Making Me Take It

He drags me forward by my throat but his hand quickly releases my throat to slip around and grasp the back of my head, pulling me the rest of the way.

One of his hands is holding the base of his cock, keeping it steady, while the other forceful guides me onto his cock and I do as I'm told, as he ordered me. I open my mouth.

I let him in.

And I'm right to wonder how I'll manage. I feel him press against my lips and then the irrepressible pressure from him builds as he drags me onto him. His cock forces my lips open and almost immediately my jaw starts to ache as I stretch myself around his massive girth.

I taste him.

He is pungent and he is strong. Heady and masculine and slightly bitter, almost stale but still no less potent for it.

I nearly gag from it, such is the surprise, but though my eyes water I don't know truthfully which element of this experience can take credit for that. Credit or blame.

God he is merciless. He drags me on and drags me down and he pushes the length of him inside of me with a single stroke. And it's like one instant there is nothing and the next there is everything because he's just filling my mouth with his cock, just pushing in until he tickles the back of my throat and then I do gag, my whole body roiling as I stretch to accomodate all of this.

My view is only of darkness, the darkness of his shirt and the darkness of his paunchy belly and the wide spread of him takes up the whole of my vision as I become one with him, all of my experience down to the feel of him inside of me.

This is unlike any blowjob I'd ever given before. It is intense and it is rough and it is not wholly unwelcome. I feel used, feel him pull me down that little bit more as my nose crushes against the fullness of him and he pumps just the tip of his head into my throat which stretches to accomodate him. My lungs burn along with my jaw and I'm not just tearing up now, I'm nearly crying as I let him use me for an instant, just dragging me onto him and pinning me down.

My hands flail out for something to hold onto. One of his hands captures one of my wrists and then the other, pinning them behind me into the small of my back as his other hand drags me down and onto him, his hips giving ineffectual little thrusts because there is no more that I can take of him. Because I have taken every last inch of him, irrepressible inside of me.

I'm ****. I don't know if the darkness in my vision is the blackness of his t-shirt or if I'm losing my vision but my whole world starts to be consumed by it and it feels like the real world around me is spinning as I buck and writhe against him while he groans above me.

I feel him trembling with excitement. I feel him practically smiling at me, glorious in what he's making me do.

And he doesn't let up. In spite of the fact that I am clearly struggling he doesn't let up. Instead he chuckles, a great rolling rumble that shudders through him and into me and I feel myself respond in the most unlikely of ways.

I should be panicking. I don't know this man and I don't know what he's capable of and though I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to explain to the cops why and how a topless co-ed suffocated in his front seat, I can't be sure.

And the thought of hitchhiking is coming back to me, of the reason why people avoid it. Of the danger inherent in stepping into the car of a stranger and, when they ask you ass, gas, or grass only responding by parting your lips and getting ready to work.

I'm **** and he thinks it's funny but I don't panic. Instead I clench my thighs together and feel my sex thrum and pulse with the heat of a desire that I barely understand but wholly want.

"Fucking take it, you bitch," he grunts through gritted teeth.

What does he think I'm doing?

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