Sweet Danger (21 page)

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Authors: Violet Blue

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors), #Erotica, #Romance, #Contemporary

BOOK: Sweet Danger
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You finish with my breasts, draw the knife down over my soft belly, pressing just hard enough to let me know that, pressing any harder, you would gut me. My arms hang limp, my entire body helpless in your grasp.
You slip the edge of the blade under the front of my panties. I think you’re going to cut them off. Instead, you twist my hair harder, so hard I gasp.
Then you bring the knife slowly back up my belly, circling each of my nipples and letting it come to rest at my throat, where it scares me the most.
“Take them off,” you tell me.
I shake. I don’t move. I stand there frozen under your terrible assault, knowing the word I should say to stop this, the word that will let you know you’ve gone too far. I look into the shadows and think I see distant shapes—men watching. Waiting their turn.
You press very gently against my throat, making me feel the prick of it.
The word is on my lips, in my tongue, but my lips are too tight and my tongue is too swollen with excitement and fear. I can feel my cunt throbbing with each beat of my pulse against the tip of your knife.
You shake my head with your hand tight in my hair, and I would swear I could feel the trickle of blood down the front of my throat. You growl in a voice I’ve never heard from you:
“Take them down,” you say. “Pull your fucking panties down, bitch.”
Whimpering, terrified, I force my useless hands to move, reaching to the thin string of my thong panties and pulling them down over my hips, over my ass. Peeling the crotch off of my pussy, feeling how it’s so wet it sticks. Feeling how the bare flesh tingles with the freezing night air.
“All the way,” you order me, and I tug my panties down to my thighs, having to stretch since you won’t let go of my hair. Since you won’t let me move at all, won’t let me bend over.
I let go, and my panties slide down my thighs to my knees and then stop. They’re so tight they lodge between my knees. You shake your fist again, jiggling my whole body against your knife. My panties drop down over my shins and bunch around my ankles.
“Step out of them,” you tell me.
I do, my legs quaking. It’s so much more humiliating, being forced to take my own panties off, being forced to reveal myself to you. But you’ve got more humiliating things in store for me, as you pull me hard against you and tell me:
“Spread your legs.”
Nervously, I open them, moving very slowly so you don’t cut me. I have to bend forward to spread them, but as I do you shove me hard, and in that instant you must have slipped the blade away, because I don’t find myself impaled on it. Instead, I’m sprawled over the garbage can lid, legs spread, arms thrust out desperately, body shaking.
“Wider, bitch,” you say.
I obey this time, shocked and terrified by the sudden burst of force. I spread my legs as wide as I can, so wide I feel my feet pushing into the mounds of garbage off to the side. So wide I feel myself helpless, off balance, opened up to you.
I realize with horror, with excitement, that it’s time. You’re going to rape me.
You don’t go slow; you don’t tease me. Your cock drives into me so fast that if I wasn’t already gushing wet, it would make me scream in pain. I scream anyway, in shock and fear, even as the thickness of your cock explodes through me and makes every muscle in my body strain with sudden pleasure. You grab my hair and lean forward hard, bearing me into the garbage can as you drive your cock violently into me. I feel the prick of the knife against my throat and you growl, “Scream again and you’re dead, bitch!” But my mouth is already open wide, and it’s all I can do to turn that scream into a long, low moan as I feel your cock pounding into me. You’ve shoved me forward so roughly that my pubic bone is pressed against the rim of the garbage can, forcing pressure hard against my clit. I’m close to coming already, and the sobs have turned to gasps and moans of pleasure. But before I can come, you pull out of me and snarl, “You’re so wet your pussy’s loose, bitch. Let’s see how you like it back here,” and before I know what’s happening my cheeks are spread around the thickness of your thumb, forcing me wide open. My eyes go wide and I start to gasp, “No, no—!” The safeword springs to my lips but never makes it out. Your thumb slides out, replaced by your cock as you shove into me so hard that it feels like you should rip me in two—but you don’t; my wet pussy is still dripping from your cock, and it forces its way into me with violence matched only by the pleasure it drives through my naked body. I open my mouth wider than ever, so wide I feel my jaw popping, the corners of my mouth stretched painfully, and as your cock sinks into my ass I push back onto you, fucking myself onto it. Your hand comes around and you seize my hair to keep me from moving, and I feel the coldness of the knife sliding up my thigh. I would scream, then, as I feel the sharp tip of it pushing between my lips, but there isn’t even time for me to scream—because I’m right on the edge of coming. As you shove the knife into me, your cock filling my ass, your violent pounding ripping me every bit as much as a knife blade ever could, I let out an uncontrolled, desperate scream of orgasm, terror mingling with pleasure and heightening every sensation coursing through my naked body. Sobs wrack me as you drive it handle-deep into me, and I feel its cold, hard hilt pushed up against my tender opening even as it spasms with orgasm. You pound into me, another thrust, another, and then you let out a scream of your own as you shoot deep into my ass. I lie there bent over the garbage can, naked, helpless, terrified, not sure whether I’m alive or dead. You pull your spent cock out of my ass and a stream of your come oozes down my inner thigh. You’re gone in an instant, and I hear your footsteps echoing as you vanish down the dark alley.
I don’t know how long I lie there over the garbage can, naked, spread, ass and cunt fucked wide. Just long enough for me to come to my senses, pull myself off the garbage can, and cross my satin-shrouded arms over my naked breasts, shivering.
As I stand there in the garbage-strewn darkness, I reach down and touch my pussy. It’s wide, dripping, and it aches with every touch. My clit throbs, still hard, wanting more though hurting from the rough press of the metal garbage can. But my cunt is intact, neither cut nor bleeding.
My clothes, however, are nothing more than shredded rags all around me.
I stand there exposed, frightened, feeling off balance in my high-heeled shoes and the stockings bunched around my ankles, feeling the warm brush of my satin gloves against my breasts as I struggle to hide them—from whom, I don’t know. Pearls dangle between my breasts, looking odd and ridiculous.
The alley explodes in a blaze of light, and I turn, stunned, looking into the headlights. The police? A stranger?
You get out of the car, throw your suit jacket over me, and lead me otherwise naked into the car. You close the passenger side door, get in.
I curl up against you, clutching you for support. I can feel the bulge of your pocket—two bulges, actually, and I know that it wasn’t your knife I was so sure was cutting me deep when you slid it into my pussy. I press my palm against the dual handles of your weapons—one metal, to scare me, one rubber, to fuck me with. How could I have been so convinced you would really put a knife inside me? It doesn’t matter. In the moment you slid it into me, I was yours, totally owned by your brutal persona, and that’s why I came so hard. The part of you that took me so violently really
would
fuck me with a knife, and that’s why I came so hard. But the more important part of you that loves me and cherishes me made sure that evil bastard was holding a knife that wouldn’t do anything except what you wanted it do—to make me come, harder than I’ve ever come before.
I know you’d never hurt me—now, I know that. A moment ago I was sure you would, and that’s why I love
you
more than anything. You went there with me, into a place that terrified us both. But now we’re back in our real life, where you take care of me. You gently push me off of you, force my limp body into the seat, pull my seat belt over me and buckle it.
“Seat belts save lives,” you tell me, and put the car in gear.
 
By the time we get home I’m half asleep, floating on a delicious cloud of fear and sex and hunger. You pull into the garage so the neighbors won’t see me get out of the car nude except for your jacket. You lead me into the house, put me to bed, and bring me a tray of food—cold cuts and sourdough bread.
“It’s not from a nice restaurant,” you say. “But I hope it’s okay for dinner.”
I swallow a bite of bread and lean over to kiss you.
“I had my dinner,” I whisper hoarsely. “It was delicious.”
Pearl Necklace
 
JOLIE JOSS
 
We’re just finishing up Sunday brunch at the Uptown Plaza when I get the text. As Rick goes on talking, I fish my smartphone out of my purse. My heart pounds as I read it. I go tingly all over. I feel like my temperature has just shot up about ten degrees.
I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t think it would really happen. I’ve been flirting with him online for months—three of them, and five days, to be exact. I didn’t think he’d actually take me up on my offer of “Anytime, anyplace.”
But now that he has, how can I say no?
“Rick, darling,” I break in when he gives me half a chance. “I know we talked about spending the day together, but I’m afraid something’s come up. I’ve got to show a property near here for work, all right? You understand, don’t you? We can spend time together later.”
At first Rick looks crestfallen, then suspicious. When my wicked look confirms his worst suspicions, he looks confused, dismayed, and about to faint.
“I’ll need the car,” I tell him. “Be a dear and take a cab home. You’ve got cab fare, don’t you?”
“Well, I—uh—” he sputters, not believing what he’s hearing. “Yes, of course. It’s just that…” He draws away and looks guilty.
“What, darling?”
“I bought you an anniversary present.” He slips the small box out of his pocket and holds it out to me.
I open the package and smile.
“How nice, darling. A pearl necklace. Is that a hint?”
Rick gets flustered.
I wink at him. I stand and let him lift my cascade of red hair and clasp the necklace on me. I break out my compact, purse my lips, and admire myself wearing Rick’s pearl necklace—knowing within just a few minutes I’ll be wearing someone else’s.
“It’s so lovely, darling. I’m touched. Now, run along home. I’ll be home when I’m finished.” I run my hands along his neck and whisper: “Don’t get too worked up on those downloads you like to watch. Save some for me, darling. Will you?”
Rick looks down and scampers away to the cab stand.
Just for the sake of appearances, I get out my parking receipt and stand lackadaisically in line. But lucky for me, the line at the parking window is longer than the line for a cab, so just as I reach the front, I see Rick disappear into the back of a Yellow, and I peel off for the elevator—leaving a briefly bewildered clerk.
I glance back, once, and spot Rick’s eyes glaring from the back of his taxi. Whether he spots me looking back at him, I won’t know until after it’s occurred, this thing I’m doing.
My
betrayal
.
And once that’s done…everything will be different.
 
Online, I’ve cheated on him before. In chatrooms, I’ve gotten pearl necklaces from dozens of men not my husband. In phone calls, I’ve been unfaithful more times than I can count.
But not like this. Not in reality. And I never dreamed I could really do it so blatantly, ditching him after a perfectly lovely brunch. Not so carelessly, discarding my husband like a piece of used tissue and moving on to the next shiny cock. Not even caring that he suspects. Not even caring that he knows.
Not even caring that my husband’s pearl necklace will soon be sticky with another man’s come.
Or, on the contrary—being
turned on by it
. The very fact of my betrayal makes me wet. The very knowledge that he knows gets me so unbelievably aroused I can’t control myself.
The looks of suspicion and confusion on my husband’s face making me want to betray him so bad that I can’t
not
cheat on him.
Like he’s
begging for it
.
I open my phone again. The original text from Dion burns there on my screen: Room 1916. Behind it, a new text blinks.
It’s a photo: Dion’s cock. Big and thick and glorious, glistening even in this low-resolution photo. What is it about men? They think the cellular phone exists solely to send pictures of engorged genitals back and forth between cheating lovers. And perhaps more importantly, every man seems to think a JPEG of his cock makes a woman weak at the knees.
Well, when you meet men online, I suppose there’s not much more they have to work with. And in this case, it was the very blatant nature of Dion’s aggressive stance that made me cream. Wasn’t that what I’d liked in all those hours of trading chat messages while I sat casually “working on some property spreadsheets” as Rick and I watched TV, my body turned “just so” to make sure Rick couldn’t glimpse images of Dion’s chest, abs, and cock?

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