Force-Fucked and All Square

There was a time when Cathy Tate knew for certain where her life was headed. Certain that she and her husband Carl would grow old together. Certain their marriage would always be one of commitment and caring. Yes, it was true that the excitement of the early days had waned with the raising of three kids. But wasn't that to be expected? Yes, it was true that Carl had long ago stopped being romantic. Yes, she missed those wonderfully tender things he once whispered in her ear while they made love. But both of them still loved and cared deeply for the other, she had reasoned.

These days she wasn't so sure. It had been during their 26th year of marriage when she had learned of Carl's infidelity. And now, a full year later when she allowed the memory to infiltrate her thoughts, she was amazed at the staying power of the pain. Amazed at it's intensity, after all of the counseling and all of the effort she had put into forgiving her husband his frailties. But when she replayed the memory of that horrible scene of him fucking their Latino maid, the pain and anger in her heart was every bit as intense today as when she had actually walked in on them. The anger had actually grown within her, she thought. The one, most lingering reality of that memory was her husband's unabashed passion. The unbridled desire and force with which he fucked that slut doggie-style, on the same bed they shared every night. It haunted her to this day. She wasn't sure he had ever shown such passion while fucking her. If he had, it was so long ago she couldn't remember.

But Cathy didn't want to have these thoughts tonight. She was tired of feeling that way. Tired of it being there constantly. She needed to escape the whole damn mess for awhile. That's why she had let her friend Pamela Keating talk her into attending her company's annual banquet. It was a chance for her to get away from the pain of her troubled marriage. She could meet some new people and talk about new, uncomplicated things. And, it was also a chance for her to dress up and feel like a woman. She desperately needed to feel that way again.

Even though Carl seemed genuinely sorry for what he'd done, she had been unable to forgive him. Even though he had been trying his best to be tender and romantic, she found herself feeling cold and indifferent toward his advances. In fact, she almost hated him for it. Even though her own pent up sexual desires were becoming a distraction at work and during everyday life, still Cathy had been unable to make love with this man she found herself married to. The silly bastard, why didn't he just take what he wanted instead of all the sweet talk and bullshit? Her neglected needs had become so strong that in recent months she had taken to pleasuring herself while alone late at night, having long since banished Carl to the guest bedroom. Having not touched herself in this manner since her single days, she had been surprised with the frequency with which she indulged in the act, as well as the intensity of her orgasms. But the most surprising thing, and a little disturbing to her, were the types of men and situations about which she fantasized. The men were always large and faceless, the circumstances unfamiliar and remote. There were never any names associated with the men, and very little conversation. Just sex. Urgent, powerful sex, and sometimes even non-consensual. She wondered why these images invaded her thoughts so often, and marveled at their power. They confused her, and she couldn't help but wonder if Carl's indiscretions had unleashed some long-held, deep, dark desires within her. Could his cheating have somehow legitimized their very existence?

Whatever the case, Cathy stood there by herself in the large banquet hall with these thoughts running through her head. She watched Pamela mingling with business associates from a distance. She really liked her friend, and admired her. Pamela was a successful buyer for a chain of department stores. She had also raised two good kids, and navigated them and herself through a nasty divorce from an abusive husband. Not quite forty-five years of age, she was still a beautiful and very desirable woman. Her near flawless mocha skin and those piercing blue eyes were a powerful combination. Couple those features with her warm, engaging personality and it was no wonder that Cathy usually felt a little intimidated in her presence. She had always admired the strength it must have taken for Pamela to fall in love with and marry a white man. Especially during a time when racism was a much bigger, or at least a less-camouflaged problem in America. She guessed that same strength was somehow lost on Pamela's ex-husband, the son-of-a-bitch.

Now she stood watching her friend, noticing again what a beautiful woman she was. Dressed in an elegant off-white evening gown, she was striking. It made Cathy think of her own appearance, and she smiled. She had thoroughly enjoyed the long, leisurely process of bathing and dressing earlier in the evening. It had felt so good, so sexy, pulling each feminine garment across her soft skin. From the quick mist of perfume, to the silver thong panties, it had been an erotic experience. And now remembering those panties she could feel the thin silken string running along the crack of her ass. It made her hot, and she began to think about the new vibrator she had at home.

A little over a year from her fiftieth birthday, Cathy could still turn the heads of men. Although she had three children, she had worked hard over the years at remaining fit. But not in the way so many women go at it these days, starving themselves and attaining a tired, kind of gaunt look. Instead, Cathy carried a few extra pounds that came with her age. But the years of exercise had maintained her deliciously feminine shape. And her femininity was on full display tonight in the low cut, but tasteful blue dress she wore. Over the course of the evening she had been receiving appreciative and lustful looks from many of the men. The looks had made her feel good. And the advances from a few of the more bold among them made her feel even better. But she had politely rebuffed each of them. After all, she was a married woman. No matter the pain, no matter the anger, she was still a married woman.

Yes, that was what remained most important. In spite of her yearnings, she wanted to remain faithful to her husband. She smiled inwardly to herself, realizing this finally. Leading up to this evening, she had not been so sure of herself. She had wondered how she would react to the lustful looks. Wondered what she would do if someone made a pass. Wondered if reserving a room at the hotel was really about not drinking and driving. Wondered why she had worn her sexiest bra and panties. Yes, Cathy had wondered and now she knew. She was still sexually charged from the evening, but relieved, knowing she would not be doing anything impulsive. Just then she thought of Carl. Briefly, she thought of the two of them together sexually. But the image was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. When her mind saw his face, and then the maid's, the anger returned. She felt so betrayed, and completely robbed of her sexuality over the past year.

Looking across the banquet hall at the thinning crowd, she decided it was time to call it an evening. She approached Pamela to say her good-byes. After a few half-hearted attempts to get Cathy to stay a while longer, her friend gave in and said goodnight. With a sly smile, Pamela turned back to the tall, handsome man she had been spending most of her time with for the past hour.

"Well, good for her," Cathy thought to herself, starting for the exit. "If anyone deserves some fun, it's Pamela for sure."

But as she crossed the huge room she concluded that she was due some fun, as well. It was going to have to be fun with her husband, though. She had realized tonight that it just wasn't in her to cheat on him, no matter what he'd done. The vows she had taken 27 years ago meant just as much today, as they had then. This made her feel good, but a little sad at the same time. She was proud of herself for not giving into the desires of the flesh, but sad when she thought of how those desires would go unfulfilled as long as she was unable to forgive Carl.

As she was approaching the door of the banquet hall, she noticed one of the attendants watching her leave. Was it the same young man that she thought might have been watching her before? Could it be, she asked herself. It looked like him, but he was several feet away this time. Earlier, while going to the restroom she had half noticed that one of many young black attendants on duty seemed to be watching her. And then when she returned, he was still in the same area. She was sure of it this time. She could feel his eyes on her ass as she moved past him, and thought maybe that she even heard a low moan of approval. When she had turned to look back at him (not really knowing what she might do if he were still looking at her), he had averted his eyes and returned to his work. But now from this further distance, perhaps he felt he could look all he wanted and not fear reprisal.

She was at the door now and paused briefly there before leaving. She looked his way, squinting as she tried her best to bring his face into focus. He was indeed watching her she now realized. Never taking his eyes off of her, he made his way toward one of the service doors leading out of the hall. He paused there and held her stare until she could no longer continue the impromptu standoff.

"It is him," she concluded, and moved through the door out into the lobby area.

She looked the area over attempting to get her bearings. Where were the elevators? She just wanted to get to her room as quickly as possible. Having that young man watch her so brazenly was very unnerving. Even though she was sure that he would never try anything in a hotel full of people she still felt genuinely scared. She wondered if that was what he wanted. She feared it was, and more. It was so strange, but as she made her way through the crowd she was sure his eyes were watching her still. Looking around frantically, her stomach would tighten each time she saw one of the white uniforms worn by the service personnel. She considered finding hotel management to report the incident, but thought better when she concluded identifying him might be a problem.

"Just get to your room," she told herself. Finally, she saw the elevators and hurried that way.

An older man with a cane was exiting as she approached. He held the door for her when he saw her rushing his way. She smiled and thanked him. Relieved, Cathy exhaled and leaned happily against the back wall of the elevator, gazing lazily at the crowd as the doors started to close. She caught her breath suddenly when she saw the same young black man watching her again from across the lobby. She could feel her heart in her throat as she watched his cold stare through the narrowing space between the elevator doors. And then she was alone.

Her mind raced. What was happening? Was this man really going to try something? Surely not, she thought. Her room was on the third floor. All she wanted was to be behind its locked door. She was still fumbling through her purse for her room card when the elevator came to a stop.

"Got it!" Closing her purse, Cathy moved slowly toward the opened doors and looked both ways up and down the hall before exiting. She hurried toward her room, starting to feel things were going to be alright. She couldn't believe this was happening. Her hands were shaking badly as she inserted the card. Nothing! She withdrew it and flipped the card around, but lost her grip and it fell to the floor.

"Damn it!! Hurry up Cathy," she scolded herself, and bent to pick it up.

She heard a door open and close. It didn't have the same sound as that of a room door. Was it the door leading to the stairwell? She didn't want to look. She had the card and was trying again to open her door when she heard heavy breathing. It was approaching her. She could hear footsteps. They were close.

Finally, she heard the click of the door lock. Still afraid to look, she was turning the doorknob and pushing forward when she saw a large black hand grab her forearm. She started to scream when she felt his other hand cover her mouth, and push her into the room all in one motion. He moved behind her keeping his hand over her mouth. She felt him release her arm, and then heard the door close and lock behind them. She thought for sure her heart was going to jump through her chest. She saw the shine of the knife blade out the corner of her eye. He kept it in view so she could see it while he talked.

"You scream, I cut you. It's that simple. You understand?"

She felt his hand loosen around her mouth a bit, testing her. She didn't say anything. He loosened his grip a little more.

"Oh God, please don't hurt me.....please," she heard herself begging.

"Don't nobody want to hurt you. I just want me some of that fine ass you got. You gonna give it up or I'm gonna take it," he explained matter-of-factly. "It's up to you."

Cathy felt strangely relieved. She stood frozen as he started pulling at the zipper on the back of her dress. Soon she could feel the cool air on the exposed skin of her back. He reached and grabbed a handful of her hair and she felt him pulling back gently, forcing her head to follow. She watched as the knife slowly left her line of sight. She felt the cool hard steel slide between her soft skin and the bra strap in back. She gasped when he suddenly pulled the sharp blade through the silk fabric and she felt her tits fall free. Though terrified by the stranger, she found his calm, deliberate manner oddly arousing. She closed her eyes and bit down gently on her trembling lower lip.

She felt him grab her dress at the shoulders and pull it slowly down to her waist, letting it fall to the floor from there. Instinctively, she brought her arms up across her breasts. Then he was moving each bra strap gently over and off her shoulders.

"Let it fall," he instructed firmly just above a whisper, while tightening his grip on her hair.

She let the bra fall to the floor, but immediately covered her breasts again the best she could. Cathy stood there in nothing but a slip, her beautiful blue dress and silver lace bra in a pile around her feet. The man kept his grip on her hair, but wasn't hurting her. He brought the blade back up and laid it flat against her neck.

"Goddamn you're one hot motherfucker, you know that? I been watching your white ass all night long. Take that damn slip off and let me see what you got."

"Oh please, no more. Don't make me do this, please." For a brief moment she considered trying to break free. But what then? Where would she run, how could she escape?

"C'mon girl, slide it off and let me see your ass. You know you want to." She didn't expect that. What did he mean that she wanted to? Could it be true? Did she even have a choice about it?

"C'mon now, take it down.....yeah, that a girl," he coached as Cathy slowly slid her thumbs inside the waistband and forced the slip down over her beautiful hips.

She paused just momentarily when about half of her ass had been uncovered. He released the grip on her hair allowing her head to straighten. But simultaneously he slid the blade slowly up along the line of her jaw, letting it come to rest just below the ear. She immediately realized that from this position he would only need pull the knife across her neck in order to take her life. She pushed the slip off of her hips and let it fall to the pile at her feet.

Cathy stood there now in only her heels and panties. Her heart raced, and her mouth was dry. But still there was something strangely erotic about what was happening. Somehow she knew he wasn't going to hurt her, as long as she did what he wanted. And she knew what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her, pure and simple. He didn't want to court her. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to understand her. He wanted to fuck her, and that was it. In fact, he was going to fuck her whether she liked it or not. That realization was oddly liberating for her. Her emotions were running rampant. Fear, anger, excitement, all bubbled up out of her as she fought hard to stay calm and in the moment.

He suddenly released the grip on her hair and she felt his hand on her shoulder. He moved it slowly and gently down her arm, pausing once or twice to grip it more firmly. Then he moved inside her arm, touching the smooth skin just beneath her breast. It continued a trail down across her stomach and then around to her back when he had reached her waist. His touch brought goose bumps, which really confused her. Then from behind he brought his mouth up close to her ear, as he took one cheek of her ass into his hand and squeezed it firmly.

"I love them panties you wearing girl. Them panties make me want to fuck you long and slow. How 'bout it girl, you need fuckin long and slow?"

The warmth of his breath at her ear and the cool of the steel blade on her skin created a strange sensation. What he said, what he asked, released new emotions into the mixed bag already tearing through her body and mind. She tensed when his hand suddenly moved across her flat belly, and his strong fingers pushed their way under the silken thong. He ran two fingers on either side of her clitoris and massaged it briefly before easing lower and into the folds of her pussy.

"I knew you was gonna be wet," he whispered, still at her ear.

Cathy was devastated as the reality of what he said hit home. Until his fingers had pushed their way inside of her, she had been unaware of her arousal. But now as he gently teased and massaged her there, she couldn't deny the heat building within her. How could this be? Especially under these circumstances, she wondered. After all she was being raped, wasn't she? He wasn't hurting her but he was definitely forcing himself on her, right? She struggled to understand how this complete stranger could be having this effect on her, as he continued to probe the insides of her delicate pussy. She could feel her self-control slipping away. She tried to remember what his face looked like, but couldn't.

Just then it hit her! Cathy suddenly remembered her recent fantasies of faceless men and strange surroundings. That was it! Without realizing it, she was experiencing a true to life lustful dream. Why had she not made the connection? Maybe it was the element of danger, which was still very real. Danger had never been a part of her fantasies. But now with these thoughts running through her head, she could still feel the sharp blade of his knife at her throat. Only then, as this reality came back into focus, did she realize her hips had been thrusting forward in an attempt to allow his fingers to move deeper.

"DAMN!!" she cursed herself, inwardly. Not wanting to encourage him, she stopped her undulations. He immediately sensed the change.

"On your knees," he demanded suddenly.

"Wait....no....wait. What do you want.....I can't."

"The hell you can't," he warned her, increasing the pressure of the knife on her skin. "Now turn your ass around and get down on your knees like I told you to. And kick those fucking shoes off."

Cathy did as she was told, tossing her heels to the side she slowly dropped to her knees. The man stepped around in front of her and reached for a fistful of hair once again. Looking coldly into her eyes, he slowly brought the knife up to his mouth and held it there, placing the blade between his teeth. Never loosing eye contact, he unbuckled his pants. When his zipper came down he reached inside and pulled out his black, uncircumcised cock. It was almost fully erect, and was oozing clear, sticky pre-cum. It was larger than she expected, too. Not scary large, but definitely bigger than what she was used to. And it didn't smell too good either. Almost a full foot away, she immediately caught the scent. She was scared, disgusted, and intrigued all at once. He took the knife from his mouth.