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When he came into the room, your goofy boyfriend of six long years, wearing the stupidest attire you’ve ever seen, you couldn’t help but laugh. You’d gotten in trouble before for laughing at him - men could be so unbelievably fragile - and he’d gone off in a huff at some perceived insult from you. It had taken hours to talk him down, and then he’d laughed with you and all had been forgiven.
When your outburst tapered off this time and he was still standing stock-still in the doorway, silent and motionless, you thought for a second you were going to have a rerun of the whole silly affair.
“Babe-” you smiled at him, (poor, sensitive man-beast that he was), “I’m just enjoying your interpretation of ‘let’s spice it up in the bedroom’, that’s all.”
He still said nothing, but nor did he go running down the hallway in a strop either. You sat up in your desk chair, looked him up and down. What a bizarre get-up: a far-cry from the lace and leather adorned fantasies that you’d verbalised to him. His thick body was all but covered head to toe, his face and all its tell-tale features hidden under a latex mask. He was even wearing boots - in the bedroom, for crying out loud. He didn’t respond, or give any real indication he’d heard you.
“Oh, all part of the act is it?” you said, coyly, “Well, I did consent to being surprised with whatever you had in mind.”
Plus, you had an end-all word to use if things got out of hand. Stoic silence it was then, apparently.
You arched an eyebrow at him, and poked the tip of your tongue out the corner of your mouth in the way you knew he went mad for. He was absolutely unmoved. Damn, was he taking this seriously.
“Where’d you want me, stud?” you asked, trying to play sultry but feeling a laugh tickle at how ridiculous he was being. His head tilted, the latex making a soft noise as it went.
“Ooh creepy, babe.” It was a little, both unsettling and out-of-character. A frisson of excitement went up your spine. Whatever he was doing, it was working for you in some strange way.
You pushed back from your desk, abandoning both your third glass of wine and your game on its grey start menu in favour of walking up to him. You blinked up at him, somehow appearing taller than you remembered, and looked down at the huge boots.
“You get platforms especially for this?”
The only response was his quiet breathing. Overtaken with the urge to touch, to feel, you pressed the flats of your palms to the coarse front of the unfamiliar overalls, ran them over the flat of his abdomen and up to his shoulders, firm under your hands. You squeezed there, appreciatively.
“God damn, baby, you’re really starting to see some results from the gym, huh?”
Now that should have gotten you some preening, regardless of whatever little act he was trying to play. You tried to look up into his eyes, to get a read on him, but the way the soft lamplight hit the pale mask meant the enlarged holes were dark unreadable pools. His hands raised and you noticed he was wearing leather gloves, dark and supple, just as they closed around your wrists. He squeezed them, hard enough for you to make a little airy noise out of your nose.
“Is it going to be rough today, like we talked about recently?” you asked breathily, excitement rising, “Because you know I’m okay with that. You’re always so gentle with me - and I like that,” you added hastily, “But I can handle more - I want more.”
You blinked slowly up into his absent eyes, letting your eyelashes flutter a little, mouth part. Pulling out all the stops that you knew got him riled up. Come on, baby.
In answer, he put both your wrists into one hand, fingers encircling them easily - and god you didn’t realise he could do that - and with the other hand, took your throat.
A moan came right out between your teeth, completely without your permission or control. Your knees buckled a little before catching your weight. An expletive came out, more air than word. Now that had taken you by surprise.
You looked up at him entirely from under your lashes, licked around your suddenly dry mouth. “Wherever you want me, baby.” When you said wherever, you meant it - you were about to climb your sexy boyfriend like a tree. Wrists trapped, throat loosely enclosed, you were stuck there, but your lower half was free to move, and you undulated your hips against his, felt the outline of something decidedly interested against you.
“You’re so hard, darling,” you murmured, moving your hips ever so gently, revelling in the rigid way he held his body as you did so. “Is that all for me? Aren’t I lucky.”
Good god must he be working overtime to stay silent and not drop a lewd response on you. By this point, he’d usually have said something about bending you over and railing you against the window so all the neighbours could see, would have leered at you in jest and lust both. Whatever sexual fantasy he’d envisioned and was enacting was pure silence and sexual tension only, and holy shit was it working for you. He must be magic - this wasn’t even something you’d foreseen about yourself.
He held you there and you figured he’d move when he wanted to carry this fantasy on, and you’d be damned if you weren’t having fun in the interim. You rubbed against the hard outline of his cock, trying to incite a change in the audible breathing you could hear, turning it into a game for yourself. You shimmied closer and found he let you, hands remaining attached where they were, but his joints bending to accommodate where you wanted to go. You got in reach of his leather-clad hand, holding your wrists, and bit into the fleshy muscle under his thumb as you ground your bodies together harshly. This time, you were rewarded by a reactive tightening around your neck, and you groaned weakly as you heard a swift throaty inhale in his breath.
Teeth releasing, you pressed a kiss to the hand in brief apology, nuzzled your nose into it.
“I appreciate this darling, I know you don’t always enjoy it in the way I do.” You looked up into his mask-covered face, tilting in your direction, and felt a huge upsurging of love and affection for this man. With it came another rush, much lower, much hotter.
“Please fuck me,” you said throatily, a low strained chuckle slipping out, “I think I’m soaking through my underwear and I’d rather get them o-”
Your words were cut off as you were lifted so fast, you simply couldn’t get the oxygen in to carry on. You laughed breathlessly as he fireman-carried you to the bed, your big gorgeous boyfriend who’d apparently been hiding his newly acquired strength from you for this very moment, and felt your air whoosh out again as he dumped you on it.
“My god, that was hot.” Sloe-eyed, you looked him up and down, wondering if you’d ever been more attracted to him despite the shapeless blue jumpsuit he’d decided to wear. “Get that sexy jumpsuit off you, darling, and get over here.”
He ignored you and leant over your body, a hand landing above your shoulder and compressing the bed with his weight. You fisted your hands in the lapels of the jumpsuit and struggled to haul him further onto the bed, wondering why it felt so much like trying to drag a Boeing 727 down a runway by yourself. Christ - he clearly wouldn’t be pulled around when he had other ideas, and you told him as such; half-frustrated, half-amused, fully turned on.
With some manoeuvring and coercing, you managed to get the bulk of him on the bed, then anchored yourself around his shoulders and surged up to lick the enticing flash of neck below the mask. You dragged your tongue in long laps, murmuring in his plastic ear how good he tasted, how hot and ready you were right now, and nibbled a line of little bites and nips down the thick tendon in his neck to his collarbones - a move you knew always worked. This time, it seemed, was no exception, as you felt and heard the creak of the bed as he moved fully onto it, looming over you, his other arm landing heavily to bracket you as you laved attention on his neck.
You fingered the line of the mask, dipping a fingertip underneath it. “This gonna come off at all tonight?”
Without warning you were pushed back down onto the bed, and he held you there as you play-thrashed, open-mouthed at his dominance.
“Okay, okay,” you conceded after a minute of trying in vain to get free, “Keep it on, baby, I think you look sexy either way.”
He didn’t let up, and you were utterly unable to throw him off. With a mock-scowl at him, you enacted revenge, lifting your legs to lock them around his hips and pulling your body to hang flush against him, like a strange marsupial infant.
“See if you can get me off to have your way with me now,” you challenged, raising your eyebrows at him.
He tore you off in the next moment, bundled you beneath him and held you there, stuck under his impenetrable body, as if to prove how easily he could. You let out a sob-sigh at the feeling of your damp underwear rucking against yourself, and twisted underneath him any way you could, determined to make him suffer the way he was making you. When his hips moved an instant later in an impatient thrust, you felt a savage pleasure at your success.
“Mask stays on, baby, but I need this off.” You palmed the front of the navy jumpsuit, feeling almost at a loss at the desperation you were feeling for him.
Rather than go to where you were tugging at his clothing, he reached for your face, one gloved hand coming to hold it. Fingers dragged across your lips, parting them. Your jaw fell open around them and they delved in, the taste of leather an odd, unfamiliar tang on your tongue. Almost too many went in, as many as he was able to fit, gagging you.
I know we talked about trying this, but I did not realise I’d be as into it as I am, you thought hazily, your mouth stretched around the intrusion as you tried to swallow spit, felt some drip out down your chin.
He was being so unexpectedly dominant, you weren’t sure if you were going to get reprimanded for going for the fastening on his suit, but he didn’t correct you as you slid down the zipper, pushed in over his shoulders. You didn’t even look as you slid your hands in, felt the soft t-shirt fabric under it. No, you were caught in the gaze you could sense from under the mask, even if you couldn’t see it directly. Looking up into the face, at the prominent brow, the nose and philtrum, the inscrutable set of the mouth, all denoted in cracked white latex, you found yourself beginning to sloppily suck on the fingers, drawing them into you. Whatever you want, you wanted to say, to put across to him, however you want me, take it, please.
He didn’t move for a long second, content to watch his digits be drawn into your mouth, and you reached up for him, cupped the cheek of the mask and felt the strangely cool surface. You stroked your thumb over the faux skin, feeling so overwhelmingly lost for this man, who’d managed to tap into fantasies so deep you were hardly aware of them, and then traced the ridge of his nose, the line of his lips. There was a seam in them, almost undetectable, and you felt hot breath on your fingertips. You moaned around the leather in your mouth, dropping your hand and looking into his eyes as if to say, ‘See? Wasn’t I good?’
His fingers slid out of your mouth messily, streaking saliva over your chin, and you coughed a little. “Please,” you said faintly, in a voice that was inches from begging. He sat up and started to pull off the boilersuit and you hastily shimmied out of your clothing too, hurling your top away and making sure to give it extra wiggle when sliding out of your tracksuits.
Just in your underwear, you almost groaned in frustration as he abandoned the suit at his waist and looked down at you, hands flexing open and closed as his head moved to take you in, like it was the first time he was seeing you all over again.
“C’mon big boy,” you encouraged, although you couldn’t help but move your body sinuously under his scrutiny. It was hard to tell where he was looking exactly, but you couldn’t help but suspect he was locked in on the flare of your hips, the curve of your thighs. “It’s all yours.”
You bit back a smile as his body twitched. How hard he must be working not to say anything, it was honestly impressive. Hands landed on your hips and closed there, bruisingly tight. You arched into them, your eyes falling shut, agog at the sensation, at what he was giving you tonight. You reached back, fumbling for the clasp of your bra and yanking it away, letting your breasts fall free. Your nipples were tight, raw from rubbing against the fabric of the bra, and you pinched one hard to feel the sharp sensation, shifting your hips in the vice of his grip.
“Get that thing off, baby,” you growled, impatience growing, and he flipped you so forcefully in response you let out a shuddering, feeble little wail, giving yourself so thoroughly away. Good fucking lord that’s hot. He’d never treated you this way before, like you were a toy, an object, like you were at risk of punishment if you misbehaved. You arched your spine, pushed your ass up towards him as you heard the sound of the heavy fabric hitting the floor. Your breasts were against the mattress, crushed beneath you.
“The t-shirt too,” you wheedled, not sure if he was going to be too impatient to take it off and wanting more than anything to feel every inch of him. Something very submissive and small was emerging in you, a quivering little mess, wanting to please, wanting to surrender, and you tacked on a tremulous, “Please-” and then an even more faint and desperate, “Sir-” and felt your whole body flush with mortified shock when it slipped out.
The body behind you had gone still and you turned your head to make light of the situation, crack a joke, amend the damning words. Before you could catch more than the flash of exposed thigh, muscular torso, a gloved hand came to the back of your head and forced your head forward again into the sheets and you loosed a long, disbelieving moan. The leather creaked as the fist tightened, making sure you couldn’t look back.
“God, Sir-” you cut it off again, beside yourself, “Baby, please.”
Something dropped onto the bed, just in your peripheral vision - a black leather glove.
Shuddering breaths came from you, dragged from deep within your sternum, as you felt the scrape of skin on your ass cheeks. He tugged your underwear down to your knees, vicious movements like they’d been all evening, and you heard yourself clenching wetly in the exposed air.
Something nudged through the wetness there, crooking at the top and kicking a zap of electric static through your cunt. You gasped thickly, pressed back as he dragged an exploratory finger through you; as if he didn’t already know every inch of your body, as if he was a stranger behind you. You gave a wracking little sob, so desperately turned on you weren’t sure if you could even form cohesive words anymore.
The finger settled back on your clit, circling like he wanted to see what other noise he could get you to make, pausing long enough that you quieted, face a growing mess where it was rubbing into the cover, and then starting up again to elicit bitten-off whines from you. Something about the disconnect was invigorating, as if you could really pretend it wasn't your longtime partner there, but someone learning your body, figuring out how to strum you.
You were somewhat aware that you were vocalising something, and that that something was along the lines of, “Please, harder- oh god, faster-” and he was obliging you, fingertip curled and rubbing, and your desperate body pushed back into them as you came wetly, mouth open around a hoarse curse.
Those fingers slipped into you, so easily now that you were swollen and dripping, and you sighed at the feeling of them stretching you, stroking your insides. You mumbled a soft string of curses, told him you loved him, that his fingers were the best things you’d ever felt - and then you said his name, curled it lovingly around your mouth, and his fingers were yanking out of you and being replaced by his cock so fast and so hard that you screamed out.
He thrust in as far as he could get in one motion - not in flush, but so fucking deep your eyes rolled back - and for the first time, a tiny niggle flashed through your mind.
You didn’t ever remember him being this deep, this much… this thick. But before you could allocate any more of your working brain to that problem, he was moving: deep slow thrusts like he was trying to work himself as far as he could get into your post-orgasmic cunt, lush and tight around him. Moans you were powerless to stop were being punched out with every thrust of his cock, and behind you you heard loud, heavy breaths; he sounded as affected as you were.
“Baby,” you managed to say shakily, “You’re so- so fucking big, were you always-”
You sobbed as he leaned over you slightly and drove in, the angle insane, his cock so deep it was bumping your cervix. You shifted your ass to see if you could change it, find somewhere slightly more comfortable. The word you’d picked out, that you both knew, drifted briefly through your mind, but you in no way wanted this to stop permanently just yet. He normally liked to be so sweet and gentle when you had sex, preferring to rock in and out of you, muddle your breathing together, and this was a righteous fucking, raw and deep and animalistic. It has to be just that, you thought, and you’d be lying if you weren’t enjoying it, weren’t enjoying the ache and the pressure that went just slightly past your comfortable limits.
You choked out his name again, overwhelmed, and the hand that had been in your hair moved at lightning speeds to clamp over your mouth. You gave a muffled moan behind it, and he crowded behind you, pressed his body to you so close that you could feel every inch of his huge frame. Sweat, mingled between you, made your bodies glide over each other. He pulled out all the way, his broad cock head slipping out of you before notching back in, and then he slammed into you in a brutal thrust, like he was furious, like he was livid with you. Each thrust that followed was the same, like he was enraged, like he was hate-fucking your body. You wailed into his palm, your body overwhelmed, opening to him.
It felt insane, it felt awful and delicious at the same time, opposing spectrums severed in two and slammed together in a way that was unnatural and beautiful simultaneously.
You couldn’t think, for the life of you, of one good reason why you hadn’t done this before; you’d asked for rough and he delivered in a way you’d never even envisioned, using your body as a sleeve beneath him. Something scraped, as if it were against the frame of the bed, and you realised then that it had to have come from his boots, which he’d left on. Oh my fucking god. You half-laughed at the absurdity of him, masked and booted, fucking you into the bed you shared, and at your choked sound he bore down faster, harder.
Gagged by his hand, you unleashed a wordless poem of sobs under the onslaught. Your trembling fingers went down to find your clit and you circled it, the tip of your nail occasionally brushing the shaft of his cock as it plunged in and out of you. As if spurred on by his speed, the vehemence of his hips pistoning into you, you rubbed harder, matching his intensity. With it, your hips bucked, like they were trying to fight off the incoming orgasm building, like they knew it would be world-destroying; a supervolcano bent on destruction.
Despite the hand clamped on your face, holding you, your body was clearly moving too much for his liking, and an arm snapped around your waist and pinned you there. It pushed you deeper, still, your body a hot sheath for him. You were so flush together, plastered against his abdomen, encircled by his arms. His weight was braced solely on the forearm resting on the bed, the hand the one on your mouth. He bore down on you, his masked face close to your ear, his breath emerging as deep, heavy grunts - and was he changing his voice or were you just getting lost in the narrative, in his silence, in the story he was weaving for you?
You were almost non-verbal at this point, eyes lidded, hands a blur on yourself. You were there- there- almost- almost there-
It built, and grew, a string tightening until it frayed in the middle under the pressure, the relentless onslaught, and then it snapped and you shuddered forward, your whole body bucking under the brutality of your climax. You sunk your teeth into the gag of fingers and hung on, your eyes squeezed shut as though in actual pain. A guttural sound came from you, vibrating out of your throat; barely muffled behind your teeth.
He fucked into you, desperately, desperately deep as you orgasmed around him, pulled you into him forcefully as though there was any chance you might get away, and slammed in so hard you lost your breath for a moment. He ground through his own climax, hips jerking, and you felt the heat of him releasing in you like melted metal. You sagged under him and he followed you down, keeping his cock in the wet mess of your cunt.
His fingers stayed where they were, and you gently released your teeth from them, the leather pads wet with your spit, your mouth and the skin surrounding it damp. You kissed them in apology - he was never as into pain as you were.
You both lay there for a minute, breathing raggedly. His weight slowly sank down onto you and you struggled under it - fuck, but had he put weight on recently, and you’d not noticed? Or, more likely, had he never dropped his weight on you like this? You struggled to inhale, barely filling your lungs, but also felt weirdly comforted by the warm, heavy weight of him on top of you.
You tried to speak against the hand still against you, pulling your neck back a little to form a gap in the fingers.
“Baby,” you exhaled, your voice faint, and stopped to suck air back into your confined chest, “That was-”
Mind-blowing, you wanted to say, life-changing, perhaps, a fantasy I never knew I had.
You settled for some half-composed mashup of all of that, and then slumped back into the mattress happily.
After a long moment of drifting, half-crushed, the hand on your mouth withdrew, the weight lifted off you (you drew in air like a bellows), and his softening cock slid out of your body. You quivered upon its exit, feeling hot liquid slide out without the plug of him.
A smile curving your lips, made up of pure satisfaction, you started to raise your head when his hand landed on you, forced you back down.
“Babe?” you said uncertainly into the covers, struck again by his uncharacteristic manner. “You want me to stay face down?”
There was no response, but you were content to lay there and do nothing more than breathe anyway, feeling absolutely limp, like he’d fucked all of your bones into jelly. The sound of fabric came as he dressed, and you only snapped your head up when you heard distinct footprints exiting the room. You saw his broad back, reclothed, exiting into the corridor, and called out after him. No response came.
Standing took an immense amount of effort, your knees reprogrammed from the intensity of your orgasm, and it took a second until you could stagger over to your wardrobe, yank out a long t-shirt of his and throw it on.
You made your way out onto the landing to see your boyfriend coming in through the front door, his backpack in hand, looking rumpled and tired.
“Hey baby,” he called, rolling his shoulders, “I’m back! I’m so sorry I'm late, work held me up.”
You leaned heavily on the railing as he looked up and saw you.
“But I-” you fumbled, “But you- I thought you were?”
His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, your clearly dishevelled state. “What the f-”
You cut him off, panic rising, “I thought you’d come home and surprised me, with the mask, and the... the stupid boilersuit!?”
His mouth opened as yours closed and then you both stilled as the unmistakeable sound of the backdoor closing echoed through the house.
Your knees buckled, unable to hold you up any longer, and you hit the floor. Looked at your hands. Felt the sensation of the release of a man who was not your boyfriend leak carelessly out of you. Felt your body still trembling from the magnitude of your orgasm.
Thought, "Fuck."
- Fin. -