You wonder when you'll ever get to mix it up, trying someplace not so damn domestic, but as you walk up to the Nguyen house you can't help but snicker at the quaint pastel charm of it. It's open, and you wind your way through the gleaming kitchen and the banquet-worthy dining room, following the noise of vacuuming to a grand plush living room, complete with a giant flat screen showing some bland romantic comedy on Lifetime. Mrs. Nguyen is there, preoccupied with cleaning, and she's in a classic French maid uniform, utilitarian black with bright white cuffs, collar, and frilly apron. There is something irresistibly darling about it, as if she is literally a living doll.
You wank the vacuum's cord and before she can figure it out you're grabbing her from behind, the knife out more for effect than threat. "Hi," you murmur low into her ear, "I'll be your rapist this evening. You took your fertility medication?"
She nods curtly. "You don't need that knife," she whispers, sounding seriously spooked.
"Fuck that. We're doing this as if for real." You start slashing and tugging at the uniform, feeling the glee of a kid opening a present, but she struggles, so hard that you wonder if she doesn't appreciate her own strength, or perhaps is having second thoughts. She's not screaming, but maybe her personality is too timid to manage it. It's exciting to see her lacy white underwear against her golden skin, and you admire how tightly toned her body is. To your disappointment she has no breasts to speak of, but otherwise she's an ideal target.
Her squirming resistance is pissing you off. You're all for working at this, but she is one stubborn wrestler. With one yank you have her skirt and panties off. The coffee table dominating the living room's center is low and wide, and you shove her onto it and try to pin her in place. Your angry cockhead rams up against contradictory data, for her vulva is clenched, and yet it's emanating and almost steamy heat, and you can feel the moist tickle of her copious lubricating. You shove, and she moans in protest, but she is mercifully wet and slick. Her resistant spirt dampens your own eagerness to explode, and this leaves you steady and hard as you keep plunging and driving into her as hard and deep as you can.
"Y-you ... you're stretching me all out inside, it hurts!" she complains, and a few tears convince you that she is in pain, but at this point you don't give a fuck, you've got the job to do. You keep thrusting away and watch her blush in deep shame as she becomes aware that the great wicked brute that you are is coercing a climax from deep within her. She sobs in helpless disorientation as she bucks and thrashes in orgasm, then starts breathing hard in panic as another wave of orgasm soon comes crashing right through her.
You barely care anymore about the impregnation. Everything about this upper middle class house, about her, is way too high-strung and tightly-wound, and you see it as your mission to loosen her up, and so you hammer away, on towards half an hour. At last she pleads for mercy, for you to please stop making her orgasm, claiming she'll die if she cums one more time, but that only inspires you more ... |