Article 23609 of alt.sex.stories:
From: an84256@anon.penet.fi
Subject: Taken
Date: 13 Apr 94 09:28:23 GMT

                                Taken

What woman doesn't dream of just being...overwhelmed...taken?
================================================================

I know a lot of women have fantasies about making love in the sand
with a roaring surf splashing over them, or maybe on a bearskin rug in
front of a crackling fireplace. These are romantic fantasies that I
sometimes share. But lately, my fantasy has had nothing to do with
romance.

My fantasy is to be taken... just... taken, by some big, powerful,
rough type guy, fucked hard and fast. I don't mean raped, mind you.
What I dream of is a guy who confronts me and stirs something inside
me so that I can't, and don't want to resist him as he tears my
clothes off and fucks me silly.

I should say that this is a strange fantasy for me since I'm a
feminist. I'm a twenty-eight year old commercial artist, well
respected for both my work and my intelligence. Maybe it's all that
respect that makes me want to be put down on all fours and fucked like
a bitch in heat.

There's nothing that's really extraordinary about me, physically. I
have a decent and fit body, good, but not huge breasts, a pretty, but
not beautiful face. My hair is brown and I cut is short, collar
length. Perhaps my one outstanding feature is my eyes, their brown,
but very, very soft and wide and round.

Sometimes I work late, the quiet and solitude seems to give me
inspiration when I need it. I work in a mid-sized office in a downtown
highrise. I don't have my own office, working in a brightly decorated
common office with a half dozen other artists. I have a desk, but
most of my time is spent on my stool at my drafting table.

There's a new janitor at the building who I see sometimes when I work
late. He's in his late thirties, rough looking, with cruel eyes. He's
large and muscular, and far from handsome. Sometimes I see him looking
at me and I shiver a little, knowing what he wants, what he'd like to
do to me.

A few times he's even talked to me, his voice laden with innuendo and
suggestion, just this side of being obscene. He makes me very
uncomfortable, for not only is he crude but his overpowering desire
seems to touch something inside me.

He's an ignorant man, while I'm quite well educated, yet my fantasy is
about him, about him doing what he wants to do, about him fucking me
out of my socks.

I'm bent over the drafting board and don't notice him until he's right
up near me. When I do hear him I jump a little and turn quickly.

"Oh," I say.

"Just me."

I nod and turn back to the board. He empties wastebaskets, getting
closer to me. I can smell his cheap cologne and feel his eyes on my
back.

"Looks nice," he says, looking over my shoulder. I shrug again. I'm
always uneasy around him.

"What's that, a jeans commercial?"

"Yes," I answer.

"I love jeans, especially on women, especially when they're really
tight."

"You ought to try wearing them like that," I say.

"Oh? You'd like to see me in tight jeans, huh?"

"No!" I exclaim, flustered. "I mean, what I mean was it's very
uncomfortable.'

"Yeah? You wear really tight jeans?" he leers.

"No," I blush.

"How do you know how tight it is then?"

"It... just is," I insist.

"You'd look good in tight jeans I bet," he grins.

I turn back to my board, hoping he'll leave. I can feel his heat next
to me. His scent is overpowering, part bad cologne, part sweat.

"Why are tight jeans uncomfortable?" he asks innocently.

"You know why," I say, blushing even more, feeling my heart pounding.

"You mean cause they dig up into your pussy? Is that it?" I don't
answer, pretending to ignore him.

"I hear some women like that, that they can get off just by rubbing
their legs together. You ever try that, lady?"

"No," I snap. "Please go away."

"Just having a little conversation, Elaine. That's your name, isn't
it?"

"How did you know that?" I demand.

"It's written on your desk there."

"Oh." I feel dumb.

"So why are you working late, Elaine? You should be out partying.
Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"I have work to do," I say. "And whether I have a boyfriend is none of
your business."

"If you were my girl I wouldn't let you waste your time here every
night," he drawls. "I'd make sure you were doing what you were made
for."

"What I was made for?" I ask in confusion.

"Women were made for lovin'. Ain't you never heard that."

I flush and turn back to my board again. I start as I feel his hand
on my back.

"Please don't touch me," I say.

"What? You too good for me? All I was doin' was being friendly."

His hands go onto my shoulders and knead the tired muscles there. I'm
surprised it feels so relaxing and nice, but I'm still very
uncomfortable. I try to shrug his hands off but they stay on. My
heart is pounding still, though not really out of fear.

We're alone, just me, a woman, and this rough man who wants to fuck
me. I think about that and I tremble a little. I don't want to fuck
him. Do I? Of course not. I'm a good girl. I don't just fuck anybody.
It has to be someone special. Anyway, I don't like him. I never have
liked his type.

He takes his hands off my shoulders, moving in beside me. I'm sitting
on my stool while he's standing, but we're almost the same height
because of the height of the stool. He puts his left arm over my
shoulders, and just as I'm about to demand he move it he asks me about
the drawing.

I'm distracted, and he asks again about something to do with the
drawing. I answer, or try to, but he doesn't understand. He's right up
next to me, his body pressing into me, his arm heavy on my shoulder. I
try to shrug it off again but he keeps it in place.

I can feel my belly churning with anxiety. My whole body is tense. His
arm slides off my shoulder and I exhale audibly, but then his hand is
on my head, stroking my hair. Suddenly he grips my hair and tugs my
head back. I gasp but his lips come down hard on mine and muffle my
words.

My right arm is pressed in between our bodies and I can't move it. I
reach back with my left, gripping his wrist, trying to pull it away
from my hair. I feel a supercharged burst of fear, but then it turns
to something else, something... hot... tingly.

His right hand jams down into my crotch, squeezing it hard as I cry
out in shock. The sound is muffled again by his mouth as his tongue
shoots into my own mouth. I jerk against him feebly, even as I feel a
heat growing inside me.

His hand is repeatedly squeezing my pussy and it's responding. I'm
surrounded by this heavy male aura, a hot, scented cloud of male sex-
heat seems to be enveloping me and clouding my thinking processes.

His hand slides up my body, moving roughly over my breasts. I'm
wearing a denim shirt with snaps down the front and he rips it open. A
blast of shocked excitement hits my mind as it parts and his hand cups
my breast through my small filmy bra.

He lets go of my hair suddenly, whirling the stool around so my back
is to the angled drafting board. I stare at him in shock, my hands
automatically crossing in front of my near naked breasts. His eyes
seem to bore into me, deep and powerful and sparkling with fire and
lust.

He grips my wrists and pulls them apart, then shoves them back against
the drafting board, bending me back against it as well. He leans into
me, his mouth hot and his teeth hard as he bites my throat. I groan
and whimper but don't ask him to stop, even though I want him to stop,
desperately want him to go away.

But I also want him to continue, at least, some part of me does, some
animalistic, carnal side of me that I've long suppressed.

He lets go of my hands, grips my bra and tears it open. My breasts are
bare now, the nipples hard and standing out hungry and waiting
attention. He leans into me, pressing me back against the board as his
hands cup and squeeze my bare breasts.

I squirm, trying to pull away but he kisses me again, hungrily,
passionately, Lust and sex-heat fill the air, an intoxicating aroma
that pulls at my loins and makes them bubble with anticipation. My
legs are apart and he's grinding himself into me as he squeezes and
kneads my breasts.

He bends and slides his tongue down onto my right breast, then sucks
the nipple into his mouth and bites it. I cry out, but he bites again,
even as his hands roughly knead both tits.

He jerks my skirt up and shoves it back, bunching it up around my
hips. His hands slide up the insides of my thighs and grip my panties,
then tear them apart with a sudden sharp pull. I whimper, staring at
him wide-eyed. He pushes his body into me again, crushing me against
the board as his lips mash down on mine.

His hands slide under me, cupping my ass, squeezing my buttocks and
lifting me up against him as he grinds his pelvis into my groin.

"No!" I gasp finally, pushing at him. I wriggle back, stumbling off my
stool. I turn, pushing him back. He grips my arms, turning me further,
pressing me forward against the board, bending me until I'm flat
against it. He lifts my skirt again, then kicks my legs apart.

"Noooo," I gasp.

My hips are pressing into the sharp bottom edge of the board, my ass
sticking out as his hand darts in between my legs and cups my pussy. I
cry out, though it's not a loud cry. No. It's a cry of shock, of lust,
of denial. His hand is holding my sex firmly, his fingers squeezing
repeatedly.

I'm shaking and trembling against the board, my mouth opening and
closing soundlessly as he pulls my legs further apart. I feel his
fingers pushing against my lips, forcing itself up into me. I grunt
and, despite my will, my pride, my dignity, despite it all I push
back, shocked as I feel his finger go deep.

"Slut," he says. "You're all sluts."

The words shake me, and I wonder if he's right, but my pussy is a
burning nova that's frying my brain, and when his finger comes out and
I feel what has to be his cock against me I quiver in anticipation.

Then I groan as his cock enters me and thrusts deep. My breasts are
crushed against the board and his hands are digging into my flanks.
His cock drives higher and higher, until I feel as though I'm impaled
on it. I wonder frantically how long it can possibly be.

My hands grip the top of the board and I shudder as the heat pours
through my body. His cock punches against my cervix, draws back, then
slams forward again. I cry out once more, trembling violently, my
fingers white as they cling to the top of the board.

"Fucking whore," he hisses in my ear. I groan as he forces more of
his terrible cock into me. It's pressing up against my cervix so hard
it actually hurts. Then I feel his pants, his zipper, against my sex.
He hasn't even dropped his jeans, just unzipped them.

He jerks back, then thrusts in powerfully, almost lifting me off my
feet. I cry out again, numbed, dazed by the power of the sexual stupor
enveloping me.

He draws his cock back slowly, inch after inch sliding out of my taut
pussy lips. Then he rams it in violently, stabbing his cock up into
my guts with a powerful thrust. Again I cry out.

He slides his cock back again, then rams it up and in. He slides it
down, then spikes it up into me. I moan and arch my back and whimper.

I've never been fucked like this. Always it has been a steady in and
out, at whatever speed, but he seems to be using his cock like a
battering ram, smashing it into me cruelly, punching it up into my
belly as though he wants to hurt me. And then I realize he does.

His cock spikes up into me again and again, with growing speed,
knocking me against the board repeatedly. I cling to it, gasping and
groaning, my legs apart, ass out, breasts bouncing against the board
as he pounds his hips into my buttocks.

His hands come off my flanks, slide up and down my sides, then jam
beneath my chest to cup my breasts. He continues to rut into me with
violent strokes as his fingers dig into my soft breast meat, squeezing
cruelly, pinching and bruising the tender flesh as he bites down on
the nape of my neck.

His hands are tearing at my breasts as he rams into me with greater
force. His right hand dives down and grips my right thigh, lifting it
up and wide as he leans harder into me. I cry out as his cock drives
even deeper into my fuck-tunnel.

The whole board is shaking now as he ruts against me. His cock is
pounding back and forth inside me with a steadier rhythm, but each
inward stroke is a violent thrust that makes his cockhead punch up
against my cervix.

He grips my hair and forces my head back, then around. His lips come
down on mine, demanding, ruthless. His tongue fucks into my mouth,
pumping furiously as he throws his weight against my ass and spears
his cock up into my tight cunt slit.

The heat is overpowering, making me tremble and shake even without his
hard blows. I can hardly think. Then there's a sudden increase, a
short, but fast upward climb in the temperature. The orgasm blossoms
inside me and grows out in all directions. It burns me from the inside
out.

I shake and thrash in its grip, my muscles spasming and as my cunt,
afire with ecstasy, sends wave after wave of lust and pleasure burning
into my body.

He lets go of my hair, grips both my thighs now, lifting me off the
ground, holding them wide as he rams his crotch up into mine. I'm
clinging to the top of the board, my head bouncing against it as I
come. My cunt aches with the force of his pounding lance as he skewers
me with savage speed and power.

Then he cums, and I feel his sperm, great fat globs of it, spewing up
into my spasming cunt box. I'm light headed, barely conscious as my
body forgets how to breath. Barely in time, I remember, and draw in
great, shuddering breaths.

He slows his pounding stroke, then stops. He lets go of my thighs,
setting my feet back on the floor. I can't support myself any more and
my fingers slip off the to of the board. I sink downwards slowly,
until I'm on my knees in front of it, panting and sweating.

When I turn around he's gone.