Grab Her Roughly

Grab her! Hisses your inner voice. Anger swells in you; deep within the recesses of your mind. Why shouldn’t you claim what’s yours? What does it matter anyway?

You stride forward; grabbing a fistful of hair and shoving her head back. Claiming your bitch, you shove her against the window, slats mashing against the glass. She’s wearing only a black bodice today, with one of her infamous grey mini skirts, hemmed right above the knee.

Maisy yelps, eyes wide with fear as she looks up at you. “Jake, what are…”

“Shut the fuck up Maisy! You think you can treat me like that, after all this?”

That’s when you kiss her, a rough kiss meant to claim what’s yours. You feel her lithe waist pressed against yours, senses heightened and you mind goes into a haze. You feel her breath, hot against the moist air. You grab her ass, pulling it toward you roughly.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what your husband does to his bitch?” You sneer.

Her eyes flare, anger rising. She pushes back vainly and you hold her firm, wrists held by the palms of your hand, overpowering her. “Jake. Think carefully about what you’re going to next…”

You cup her face cheeks in her hand, forcing her to lock eyes with you. “I am.”

She faintly resists at first, your tongue dancing within the confines of her lips. You taste the strawberries of her lipstick, smell the scent of her perfume, and the intoxication of her presence. You don’t notice that you’re in the office, or that there are people right outside the door, moments away, fleeting seconds that are no doubt your last moments of freedom. So spellbound, you disregard the sounds of a door unlocking, of the heels of a boot against the carpeted office floor.

No, all that exists is her. This moment.

Her eyes transfix to yours as you kiss, then you see her eyes start to roll back into the back of her head, her body slump against yours, and you can tell an adjustment in her demeanor. Just as abruptly as it started, she starts kissing you back, tongue exploring your own, a whimper in her throat as she grabs the outline of your cock with her free hand while desperately pulling you closer with the other.

“Please Jake…” Maisy pleads; whether it be to stop or continue you cease to care.

You throw her across the Executive Oak Desk, embroidered with inlays of silver that gleams in the filtered sunlight. She pulls herself up on the desk, hiking up her skirt as she does so, hunger in her eyes.

How long has it been since she’s been fucked? You think, the thought as fleeting as it entered into your mind.

You see that look in Maisy’s eyes, that carnal need to be debased, degraded and worshiped at the same time. She needed to be claimed, in ways that her husband no longer did, to be wanted, in ways that she hasn’t felt in a decade. Maisy’s skirt is hiked up past her waist and her pussy, gleaming and wet, is now visible. With her other hand, she suckles her finger, whimpering again, begging with small yelps of her voice as you trace your hands up her thighs, slowly, tracking slowly toward her pussy.

That’s when you feel twin prongs against the back of your neck, a flash of pain, and then blackness creep into your brain. You don’t even feel your head falling against the carpet before the darkness takes you.