The Man in Black

At evening’s end, we grasped each other so tightly aface the shimmering fireplace that any witness would have sworn we were attempting to meld our beings. The epitome of pure romance, we appeared. Had that witness peered into our vacation cabin half an hour sooner, they’d have declared that we needed God—whether they believed in one or not.

Olcay knew from day one that, contrary to my saccharine guise, I was the freakiest person he had ever been with. His experience prior to meeting me wasn’t extensive by any means, and discovering this came as a shock to me, given how sure of himself he seemed during our first hookup. Entangled in the foggy backseat of his less-than-modern Chevy just hours after first laying eyes on each other, we agreed without words that we were an impressive match.

Over the next few months, we wasted no time touring the kinkiest folds of each other’s desires. If we could do it safely at his modest apartment (or, on occasion, in public), we did.

Of course, some fantasies don’t lend themselves well to muted suburban neighborhoods or bustling city streets. We spent many a night plotting how we’d someday bring our filthiest dreams to life together. Little did I know that Olcay would set one of these devious plans in motion during our quaint weekend amid the secluded greenery of Vermont.

The itinerary I lined up included the usual: shopping at the local outlet plaza, dinner at a yuppie farm-to-table spot, and a hike around the lake that bordered our rental. I’d always been the planner, Olcay my willing sidekick. When his luscious voice announced on Saturday, “Rayel, we’re staying in tonight,” I did an auditory double-take.

My nervous system could tell something was awry, but I wasn’t sure which emotion should accompany my jitters. Olcay read the apprehension in my eyes and lulled my racing mind with a tranquil, “We’ll have fun. Trust me.”

After a reticent dinner-in consisting of the (alleged) best wings the sleepy town had to offer, Olcay carried our dishes to the cedar-paneled kitchen before moving behind me with the silence of a starving jungle cat. I felt him before I heard him, two beefy yet careful hands cupping my unclad shoulders.

I jolted ever so slightly, causing my tingling ear to meet his plush lips as he lowered his head beside mine. He purred the following instructions to me: “Walk to the bathroom and start your shower without me. I’m going to change my clothes, then break into the cabin. It would be in your best interest to do as the man in black tells you.”

It took me a moment to comprehend this extraordinary charge. As soon as I was able to process it, my body flooded with a palpable heat that Olcay most certainly anticipated. He sauntered away, leaving me reeling with the understanding that this was the rendezvous we had spent so much time canvassing. I coaxed my jello-like legs to lead me toward the bathroom.

In a rush fit for a fire brigade, I tore out of my camisole and leggings, nearly tumbling headfirst into the ancient clawfoot tub. Even though the shower faucet was cranked to maximum heat, the water sizzled against my feverish skin. I was as giddy as I was edgy, apparent from the gleaming smile that tagged my frantic eyes. Mid-lather, the vinyl curtain whipped open. A wall of frozen air rushed my exposed figure, followed by a dark, menacing character.

One coarse utility glove stifled my trembling lips while the other heaved me by the waist out of the puny lavatory. The shower stream continued as the brutal stranger dragged my writhing self to the still-warm dining table, windows open for all to see (though none would be around to do so). In a flash, I recognized a bright climbing rope that had not surrounded the maple legs just ten minutes prior. The man in black skillfully scooped up the cords with his left hand and used his right to force my goosebump-covered torso parallel with the tabletop.

The scent of Armani Code inhabited my nostrils, preceding a stifling weight that closed any gap between the wood and me. “I’m going to lift myself off of you. If you so much as wiggle your pinky toe, you’ll lose it before this night is over,” growled the mystery man.

Upon hearing this, I stiffened as if Medusa herself had violated the room. He leisurely stretched my arms across the honey-stained wood after wrapping each wrist in the heavy-duty rope. My ankles followed, pried apart with every yank of the remaining cords. A breeze licked my exposed backside, making me shiver.

The intruder stood back to admire his splayed conquest. A minute passed (it felt like a lifetime) before any noise was made. I was desperate to know why he remained paused—until I heard a faint plop spring from the floorboard beneath me. My watery eyes grew wide with the realization that my pussy was leaking at the pace of fresh molasses.

Out of the corner of my vision, I watched the man crouch down momentarily, then reach for my drooling mouth with his longest left finger outstretched. With no waver in his voice, he demanded, “Suckle, little piggy.”

I had barely opened my mouth when he coated my tongue with my own sex juice. The thick digit lingered just long enough to feel the suction of my gate close, shooting a passionate shock between us. “I knew you were a little piggy. You want more, don’t you, you thirsty thing?” he cooed.

Before I could think to respond, that same finger parted my soaked pussy lips with an almost undetectable fervor. The strange man took his time withdrawing, knowing that the friction against my internal walls would leave my knees nearly buckling.

He crossed to the side of the table on which my face was positioned, met my line of sight, and, without blinking, cleaned off the slick finger with his hot mouth. With satisfaction, he said, “Simply delicious.” An evil smile grew on his face. “Stick out that slutty tongue,” he commanded as his stroma darkened. Then he did the same with his long tongue and swiftly

attacked mine. My wetness was delectable mixed with his spit. We both savored the particular flavor.

Keeping his place, the man in black stood up straight so that the glistening brass zipper centered on his jeans was the only view I could consume. Those plump yet strong fingers (one of which was still shiny with saliva) teased his expanding fly for the longest few seconds I had ever lived.

Once he was confident that he had my lascivious mind right where he wanted it, he unfurled his perfectly smooth, hard dick. His hips thrust forward until his piece was close enough to my face that, had I stuck out my tongue, my tip could have caressed his. However, I knew better than to enact my will in his company.

Like a clairvoyant, the provoking intruder pressed himself into my sweating face. Still, my mouth remained shut. His heft squished me as he grabbed once more for my pussy until every inch of his hand was enveloped in dew.

A step backward gifted me breath, as well as a wanton look at his somehow harder cock, which he lubricated with the dripping hand. He massaged it regally, preparing to make my root chakra’s sweetest and darkest dream come true—a dream that many would consider their worst nightmare.

In a predictory fashion, the worn floorboards moaned as he made his way behind me. My snow-white ass burned beneath his gripping palms. When the fondling began, I thought the heat radiating from my cheeks might singe my captor. I could tell his patience was slipping, his cock begging to pierce me.

Contrary to the easy insertion I was accustomed to, the mystery man entered me without warning, giving me his full length in one rushed pump. There he dwelled, immersed in his selfish pleasure. His heartbeat reverberated through my core, eventually matching my own racing pulse.

A gradual retreat was followed by another quick and deep pound. This pace continued for no less than three minutes, making my throat dry due to all the moisture flowing southward. The hungry stranger noticed as much from my soft grunts as they became increasingly sparse.

In all his malevolent wisdom, he rectified this by returning to my face’s section of the table, directing me to drop my jaw, and wetting my palette with his deliciously sticky dick. He continued his pattern of stroking while saliva filled my gullet, only withdrawing when I choked slobber out of my nose, which he, without hesitation, smeared all over his slave’s face.

With my eyes slimed, I didn’t notice him slink toward my opposite end, so I was more than shocked when he penetrated me at a speed altogether different from his former pattern. He fucked me like someone had just placed new batteries in his back. My breath caught in my recovering throat, followed by a yelp I had seldom produced. The intruder moved so quickly in and out of me that I could swear I felt my brain bounce around.

Minutes later, the beastly man pulled out of me to officially mark his territory. The seemingly unlimited cum splashed onto my ass along with the perspiration pouring from his black beanie-covered head. His frame quit spasming as he shuffled to my other pair of cheeks, then cleaned off the tip of his cock on my fair skin. The load was just a shade lighter than my complexion. I ached to give it a taste.

The man in black roughly untied my extremities from his bondage. He started toward the weathered front door and, without turning around, grumbled, “Clean up. Tell no one. Sweet dreams.” The crisp night bombarded the tiny room during his exit, yet my temperature didn’t drop by a single degree.

Seconds after the door closed, I gingerly peeled my used and bruised self from the furniture. The shower had been running all the while, so I waddled into the now-chilly stream to rinse off and cool down. Ligature marks had darkened to the same shade of brick as my bath towel. It wasn’t until I dried myself that I understood the severity of my tenderness.

I finished the job with care, then strolled into the den, where Olcay lounged on the stressed leather couch, a playful joy on his face. He nodded an invitation to join him by the fire—an invitation I eagerly accepted. My damp locks nestled against his pajama flannel as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “I hope I made this trip special for you, Rayel,” he stated, with the breathy sexiness I’ve always adored. In response, I promised, “This is my favorite vacation, Olcay.”