I called Marci giving her the address of an old abandoned warehouse I owned in Queens New York, I asked her to meet me there. The rap of her boot heels echoing off the concrete walls is the only sound as she walks into the warehouse and walks down the long building looking for me. She stopped. The yellowish green fluorescent lights bother her eyes. The floor is damp—wet in places with puddles of black water—and the peeling concrete walls are crumbling in places. This warehouse is a dump, decrepit and depressing and disorienting too. It stinks of gasoline and diesel fumes and wet cement and mold, and in her good gray wool skirt and white blouse and black leather coat and gloves she feels out of place. Her good boots are already muddied. Where is John? She is asking herself. A car engine starts somewhere in the distance but with the echoes in the cavernous place it is impossible to tell where. The warehouse went on forever. She isn't sure where the exit is now, so she walks till she finds a pass through and turns right, the pace of her footsteps picking up. No cars pass her. The place is deserted, though she can hear an occasional bang or slam in the distance. At last, a wall and walkway. She skips up on it and walks through to another area of the warehouse. She returns to the sidewalk moving on coming to another blank wall with a door in it. It said " Section 20-A through 22-D" and had an arrow pointing down. This is absurd. She stops now and looks around in confusion. She pulls on her right glove, taking it off so she can get her cell phone. Would it work down here? She would call me. She is feeling fear, and then anger. Moving towards the pass through again, she spots a flashing light, a yellow light, sweeping over the concrete walls—a wrecker or some safety vehicle, maybe one of those golf carts the security staff rode in. She ran to intercept it, her purse bumping gainst her. It is a big step van, the kind usually used for deliveries, painted official city blue, with a yellow dome light flashing on its roof, barely low enough to clear the concrete lintels of the concrete warehouse supports. " Thank God!" she breathes, waving her arm to flag it down. The van stops opposite her and she peers inside. The passenger door has been removed and replaced by an outward-facing tool cabinet. She looks over the top at the driver, though my face is in shadow. " Listen, can you help me? I'm lost! Can you just drive me to the exit." For a moment I said nothing and she looks at my big hand on the steering wheel, the muscles in my forearm where my sleeve is rolled up, a smudge of grease on my wrist. " Can't," I said. " Against the rules." I shift into gear and the truck starts forward. She grabs hold of the doorway. " Please!" The desperation in her voice startles her. " No one will know. I'll pay you. I'm really lost!" Again the silence. She ducks her head slightly, trying to see my face in the shadows. " Okay. You'll have to get in the back though, and stay out of sight." " Thanks! Yes, of course!" She ran to the back of the truck pulling the door open, steps up into the interior and pulls it closed behind her. The inside is hung with quilted moving blankets and bungee cords hung from the ceiling. There are tools boxes behind the front seat and cans of paint and other maintenance equipment. Marci bent down walking up behind me. The engine is right in the center of the truck, making a big hump next to my seat, she leans over it, staring out the windshield as I drive. " I really appreciate this." She says. The van rolls slowly along, and she notices that the section numbers seem to make no sense. 13-D, 14-C, 13-E, 14-F. The I wheel the truck around several turns then kill the yellow light, turning down a spiral ramp and enter a lower level that is darker and more deserted. " I really think the exit is up on the other level," she said. I said nothing. I drive through a labyrinth of deserted halls and vast empty rooms lit by dim, flickering fluorescent bulbs, some not lit at all. This seems to be a totally different part of the warehouse, probably some shortcut or way to a central office, and then I pull the truck into a dim remote corner up against a dead end and throw it into gear, she assumes I'd taken a wrong turn and was going to back up and turn around. I turn around in my seat as if to see out the back doors and so she turns around too, then I grab her by the coat and suddenly stood up pulling her roughly back over the engine housing catching her totally by surprise. " What are you—?" I push her down on her back holding her there as I quickly step around her and into the back of the truck so I'm looming over her, in complete control, her hands gripping the front of her coat. Fear surging through her, fighting with utter disbelief. She feels the strength in my hands and arms and feels the heat from my body. She can't quite accept what is happening. The only light in the van is the thin, watery light that seeps in from the windshield so my face is still in the shadow, though now she sees my white tee-shirt and the hairs on my chest peeking through my coveralls. " I strongly suggest you keep quiet," I said, my voice is a deep, low whisper. " I don't want you to get hurt." She feels a thrill of excitment and fear, she tries to push me away, I quickly yank the top of her coat halfway down her arms, efficiently trapping her in her own garment. The strength and expertise of my moves instinctively told her she is dealing with a professional, someone who has done this before. " Wait! Wait!" she cries. " Do you want money? I'll give you money! There's money in my purse!" That seems to give me pause and she took that as an encouraging sign. She froze, not moving. " Really. Take it. Take what you want. If it's not enough I can get you more." Another brief silence, then I said. " I don't want money. What kind of man do you think I am?" My answer panickes her, and she tries again to reach up and at least claw at me, I got my hand beneath her and yank her coat from behind, making it into a tourniquet that bound her arms tight against her sides and renders her helpless. She is deep underground, hundreds of feet from anyone, and when my hand went to her throat she knew she had no choice but to lie still, well aware that I had enough strength in one hand to choke her right there. She watches as my hand went to the buttons on her blouse opening them, and she feels the fabric give and collapse onto her skin like something defeated. There is a pause, I slowly open the delicate silk of her blouse like unveiling a meal, exposing her chest and her bra. My entire head is still in shadow, she feels my eyes on her, taking her in, and then my hand reappears, squeezing her breasts, first one, then the other. She feels the strength in my fingers, the tension as I fight the urge to crush them in my hands, a perverse kind of gentleness, and that makes her bold. She summons all her strength and tries to free her arms again, I hold her now with embarrassing ease, as I continue groping her breasts and hardly aware of her struggles. I'm a large man, strong and focused, and she senses through my touch that my intention isn't to hurt her. I'm almost worshipful. My hand leaves her breasts and slids back up to her throat and I push her face gently up and to the side as if to examine her face. I caress her cheek tenderly, my touch causing her to panic as she realizes the seriousness of her predicament, lying on her back in a deserted warehouse with her arms trapped and blouse open, being groped. She can't control her breathing and her breasts begin to heave as she begins to pant and hyperventilate and there is nothing she can do about it. " Hush," I whisper, my lips right next to her ear. " Nothing to be afraid of." I place my hand lightly over her mouth, not so firmly that she can't breathe, she calms down immediately. I remove my hand, my fingers sliding down over her chest to her breasts. I trace the edge of her bra over her mounds and she lays still, her attention drawn to the soft touch of my fingers on her skin. I repeat the motion, this time sliding my finger inside the cups, inserting myself between and into the warm, humid space between her flesh and the bra. She closes her eyes in denial. Her breasts are exquisitely sensitive and erotically charged, and she is finding this pleasurable. She is relaxing and letting it feel good. I dip my finger deeper into her bra like a lover visiting to the depths, and as I slowly move along, my nail brushes the circumference of her areola, and she is surprised by the sudden splash of interest they feel. I grasp the top edge of the cup and slowly slid it slowly down over her breast as if ejecting a piece of fruit from its peel, savoring its slow exposure. She tries to control herself as the fabric drags over her nipple, it is maddening. I thwarted her efforts with humiliating ease, yanking her coat tighter to pin her arms and brushing her legs aside. All my attention is on her body now, and it is if she herself is nothing more than a minor irritation, easily disposed of. Marci groans with impotent anger and fear. She raises her head like a witness to her own rape and watches as I pull down the other cup so that both breasts are free, and then closes her eyes as my head comes down and my tongue touches her nipple. My breath is on her flesh, my tongue is circling her nipple in slow, wet circles, and despite herself, Marci feels a surge of salacious pleasure between her legs. My lips form a ring around her areola and sucks, she feels the breath from my nostrils on her skin. It is filthy and disgusting, she drops her head back on the engine cover as if she can deny the pleasure she feels. She can't allow herself to feel this, she can't deny it either, and besides, what choice did she have? Her arms are trapped in her coat and she is bent back over the engine housing as I'm hunched over her like a vampire with my victim, slowly gorging myself on the warmth and tenderness of her breasts. She didn't know what to feel. It is an assault—rape—but her shock and her disorientation are too great, and my physical strength and desire are overwhelming, like a physical force or a wave holding her down. I had an uncanny sense of just where and how to touch her, as if I could read her mind or knew all her secrets—a strange kind of physical intimacy that spoke directly to her body and cared nothing what her mind thought. The way I lingered at her breasts—sucking, licking, teasing, catching her nipples in my teeth—was far more than was necessary if I were simply going to rape her. I seemed to know just what she liked, just how she operated. I seemed to know instinctively how erotically charged her breasts are and exactly how she liked them treated, just how to squeeze, just where to touch. I knew just when to punctuate the cloying sweetness of a tongue teasing her nipple with the sharp nip of my teeth. One nipple then the other—the slow circles, the fluttering tongue, the long, lurid licks, and finally sucking her tit into my mouth biting and sucking it, my urgent, animal sounds of pleasure, my urgent, kneading hand. I release her throat as I tease one breast with my mouth, I pinch and roll the other nipple with my hand, smearing my saliva around the areola, dragging my nails over the fleshy dome until she is covered with goose bumps and quivering with need. When she thought she couldn't stand the stimulation to her nipples anymore, I begin to kiss and lick her breasts from armpit to sternum, planting soft bites on the full undersides or rubbing my rough, unshaven face on the upper slopes, holding her arms back and making her fight the urge to press herself harder into my mouth, wallowing in the softness of her tits until she'd totally forgotten her pledge to let herself feel nothing. " Oh! Oh!" She raises her head. The stimulation of her breasts is becoming more than she can bear. Her nipples are stiff and aching, and her tits feel full and swollen. She looks down at me to try and determine my attentions but still all she can see is the top of my head and my strong hands holding her arms, arms that had stopped struggling. She can't just surrender like this, so she tries to writhe and twist on the engine cover, trying instinctively to escape the maddening licking and sucking of her naked breasts, but all she can move is her legs, and all she succeeded in doing is making her skirt slide up her thighs. I notice this, and let go of one of her arms sliding my hand up under her skirt, sliding up the inside of her thigh, as if to show her that there are any number of ways to broach her defenses. This assault on her pussy is too much, taking the whole thing to another level, and she begins to fight, it is a strangely tense and silent struggle—her labored panting and struggling for breath and occasional groan of resistances; the soft creak and rustle of her leather coat; the lewd suck of my mouth on her flesh or my hot animal growl of lust that gives her a lewd thrill, as if she were watching herself be devoured. The struggling got her nowhere, suddenly I stop and straightened up. I'm on my knees next to the engine housing where her legs can't get at me, one hand still holding the back of her coat, but lightly now, and as I straightened up my face disappeared into the shadows again. She thought maybe I'd stop now, that maybe I'd taken her far enough to get her all hot and break her spirit, and that that's what I wanted. Maybe now I'd stop and figure I'd taught her a lesson and humiliated her, tell her to get dressed and drive her to her car, I show no sign of letting her go. She lay there nervously, confused and ashamed at her sudden feeling of anticlimax. Her clothes are a mess, her blouse open and bra down, her breasts red and chaffed from my beard and her nipples painfully erect, her skirt up around her thighs. She realizes though that I had no intention of stopping. I was stopping to admire her, to let her feel her own helplessness. My hand reaches out sliding up her thigh under her skirt touching the soft skin near her pussy and she cries out with a sudden and renewed sense of outrage. When I straightened up she managed to work her right arm free and she tries to push me away with it but I laid my weight back on top of her reaching behind her head with my left hand, caught her right wrist and held it easily, leaving her defenseless. I had one hand free to plunder her body and my mouth returns to her naked tits as if my work isn't finished. " Relax now," I said. "Just relax..." With my weight upon her she now can't avoid feeling the rock-hard shaft of my cock stabbing against her hip like a cold chisel, and she didn't know why she is so surprised. Marci feels really frightened. " No! No!" she cries, she tries to writhe away from me again, but I have her so securely pinned with my one arm that I take my other hand from beneath her skirt and casually finish unbuttoning her blouse down to her waist, taking my time, confident that she has absolutely no way to stop me or get away. Despite her struggles I begin to sensually caress her bare stomach, dragging my fingers over the sensitive flesh and making the muscles clench. I slid my hands down over her hips, then find the button on the side of her skirt, opening it and pulling the zipper down. I pull the skirt open then push skirt and slip down till they are below her panties, then my hand begins to graze teasingly over the bare skin of her thighs and her panty-covered mound, caressing her, tickling her, coaxing her into arousal, as if I had all the time in the world. The feel of my fingers on her mound, the ease with which I touch her and the casual way my hand toys at the juncture between fabric and flesh makes her start to throb with physical desire. She pushes, heaves and bucks her hips, I'm like a piece of iron—too strong, too heavy—and she realizes that her gyrations are sexual and very suggestive. They are only making her look more eager and hungrier. Finally she stops, giving up. She saves her strength for when she really needs it, for when I try to shove my cock inside her. Maybe then she can raise her knees to push me off, or get a knee into my balls. Meanwhile my kissing and sucking of her tits has never stopped, but the focus of both their attentions has shifted to her pussy where she is even more hungry and more needy and the feelings run deeper and harder to control. She is throbbing with painful need. I'm no hurry to fuck her though. I play with her belly and hips, sliding my fingers under the waist of her panties reaching down, teasing her, playing around her clean shaved pubic area, teasing her until her pussy needs my touch, until she wants to feel my hand against her empty hunger. She closes her eyes in frustration and anger then finally, my hand left her panties sliding under her skirt touching her aching pussy from below. My fingers pressing the moist crotch of her panties up against her sensitive flesh and Marci bits her lip to stifle a cry of fulfillment. Her body arches and quivers in response, she fights it, trying not to move, trying not to give me the satisfaction of seeing the effect I'm having on her, my fingers so curious, so fascinated with her, and the places I touch are so right, the pressure, the stroke so perfect. For all the furious passion of my mouth on her breasts, my fingers on her cunt are like those of a experienced lover, worshipful lover of the feminity, and one who knows which spots make her respond with a quick jerk of her hips or a little moan, a sharp intake of breath or subtle shiver—a soft massage of her labia, a teasing finger sliding up and down her slit or probing inside her, gliding in circles over her clit or pressing firmly and rhythmically against it, or occasionally taking her entire pussy in my hand squeezing in an act of mannish possession that touches something deep and primitive inside her and makes her want to cling to me. I'm clever, perceptive, masterful, patient, and soon she feels the sharp and jangling adrenaline-soaked fear leaving her muscles and being replaced by the deep and profound ache of pure sexual tension, a delicious sexual tightening that both relaxes her and makes her harder and solid. My hands knew her pussy intimately now, as well as she knew it herself, and she gives up struggling against me, gives up entirely. He said dirty things against her pussy. " You going to let me fuck you? Hmm? Going to let me stuff you with my hard thick cock?" The fiery pressure builds and builds until suddenly white hot ecstasy jolts from her cunt through every nerve in her body. She is shattered once, twice, three times until she is put back together with my lips kissing up her body. I'd raised up stepping out of my pants at some point and she feels my slippery hard cock running up her thigh. " I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep that you're never going to be able to come without thinking about me." My cock pushing aganist her pussy as I nibble on her nipple. My teeth bits her a little and she shudders. I grin wrapping one arm under her ass, hoisting her up between my body and the engine cover. " This is going to be good." I shove my cock into her in one long, slow glide. Her eyes widened with every inch I forcefully push in. Marci is panting heavily by the time I bottom out, and my green eyes are hooded and filled with a quiet pleasure. I'm silent as I thrust in and out of her. Sending waves of pleasure through her against the engine cover. I thrust against her in slow, constant, and thorough strokes. She shuts her eyes, she can't handle my intense and determined gaze. Then she feels my mouth close around her breast sucking her sore nipple again. Her eyes flew open, " OMG..Fuck, John." I continue fucking her, not saying a word. My hand running over her body, clutching her ass, pushing against her stomach, positioning her by her shoulder. " Please John," Marci begs after a while. She is so close to coming again. I stood up lifting her body higher against the engine cover. Her legs automatically cross over my ass, pulling me in tighter. I grab her sore breast slamming harder and deeper inside her. The thrusts are rough and constant, nearly unbearable. My face tightens as I watch her coming again. I groan when her pussy squeezes my cock hard like a vise, pulling me in deeper. Marci shuts her eyes, unable to handle the expression of naked lust and barbaric intent on my face. My hand went to her hair, pulling it tightly so that she keeps her eyes on me. Marci knows now it was always meant to be like this. She was destined to be fucked by me every since we laid eyes on each other. A growl builds up from my chest and into my throat. My frantic thrusts and primal grunts, it is obvious I'm close. Her drenched pussy gives her another shock of pleasure that she knew I feel. She is positive she would die coming. My lips came to her in a scorching kiss. One of many then it dawned on her. My tongue battling her own in a fierce, wet violence that makes her pulse skyrocket. Finally I gasp pulling my mouth away to bury my face in her neck. I groan passionately, holding onto her ass with spread fingers. My body covered her as my cock let go, pushing bursts of cum deep inside her with every jerk. I sigh pushing away from her. My cock fell out, leaving a trail of cream. I push her hair back from her sweaty forehead givimg her another kiss. It is so consuming that she almost feels like she can orgasm again from it. I move away from her pulling up my pants in the process. Her fingers let go of her coat. She is laying on the engine cover naked and her ravaged pussy dripping with my cum. The intimate sound of my fly zipping up makes her blush, which is ridiculous considering everything we'd just done. I came over to her once I'm presentable grabbing her chin. " Get dressed Marci, I will take you to the entrance. Then I will see you at your place so we can continue our time together," I panted, out of breath from our fucking. Marci walked to her car, her body pleasure-wracked and completely confused.
