Author’s note. This is a stand alone narrative, and doesn’t fit in as part of my series’ because of the subject matter.
It is part fantasy, and partly based on true events, in that what is described happened, but not in the way described.
I don’t think I am alone in fantasising about non-consent, and I certainly enjoy the stories on here about it. I hope you enjoy this.
Hi, I’m Amy, and if you don’t know me and my stories, I’m 25, 5’4″ and slim.
I have a curve of my hips and ass I am quite proud of, and 34 B breasts that I’m not.
I have thick red hair, which falls in curls, emerald green eyes, and freckles which betray my Irish heritage from my mothers side.
I have a tattoo of a rose on my right shoulder, and swirls and stars down my spine and just visible above my neck line if my hair is up.
I also have the date I first kissed Kirsty in roman numerals on my left collar bone.
I am in a committed, but open relationship with Kirsty, my beautiful girlfriend. We have group sex swinging sessions together, and with each others full knowledge and blessing will sleep with other people as we want.
I am a singer and guitar player in a small local band, The Skylines, playing rock/indie songs of our own, with a few covers of well known artists/bands.
This story begins at a Skylines gig. We had just finished our set at our local home venue, The Hummingbird, me giving a full on performance, singing, dancing and working the crowd.
It was full effort, and I was soaked with sweat.
My grunge inspired outfit didn’t help, a white ribbed t-shirt tucked into a tartan A line skirt with no bra, something the crowd loved, and I have to admit, my nipples rubbing the ribbed material was quite pleasant as I threw myself round the stage.
I completed the look with ripped black tights and doc martens, polished to a shine.
My hair was down with just a couple of grips holding it from my face, and was damp, clinging to my forehead after the performance.
We cleared our gear away, with the help of the Hummingbirds stage staff, and stashed it in the storage room Harry, the owner of the Hummingbird, had allowed us to use.
I was leaving to go home. I lived with Kirsty, but she was away, having arranged to go out with some of her old friends she used to be in Care with and booking a hotel.
I had no doubt she’d have some fun while she was out.
I was jealous, performing always made me horny, and I settled in a porn and vibrator session when I got in.
I was leaving the Hummingbird via the stage door.
Andy, the guitarist, keyboard player, and general inspiration of The Skylines offered to drive me home, but I declined, it was a short walk, and the weather was good.
I set off lighting a cigarette, and blowing smoke into the dark night sky.
It was quiet out, no one else on the street, and mild.
The cool night air soothed me, and it felt good. I was pleasantly drunk, and still horny. I got so excited on stage I would come off wet, and ready for sex. I was still like that, and I could feel my wetness as I walked, quickening my pace to get home to my toys.
I smoked, thinking about the gig, when I thought I heard a foot scuff on the pavement behind me.
I turned, and there was no one there. I thought I was having that nighttime fear that someone is following you and shook it off and kept walking.
I reached a turn off the main road into an alleyway behind some shops.
It was about 100 metres long, and saved me about 5 minutes more walking, but being alone at night always worried me.
It had a dog leg turn in the middle so you couldn’t see one end to the other, and couldn’t see the middle of the alley from either end, just the 8 foot high red brick walls.
‘Fuck it, there’s noone about,’ the confidence of alcohol driving me on. I took the alley.
As my docs crunched on the gravel and broken glass, I stepped over a used condom, nearing the dog leg when I heard it again, a definite scuff on the gravel.
I turned back and there was someone there, a man.
Tall and athletic, dark hair, a red Adidas jacket zipped up to his chin with jeans and gloves… gloves… that scared me. Why gloves tonight? Fuck.
I had to get out of here.
I walked more quickly, butterflies in my stomach.
I could hear his footsteps behind me, quickening closer, my heart pounding, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I started to run, clutching my little rucksack which contained my phone, keys, cigarettes and purse, nothing useful to defend me. I made it halfway through the dog leg, the absolute worst place to be, when hands gripped my waist, spinning me, shoving me against the wall.
I managed to get my hands up to stop my face smashing into the brickwork, but he grabbed my hair and banged my head against the wall, making my head spin.
I opened my mouth to scream, but a gloved hand gripped my throat while the other covered my mouth.
“Scream and I’ll fucking kill you.”
I believed him.
“I’m going to take my hand away, and if you scream, you’re dead. OK.”
I nodded, gasping and sobbing with fear.
He held my face against the wall, gripping my hair with his left hand, while his right fidgeted and pulled at his jeans.
I could smell the alcohol, smoke and sweat on him. I wondered if he’d been at the gig, and followed me from there.
“Fucking little slut, dancing and teasing on that stage, you’re gonna get it now.”
Yeah he had, Jesus, I was scared, but strangely still horny.
I thought I was going to die, but I’d fantasised about this so many times, read so many stories, watched so many fake videos, and some that looked scarily convincing, with girls shivering and sobbing like I was now.
A rough hand pulled my hips away from the wall, lifted my skirt. Fingers poked through my tights, ripping them away strongly, leaving just my thong between me and him.
His bare cock poked against my ass, and he pulled my thong aside. He moved lower, pushing hard against me, my wetness making him slip along my lips, grazing my clit with a little flick of pleasure.
He adjusted and pushed himself into me, my wetness betraying me and allowing him inside me.
“Dirty little slut, you’re wet, you want this.”
“No,” I cried, “please.”
He started to move in and out, taking him deeper with each thrust, and me adjusting my hips to make his penetration easier and deeper. Why the fuck was I doing that?
Gasping with strangled sobs as he fucked me hard and fast, whispering into my ear; “You want this don’t you? Tell me you do.”
I gasped back; “please, please,” my mind screaming at me to fight, while my body responded, pushing my hips back to meet him, heat and pleasure building in me.
His hand gripped my hip, his nails digging in and scratching me, and then he slapped down hard on my ass.
He ripped up my t-shirt and shoved his hand up, roving over me and gripping my bare breasts roughly.
His panting was loud and getting harder, he was close, and his impending orgasm pushed me closer.
He grabbed my hips with both hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise, as his hips bucked.
I felt his cock pulsing and twitching and his heat filling me as he fired spurt after spurt of cum deep in my body.
As he finished he whipped his cock out of me leaving me feeling hollow, but full of him, and tantalising close to my own explosion.
My head silently thanked God it was over, while my body longed for him to enter me and finish me off, and I disgustedly judged myself for my lust.
He dressed and said; “don’t tell anyone about this, or else,” and he was gone running back the way he came.
I dropped to a squat, still scared, and still buzzing on the edge of an orgasm.
I shouldn’t have, but I touched myself, rubbing my clit in little circles, then fingering myself, my fingers slick with my wetness and his cum as I came hard, gasping and shuddering.
I pushed as much of his cum as I could out of me onto the alleyway floor, and stood, pulling what was left of my tights up so I could walk, and my skirt down.
I retrieved my bag and lit a cigarette, stumbling back through the alley towards home.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed that, I shouldn’t have even let it happen, but I had lived a fantasy and my body had betrayed me and enjoyed it. What did that make me?