She Likes It Rough Read online

But there’s still no reaction.

  Mr. Peterson just stares blankly. He is starting to make me nervous. Is he really that angry? “Mr. Peterson? Say something…”

  Then he bursts into laughter. He sits upright and puts an arm over my shoulders, laughing hysterically.

  What’s going on?

  He pauses a moment to look me in the eyes, like he’s reading them to see if I’m being serious or not. His eyes squint and his face contorts. He can’t hold back a second wave.

  My eyes shift uncomfortably. I join him with a nervous giggle.

  “What—what’s so funny, Mr. Peterson?”

  “You thought…” he says, patting my shoulder, “you thought I didn’t know!” He lurches forward and starts in on another fit of laughing.

  “You mean… you already knew?”

  Mr. Peterson’s laughter comes to an abrupt end. His expression is suddenly very serious.

  “What, do you take me for some kind of idiot?”

  “I—how did you—“

  “I’ll ask you again.” He’s standing now, pulling up his underwear and buttoning his pants. “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”

  “No!” I shake my head.

  “You mean no, sir.”

  “No, sir!” I curl up on the couch, tucking my knees to my chest. “I swear!”

  “Of course I knew. In fact, I’ve known all along.” He glares down at me. His eyes are cold and distant. “The credit card company called me the first time you made a purchase.” He flashes a sinister grin. “A magic wand dildo, wasn’t it?”

  My pale cheeks go flush with embarrassment. I can’t bear to look at him with those condemning eyes. My head sags and my hair falls over my face, the dark strands clinging to my cheeks wet with tears.

  “I always figured you were a kinky little brat.”

  I’m a total mess. And yet, there’s a voice stirring inside me. Not of shame, but excitement.

  Now Mr. Peterson knows the truth about what I am. My mind wants to be ashamed, but instead I feel liberated. I don't have to hide it anymore.

  “How can I make it up to you?” I ask, sniffling. “I just want to make it right.”

  “Oh, you will.” He leans down and scoops under my clenched jaw, raising my head to watch me fight back the tears. “By accepting the punishment you deserve.”

  A sudden chill runs the length of my spine, forcing me to perk up on the couch. His words seem to activate a strange desire within me, a secret urge I was hardly familiar with. A desire to be punished.

  “Y—yes…” I say. His brows furrow. “I mean—yes, sir.” My pussy quivers at the thought. I want to say it. Need to say it. He has my permission to do with me as he pleases. Take me however he wants. “Yes! I’ll give you my body and everything else. Just—just forgive me, sir! please!”

  “Then get undressed.”

  I do as instructed, quickly and obediently.

  “Wait,” he says. I freeze in place when my bra crumples to the floor beside my shirt. He grabs a cupful of naked breast and flicks at its hard, perky center. He watches me writhe in place as the tingling bursts of pleasure branch out to every nerve.

  He pinches the stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger and gives it a rough twist.

  “Agh!” The searing pain shoots through me and my knees wobble. I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stifle a scream, squinting as the soft tissue stretches around his fingers.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Mr. Peterson grins, then twists harder.

  “N—no, sir!” I manage through a gasp, doing my best to hide as much visible pain. He wants me to give in. Wants to prove that I’m not worthy of his forgiveness. But I am determined to accept his punishment.

  My head tilts back and I grit my teeth behind pursed lips. I just want to scream. I don’t know if I can hold it in.

  Then the pain subsides in a kind of wet, swirling pleasure. I look down to see Mr. Peterson’s lips seal around the areola. He stuffs the breast in his mouth and licks wildly on the nipple, slurping and sucking while he holds me against the hardness of his bare chest.

  My back arches and I let out a long, deep moan. His arm wraps tight around the small of my back to hold me in place while my neck rolls to the electric sensation of his tongue.

  His mouth peels off and my tit gleams with a dripping coat of saliva. Supple breasts heave above the soft billows of my stomach as I draw in slow, heavy breaths.

  Wiping the spit from his mouth, he says, “Now take off your skirt.”

  “S—sorry?” I immediately regret saying it. His amber eyes light up like a blaze of fire.

  “My forgiveness does not come easy, and neither will your punishment.” He gives my breast a hard squeeze, his fingers threatening another excruciating twist of the nipple.

  I shimmy out of the tiny skirt and stand before him with self-conscious hands fidgeting at my navel. Mr. Peterson snorts, looking me up and down, his eyes glossing over the flare of my hips, down to the white pumps I’m still wearing, and settling on my pink lace panties.

  I’ve never felt so exposed.

  “Now turn around, and bend over,” he says, lifting off his shirt. His voice is cold and callous.

  There’s a long pause, and I quickly regret hesitating. With just one raised eyebrow, he compels me to obey. The ripples of his powerful torso flex with commanding authority. I know where this is going.

  The truth is I desire to receive his punishment. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything so badly. To be taken by the man I am in love with, to be disciplined by his hand.

  “Y-yes, sir.” It feels good to be so deliciously naughty.

  His hand traces over the contours of my waist, gliding over the slender, pale curves as I turn and bend. I pinch my bottom lip with my teeth when the hand rolls over the taut skin of my perfect round ass. Then I let out a surprised yelp when he squeezes a handful-sized chunk.

  “You’ve been a very naughty little girl, Maddie.”

  My heart pounds in my chest when his fingers dip beneath the waist of my panties. He brings them down to mid-thigh in one sudden jerk, revealing the dripping sex between my legs.

  A smooth, caressing hand rolls over my ass cheeks, sending a chill up my spine that raises the tiny hairs at the back of my neck. My eyelids droop in resignation of the coming punishment.

  SMACK!

  The whip-cracking sound of his palm landing square against my ass is followed by the long, deep moan of air expelling itself from my lungs. My pussy flutters to the stinging pain crawling up my backside.

  SMACK!

  “Ungh!” My shoulders spasm to the force of his next blow against the other cheek. What was once a pale shade is now a colorful pink. My hips writhe to the sharp tingling pleasure.

  He unleashes a flurry of spanks, each one more potent than the last. My manicured fingernails dig deep into the skin of my knees while I clutch them for balance. My face contorts between shrill moans, punctuated by the resounding slap of skin against skin.

  At last, he gives pause. The residual tingles of pain cause me to whimper in tiny squeaks between heavy, rapid breaths. What was at first a rosy pink discoloration is a stained red and purple marking of his handiwork.

  My eyes shoot wide when two fingers slip between my legs.

  “I don’t fucking believe it!” Mr. Peterson scoffs. “Is this making you wet?” It’s true. His relentless spanks have turned my quivering pussy into a mess of fluids. His fingers pad around the dripping desire seeping down my thighs.

  “I knew a dirty little slut like you would require a harsher punishment.” I squeal when he swipes across my ass hard enough to make me stumble forward. “Don’t move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I wouldn’t dare disobey him now. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I’d only make it worse by moving. So I do as instructed and remain frozen in place until he returns.

  “Spread your ass cheeks apart.”

  “M—Mister Peterson?”

  “Now.”
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  “Yes, sir.”

  I reach around and curl slender fingers between my crack. “Like—like this?” I spread my ass cheeks wide and await whatever is coming with a sort of perverse eagerness.

  My ass clenches out of reflex when a warm liquid slicks down my crack, coating my puckered anus. Mr. Peterson lands a hard blow against a raw cheek, the hardest one yet. Tears well in my eyes and roll over flushed cheeks.

  “Keep them spread, Maddie.”

  “S-sorry—I mean—yes, sir.”

  I peel the cheeks apart again, fighting my own instinct to keep them shut, my trembling knees doing their best to support me.

  Tiny goosebumps raise on the surface of my skin at the sound of his pants unzipping. My pussy clenches when I feel the bulbous head of his cock circling the slick, puckered entrance of my asshole.

  I fling my head back, tossing my long hair onto the sheen of sweat of my arched back. His dick pushes into me, the tight, oil coated walls giving way to the pressure.

  My echoing wails fill the room when his cock slips into my ass. The thorough lubrication softens the pain, but only a little. Somehow, I manage to keep my cheeks spread, fighting through the urge to let my arms fall limp.

  The girth of him spreads my insides. The thick, long shaft continues its penetration into the depths of my ass. My head rolls to the odd pleasure of him entering me entirely.

  My hips lift on their own, writhing against Mr. Peterson’s hard abdomen while his balls tap my slit. The pain is a distant afterthought, shadowed by a heat of building pleasure deep in my core.

  My ass rock against him, taking him in whole as my tongue darts to the corner of my mouth. The sensation of his cock is a new kind of stimulation unlike anything I’ve put up my ass before. Nothing else could fill me so completely.

  My insides shudder to the push and tug of his enormous cock. My legs begin to quake. His hands clutch the sides of my waist while he plumbs my anal cavity, sending me into a fit of desperate moaning, ready to embrace the coming orgasm.

  But he pushes himself out of me by the waist. I make an audible pout, raising my hips in search of his cock.

  I feel it again when it slides down my crack, the throbbing pulse beating between the wet folds of my aching pussy.

  “Agh!” Mr. Peterson moans when I arch my hips and he slips inside, my tight walls contracting around his stiffness. He unloads another round of quick strikes against my ass to punish me for my disobedience. But I fight through the pain of it, pushing backward all the way to the hilt.

  When my tightness squeezes around the entire length, the sensation is too much for him to continue. His arms wrap around my middle instead and he begins a series of quick, impaling thrusts.

  My head tilts back and I moan out. My body jerks back and forth to the power of his rhythmic humps. The muscles of my core contract and flutter with Mr. Peterson balls deep inside my pussy.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and grabs a handful of tit in each hand. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips and grinding on his massive cock.

  My heart flutters before the surge of orgasmic energy flows out to each extremity. The walls of my pussy contract and spasm, shooting hot waves of ecstasy through my entire body.

  I’m still twitching underneath him, lost in the sensual fog of my own climax when Mr. Peterson reaches his own.

  His hands tighten like vises around my breasts while he ejaculates a thick load of spunk into my uterus. I can feel the pounding of his heart against my back, the chiseled muscles of his chest digging in as his whole body convulses on top me.

  Endless spurts of hot cum fill my insides. Our bodies spasm together and we moan in unison. My back peels away from his chest and my hips work to milk the massive load from his dick.

  I can’t hold myself up and longer. My knees buckle and I fall forward onto the carpet floor, a white string of semen trailing out from my pussy and trickling off Mr. Peterson’s engorged head.

  I continue twitching on the ground with my ass in the air, the aftershocks of an incredible orgasm still coursing through me as I try to recover my breath.

  “Well then…” The tip of Mr. Peterson’s cock glistens with his seed. “I’d say that about covers at least a couple hundred of what you owe me.”

  A couple hundred? But I’d run up at least five thousand in credit card debt.

  “I expect you back tomorrow for the next round of punishment.”

  Tomorrow? My ass is already so sore. I won’t be sitting down for a week as it is.

  So why do I still want more?

  “Yes, sir.”

  “WANNA PLAY A NAUGHTY GAME?”

  "Your move, Jen. I think you've got me this time..." Mr. Martin sighs and slouches in his chair, looking defeated.

  My neighbor and I have always been super competitive with each other. No matter the game or activity, we're always in it to win it. If we're swimming laps in the pool, we are racing. If we're playing a game of tennis, it's a death match.

  Even if we're just playing a stupid game of monopoly, we are merciless and cutthroat. His wife won’t even play with us anymore. Both of us will do whatever it takes to win, no matter what.

  But surprisingly, our competitive nature has really helped strengthen our relationship. When my mom and I first moved in next door about twelve years ago, I absolutely hated him. I resented my mother for being friendly toward another man so soon after Dad died. I was still so young at the time.

  Turns out she was just looking for some company. He is married, after all.

  So my initial hatred for my new neighbor manifested as brutal competition even for the most mundane activities. But he just played along, thinking it was cute.

  I think he understood my conflicting emotions from the beginning. So instead of getting offended, he just played back at me. For him it was all in good fun, but to me it was war.

  He is a good man though, and I didn't want to admit it at first. Over time we began to bond in an unusual way through fierce competition. Somehow he always managed to make a fun game of it in the end. And eventually I began to trust him—and fall in love.

  "That's sixty eight points, Mr. Martin! I don't think you can win now," I say, placing my six tiles down on the board to make "VAGINA". I look up and catch him blushing a little, and can't help but giggle. We always had a lot of fun playing sex Scrabble together. It's basically the same game, except that every word has to be somehow related to sex. I got an extra ten points for using a real anatomy word.

  But tonight I am going to challenge him to our ultimate competition. Tonight we will discover who the true victor is. Tonight I am going to challenge Mr. Martin to fuck me.

  The game is simple. If I can seduce Mr. Martin and get him to have sex with me, I win. If he is somehow able to resist my advances, however unlikely, then he wins.

  But there's a bonus round.

  Mr. Martin’s real challenge is going to be in withstanding the tightness of my virgin pussy without putting a baby in me. I want him to shoot his load while he's still inside me.

  He will have to overcome all instinct to stop himself from ejaculating while I make all effort to coax every last drop of cum from his throbbing cock. My final victory will be in getting Mr. Martin to impregnate me.

  And really, the game isn't even fair. I've known for some time now that he is curious what it's like to get inside me. The way he looks at me now and congratulates me whenever I win one of our little impromptu games, which always seems to be the case lately since I turned eighteen last month.

  I know he has been letting me win.

  Over the years he has seen my body mature from an innocent little girl to a mature woman. All the while his wife’s own attractiveness has been declining. Perhaps he has been treating her a little too well, because she has gotten totally lazy and fat.

  On top of that, she hasn't aged well. Her tits are beginning to sag while mine are perky and supple. Her skin is becoming old and wrinkled while mine is young and taught. My ass is firm and
tight while hers just keeps getting bigger. I can't blame him for wanting a piece of this. After all, we spend more time together now and have grown closer than I think he and his wife ever have.

  So tonight I am going to offer my body to him. I want Mr. Martin to unload his sperm in me so we can start on a new life together without his pesky wife.

  I want to give him the child of his own that he never had. He's a good father figure and deserves to finally be one. All he has to do is let me win.

  Mr. Martin is looking over his tiles, trying to come up with a move. He looks puzzled, but I know he's just pretending. Before the last month, I had never beaten him at Scrabble.