, you have no idea what will happen next. You’ve never been in trouble with the law.

Will they press charges?  Won’t that mean all his colleagues will learn about him having an affair? Or does everyone in his circle already know about all his affairs? Sounds like there were a lot of them!

One way or another, you know everyone is going to find out. 

And everyone in your life will judge you. Friends, family, coworkers— they’ll all be gossiping about it behind your back. You'll be lucky if you don't get trashed on TikTok...

You got caught fucking a married man.

The rain becomes a downpour, roaring on your car. Lightning cracks. Thunder booms.

You pull into a convenience store, park, and just sit there, dazed and ashamed.

Your cellphone is no comfort. 

Who can you call?

Bent over your steering wheel, you start to cry.

You hate yourself.

"What the fuck are you going to do now?"

You sum up your worthless life....

"You sure know how to pick 'em, stupid!

"You've always had great taste in men!"