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Against Her Will

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Turner scowled darkly, sitting at the bar. It should have been a good place to be, really, at the mansion, a higher-class party where the women were more than eager to let their hair down and show off more risqué parts of their body in the “privacy" of someone else's home. It was the perfect place to pick up a drunk chick and get things off his mind with no strings attached – or so it should have been. It was not the sort of society that he usually got himself into, truth be told, even though he'd styled his hair as nicely as he was able, the black strands combed neatly and a smart suit adorning his moderately athletic figure.

His scowl darkened even more. He was a catch. So, why hadn't he caught a fish yet? Why hadn't someone come up and practically thrown themselves in his lap, begging him to take them?

“Do you know that guy?"

A woman with her hair perfectly curled and a red gown falling to the floor surveyed him, lips pursed and pressed together. She spoke about him to her friend as if he was not even there, though that did little to improve Turner's mood, raising an eyebrow as he lifted his hand, calling attention more directly to him.

“Turner," he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Clearly, a predator. Came with John Moor. You know him…right?"

He spoke imperiously, knowing that he was above them, and, just as he'd suspected, they scurried off to ruin someone else's night, his position ascertained quite clearly. He may not have swanned through their high-society life with ease but he certainly had the right to be there and there was no way in hell Turner was going to have them see him kicked out when he was there to drink away his woes.

“Whisky."

He slid his glass back to the bartender but didn't care what ended up in it. Anything, anything at all, to distract him from the break-up and all that that had brought into his life. Turner's brow furrowed. The bitch had gotten with someone else straight after ditching him, he'd seen it on her social media, and that was the real kick in the guts, what made him want to screw up his face and drink away his sorrows, stomach churning for the indignity of it all.

But he was not there solely to get drunk and eyed up another fetching piece of flesh as she made her way up to the bar with a gaggle of girlfriends, their make-up ever so slightly smudged as the night and the free flowing alcohol took their toll on her. She was tall and slender with big breasts that barely seemed constrained by her dress, the plunging neckline drawing the rise of a flush to his neck. Turner ran his tongue over his lower lip. She was perfect. Why would she ever not want to take her leave with him?

“Hey, honey," he said with a smile that should have been winning but came off a little lopsided in his drunken stupor. “Fancy coming back to get something a little sweeter on your lips?"

She blinked at him, taking a moment to comprehend what he meant before ultimately reeling back in disgust.

“You freak! Get away from me!"

And she was gone, leaving her drink there but Turner supposed the money it cost wasn't all that much to her in the grand scheme of things. His frown turned sourer than ever and he downed his whisky in one gulp, feeling the burn. They hadn't given him the best stuff but he hadn't asked for anything specific, throwing money at the bartender while he was given a look that told him quite clearly that he didn't belong there.

Turned grunted, sliding something of a tip (he did not check how much) across to the bartender. Maybe the rest of the party wasn't a total bust?

The mansion was set up so that guests who were staying overnight with the family could retire to their quarters as and when they pleased and John had managed to swing it so that he had somewhere to crash too, which was better than a sofa somewhere or sorting a cab back to his place. The hallways were large, larger than they had any right to be in anyone's home, so Turner thought sullenly, but the drinks still flowed and he picked up something from a passing waiter with a tray, downing it and dropping the glass back where it had come from with a clatter and a bang. Not caring that the waiter struggled to balance the tray after his disruption, he boldly carried on, shoving finger-foods (canapes, he thought they were called, something fancy like that) into his mouth like they were going out of fashion.

Ah, that was his door. He didn't know whether he would sit down in there for a while or crash out completely but, either way, it was a free place to sleep and he was sure there'd be catering in the morning. Turner laughed out loud as he entered the dark room, which must have looked out over the gardens from the moonlight filtering in through the windows. Fucked if he ever had that breakfast catering shit when he'd been at a house party in his college days. Things changed drastically the higher up the ladder one went.

But Turner was not alone, stiffening and stopping dead in his tracks as someone shifted in the very bed that he was supposed to sleep in. Any trace of late-night lethargy was gone in an instant, wide-awake and alert, skin prickling.

The “someone" moaned and rolled over, flinging a hand out laden with jewels, though he could not tell how fine they either were or were not in the filtered in light of the moon and stars. Someone laughed outside as they passed and the woman, for she undoubtedly was female, in his bed groaned as she tried to rub sleep from her eyes, too drunk to care and reeking of it as her blonde hair (he could just about see that) clung to her face, a rat's nest of party-madness that had been ruffled into disarray through the clutch of too much to drink.

Some people might have helped her. Others may have merely been annoyed that their room was taken. Turner was neither of those types of people, smirking and rocking back on his heels, loosening his collar with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Well, it seemed that he was about to get lucky after all…

He didn't have to know what had happened to her, how badly her night had gone, having one too many drinks and then some more too just for good measure. Her friends had thought she needed to sleep it off and had left her there, alone, while they continued enjoying their party, which was not entirely a bad thing to do, except for the fact that it was Turner's room and Turner was the one who had found her.

He could have made any choice right there and then but, closing and relaxing his fist over and over again, his need twisted within him. Frustration roiled and coiled like a pit of snakes and it would have taken a far stronger man than him to deny himself the need, already well enough believing that it was his right to take whatever he wanted in the first place. That was why it had stung so hard to be turned down in the bar and, fuck it too – left out like a bag of rubbish by his girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, the many whiskies that he'd downed sloshing about in his stomach. If he'd had any inhibitions left, that would have lowered them, stalking her slowly with a slow, measured gait that oozed of knowing that the drunk woman before him neither had anywhere to go nor anyone to come to her rescue.

“Fuck it."

He was in motion before his mind had even caught up with what his body was doing. He hadn't had sex since his bitch girlfriend had dumped him and what else was he to do? Not that Turner was the sort of guy to justify things when he was already in the right, of course not, it was all just his inner dialogue as he smirked, towering over her, a comparatively small, frail form splayed out on top of the bed sheets that had no way at all to protect herself.

She stirred, rolling over, not quite awake but not quite asleep either. Turner shivered. Good, she wouldn't remember everything then. But he would most certainly remember every last sordid little detail as he dragged her shirt off, some sequined number that looked too gaudy for such an event, but who was he to judge? Her tight trousers were better, something that could be slid down her shapely legs, adorned in a devious gleam of moonlight, the woman whose name he did not know and would never know moaning as he ran his fingers down them.

“Oh…"

Not awake: good. He didn't want any disruptions as he yanked off her calf-length boots, though the leather of those was, admittedly, good-quality. Her socks within revealed petite, perfect, feet with the nails painted a pearly shade that reflected the softly appealing light, though he was not there to admire her while he ran his fingers over her feet, watching as they yanked away, toes drawn in.

“Agh!"

She jerked back away from him and Turner growled in the back of his throat. That wouldn't do. Her socks would make do as temporary bondage though, as he wasn't about to dig through the room to find something else suitable, stretching them to lash her ankles tightly together, her feet pressed up against one another in the perfect position. A hair band, fortunately, springing free of her pocket as if it had been trying to make itself known helped him out a little, lashing her big toes together so that they were neatly shown off, a smirk straining his lips as if he couldn't possibly keep it tucked away. He was enjoying himself too much for that.

The start of binding her up all pretty for him gave him an idea and he smirked cruelly under the cover of darkness, tearing off her underwear for a final humiliation, though he had to ready her for him first, tying her pants around her wrists nice and tight. Those were stretched up over her head and lashed to a post of the bed, keeping her nice and splayed-out for him, her breasts pushed up for his attention.

Those he could not quite resist and growled as he pushed his face between them, losing himself in their softness as he licked and nipped and ran his tongue around her nipples, drawing them up into hard peaks of desire. See, she wanted it, her body wanted it, her body betrayed what it really wanted even if she had not said anything to him. His lust surged, cock throbbing to attention, yet that pleasure of his own was still yet to come as he sloppily took advantage of her position to suck on her tits, saliva marking them as he even shoved his face between and motorboated them noisily.

She moaned and, giddy with glee, Turner laughed out loud. What was she going to do to stop him? Her body was an altar for his lust and he could take it all out on her in any way that he wished, her breasts trembling for his attention even then, showing him just how much she wanted it even if she didn't know it.

But she wriggled and squirmed, her eyes open, fighting him even then, and he frowned, distaste rising in the back of his throat. What a cunt… To do that after she'd led him on! He'd never stood for that before and some bitch like her wasn't going to take it from him either as he balled up her panties and shoved them in her mouth, probably already soaked through with her arousal, the slut. They could have been spat out, of course, so he completed the job using her bra, lashing it around her head and tying it off with the straps.

Needless to say, he did not need to look in her eyes as he did the deed and finished the job with her shirt, putting it sequins-down across her eyes and blindfolding her. He doubted that she would have been able to get it off even if she hadn't had her arms bound, it was that tight, but that left him free to take advantage of her feet, nicely presented side by side for his attention.

Still, her body demanded his attention in that way that females did, his fingers trailing down her sides as she flinched and shuddered. Turner's eyebrows shot up. Oh, so she was ticklish, was she? Well, there wasn't anything quite like tickling a whore to make her feel completely and utterly helpless, was there, to bring her down to the level where she should have been on the ground licking his boots.

His fingers knew just where to go, poking into her navel as she grunted and shrieked, breaking out in a light sweat as her body was forced to twist, to shake and to respond. The backs of her knees were a good target too, showing her that her ankles were bound too by pushing her calves up over his arm. As much as she flinched and twisted, wracked by the devious bodily response of laughter, there was nothing she could do, even finding a particularly sensitive spot on the back of her thighs, right where the treat of her pussy was hidden away.

He breathed shortly and heavily, need rising. Soon, very soon. Her body was more defined still in the moonlight as his eyes adjusted to the gloom but he was not willing to give up making her squeal into the gag of her panties. Her saliva surely had to be soaking them by that point and he groaned at the thought of making her so weak, not that she had been all that difficult to subdue in the first place. She was just a woman and that made her less than him, his fingers flirting with her navel and up under her arms as he took advantage of every last ticklish spot that he found.

Yet the clock ticked and the hour still, tenaciously so, grew late, his breath coming quicker and quicker even as he tickled her feet with his fingers. There was more to do, of course, but he pushed on, forcing her to jerk and twitch them, toes wriggling, grunting and squealing with increasing urgency into the gag. The squeals were muffled but still loud enough to excite him as her toes wriggled, playing at getting out of his touch, her heaving pants nowhere near enough to draw enough breath back into her lungs, he was sure. Maybe she thought she was going to pee herself? If she did, it wouldn't stop him from taking his pleasure all the same.

Her toes bunched and scrunched up as he sniffed and licked them, even the mere wash of his breath over her soles making her flinch away. Yet she couldn't go anywhere and he had made sure of that as he sucked on her two big toes at once again, lashing around them with his tongue for added effect. It was funny how such a small thing could have such a twitching, tickling effect and he would have laughed if not to see how her feet flexed, striving to get away as giggles burst from her rampantly, lost to something she didn't even understand was happening to her. Like the others that had gone before her, she was just the same.

He didn't take his time lingering on her feet without the main event coming to be, knowing that such time was limited, even if he had taken the precaution of locking the door. There was no telling who would come looking for the woman or who she was, though all Turner cared about was getting what he wanted from her. He sniffed her feet, the light scent of her speaking of a good moisturising regime, that she had not been on her feet for too long at the party. He smirked. Wow, she must really have been a whore, looking for a chance to get her legs in the air.

As he nuzzled into her feet, running his tongue up both soles at once with her toes tied together as they were, all for his pleasure, she squirmed and tried to kick out, but he had her held too tightly. The muffled sounds coming from her mouth could have been laughter or arousal or something else entirely but it wasn't going to stop him from slurping up, running his tongue around her toes and suckling them into his mouth. His fingers danced over her feet, inciting a ticklish response, her gasping twists and thrashes pulling on her bondage, though he still had more to go.

Let her fight him. His chest surged with power. The bitch wasn't going anywhere.

He sucked on her big toes together, pressed together as they were, and she squealed, trying to kick – but he had her held too fast. His heart raced with the soaring of his need, the lust for more powering through him, slicing through, tongue curling and flicking between her toes with devious need. He knew just how to make her squirm and delighted in it too, molesting her feet in every way that he could think of, fingers digging into the soles with a bite of pain just to keep her in place.

Yet her feet were more sensitive than he'd realised and he nipped at her toes, taking the others into his mouth, tongue swirling around, sniffing and chewing on them as they fell slick with his saliva. She groaned into the gag, shuddering bodily, feet wriggling under his touch, trying to pull away – always trying to escape! They were all the same, every bitch, he knew it, truly, he did. Yet he could enjoy her feet just as he wanted to, toes soft and full as he drew them into his mouth, fingers teasing, making them jerk and wobble, straining against the bonds even as pain kept them right where he wanted them to be. What she thought about it was none of his concern as he licked them and got her heel into his mouth, not fearing for being kicked even though she was very close to him. She would not dare, he was sure, for the punishment coming to her as he tickled her feet without mercy would surely be far worse than anything he may have dished out otherwise.

Grunting and groaning, she shuddered and thrashed, chest heaving, arms straining as the giggles flowed through her, at the whim of his touch, toes curling in. If he wasn't so aroused by all that she was doing, he would have continued, her flailing bare feet so very cute.

“Don't piss yourself," he hissed, tone rasping out. “I'll spank you for that, you bitch…"

His words, however, were not the most eloquent that they could have been as he moved up her body, seeking out her tits again, biting and nipping at them as he had done her feet. He licked and suckled on them but the treat of her aching, sodden cunt begged his attention. He shoved her legs up to get to it, a pert fold of flesh tucked up between her legs, and dove his tongue into it with relish, moaning against her, letting her feel how much she turned him on. Weak from the tickling, all she could do was grunt and moan back at him, sounds of what he assumed to be pleasure rising thick and fast as he tongue-fucked her mercilessly.

Eating her out was all well and good to show how much control he had over her but Turner wanted more, his cock aching for her. Yet the gag would have to come out for that and he reluctantly removed it, her gasping lips filled once again with his tongue, kissing her fiercely, shoving her tongue back within her mouth.

He thought she moaned into the kiss but Turned didn't care, freeing his erection, tugging his suit pants down enough to let it show. No more was needed in his case, although he doubted that he'd be sleeping there that night after everything that had already taken place, forcing her pussy-juice into her mouth as she was made to taste herself. Her mouth was sweet as if she'd been chugging fruity cocktails the whole night and he swirled his tongue around her entire mouth with open relish, groaning and grunting into the expanse of gaping lips that didn't know how to kiss him back properly in such a drunken state.

That was alright though as he had his cock to do that, moving up over her head with his shaft at the ready. She groaned but, before she could cry out, the hard length of his cock plugged her mouth all over again, ramming in hard and fast, intent on taking his pleasure from her even before she'd had the chance to get used to or at least acknowledge what was happening to her.

“Fucking take it…"

It rammed up into the back of her throat and her groans trembled around him, the lusty vibrations travelling down the length of his cock. Turner shuddered, thrusting and bucking his hips, seeing only a way to get his rocks off in her. Her body was his to use and abuse, though her mouth was sweeter than he could have expected, almost making him think twice about fucking her cunt, though that was a prize that was his to take, regardless of anything else that had gone before.

She tried to push her tongue up against his cock and he smirked to think that she was actively trying to please him, the whore. All women were the same, bitches that needed a good cock to set them straight, and he fucked her viciously, letting her gag on his cock.

“Don't you dare get your teeth on it…" He growled, slamming in, hands on the headboard. “Fuck… Fucking bitch…"

And then he was out, throbbing with need, his cock lubricated all it would be as he slid down her body, pushing her legs up to expose her arse and her cunt both at the same time. Her arse was too fine in the shimmer of moonlight, though there was nothing gentle about the hand that came down on it, drawing a screech from her throat that, even then, he could not be bothered to muffle. Let her cry out… His hand came down again, beating her arse red and raw, his cock aching and drooling for that wet pussy. There was no one coming to save her.

“Call me “daddy", bitch, and I'll give you a treat."

Maybe she wasn't as far gone as he'd thought as her head rolled from one side to the other, a slick trail of pre-cum staining the corners of her lips. She was too slow though and he slapped her again, the sharp smack of his hand connecting with her buttocks echoing through the room. The woman squealed and coughed out an exclamation, though she had to grunt it several more times as he spanked her arse like the naughty bitch she was before he heard her.

“Daddy…" She grunted, rasping out the word through a sore throat. “Daddy… Oh…"

But there was no more to come, sliding a condom over his cock in the breath before he pushed into her. The lube of her spit was a psyche as he had to cover up his tracks, leaving behind no evidence, pushing into her with a throaty grunt. Bending her legs at the knees, he pushed them back to her chest, easily dominating her, controlling her, though that was perhaps made easier still by the bondage locking her nicely in place for him, his abuse ongoing.

His cock powered into her, slamming deep, and he had no care or concern for her comfort as he fucked her. Rape? Well, he wouldn't have gone so far as to call it that, hoisting her up into the best position for his cock to grind deep, not willing to waste a single centimetre of cunt if he was intent on having it. It was his, all his for the taking, closing and rippling around him, her muscles contracting. He hissed through his teeth. The bitch had to be loving it!

Such a whore, already wet for him. He did not consider that something else could have rendered her damp between the thighs, other than him, seeing himself as the only thing that could bring her to her knees like that. The strange woman twisted and groaned, wrenching at the bondage, though he still only took that for an expression of lust, her feet in one hand as he bent her legs back, fingers dancing, tickling even then.

Turner could not get his lips all the way down to her tits but he admired them in the darkness, his eyes having well enough adjusted to the dim light in there to enjoy her to the best of his ability. The curves of her body were perfect and he would have had her breasts in her hands if her feet had not proven to be such an allure, molesting and groping them, pushing his fingers between her toes. All the while, he slammed into her as if she was the last fuck he would ever get, though the stranger was just the first step to getting over his ex, another bitch to put in her place while he moved the fuck on with his life.

His need was there though and he'd had enough drinks to last longer than usual while not enough to hold off from cumming entirely. The condom dulled sensation just enough to annoy him and, in a fit of throwing any caution he may have had to the wind, Turner drew the condom off his cock, plunging back bareback, filling her skin to skin, his need throbbing up thick and fast.

That was better. Much better.

Skin on skin was all that he'd wanted as he powered into her, the hard slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room, her moans and grunts rising to match his. Her need was there too and he aimed to meet it, although he didn't care about her pleasure, only filling her cunt with his spunk. That was all a whore needed, after all, and he climaxed with a throaty groan, not even trying to be quiet anymore, for he was simply taking his fill of what was his rightful dues.

Her feet flexed in his hand, thumb pressed into the sole, as he creamed inside her, hardly slowing, still thrusting, haste driving him to crude urgency as he filled her with every last scrap of strength he had in his being. It was a bigger load and he laughed harshly out loud, rolling his hips into her, ensuring that he took every last drop of pleasure from her hot folds before having to pull out.

“Fucking slut…"

She rolled her head back, not hearing him, a drunken doze sweeping upon her. Maybe that was better than living in her reality of being raped. Turner didn't care.

He did, however, have the good grace to untie her, which was more than he could have said for some he had fucked in the past. He didn't know what had happened to them and neither did he care as he shoved her over, collecting her clothes up as if he was about to engage in some act of kindness. But Turner wasn't that sort of man.

You don't need these anymore…

Leaving her there on the bed without any clothes to speak of, rolling in a drunken stupor, he smirked and took her attire as a prize, a trophy for the conquest. It was easily bundled up and made to look at least somewhat inconspicuous, the condom tucked into his pocket so that no evidence at all was left behind. Sure, he'd been a little bit careless in cumming inside her but it was all for the thrill of it, at least to him. And it wasn't as if the bitch hadn't had a good time.

Frankly, well…he rather thought she deserved it. It meant that the night wasn't a total bust at the party and he made a mental note to thank John for inviting him, though he had ditched him at first sight. Maybe the high-class bitch would be at the clinic the next day for the morning after pill or maybe she would not even remember what had happened.

Pushing his hair back from his face, ruffled and messy, he smirked. Who was he to say?

Time would tell. But he didn't have to know.

He'd had his fill of her already.

*

A week later, Turner was unsurprised to find his ex-girlfriend, Kacey, back on his doorstep, tears running down her face as her mascara bled. She said she was sorry, that things had gone wrong, that she should never have dumped him. There was more than that but he wasn't listening, scowling as she pleaded with him, clinging to his T-shirt as if hanging off him was going to change his mind.

“Like fuck," he grunted. “You got with someone else and now want back with me? No way."

“P-p-please," she whined, eyes brimming over with tears. “It was a thing, a thing I never meant to do… I wanted to see what it would be like to be with a woman and…and…and…"

She could barely get the words out but they had to come.

“She cheated on me!" She burst out, flinging her hands up even as the tears streamed down her cheeks, cutting tracks through her make-up. “Got with some guy at the party and that's it! She's e-e-even had a p-p-pregnancy test and tested positive! After I found her without any of her clothes at that party and, and...and…"

But she was gone, crying again uncontrollably as Turner drew himself up a bit. Well, well, well, how the tables had turned… To think that the drunk slut that he'd found was Kacey's girlfriend! Well, no, not anymore, though he kept the detail about what had happened to her to himself, looking down his nose at Kacey as if she was something foul on the bottom of his shoe. To him, that was all she was.

“I don't want you back… But I can offer you something else."

Her tear-stained face turned up to him, too hopefully.

“Anything!"

“You won't be my girlfriend anymore," he growled, eyes intent. “You'll be my slave. I don't want a girlfriend that did what you did to me. So take it or leave it, bitch."

Her lower lip trembled. Did she have a choice?

Bowing her head, there was only one answer that she could give and that would seal her fate forever.

With his lips on hers, Turner smirked into the kiss, pushing her head back against the wall, her hair twisted into his fingers. She loved it, really, and moaned against him, thankful to be back with him even though she was effectively his slave, no more than that to him. And maybe that would suit him better than anything else with Kacey, the whore who had stomped on his heart so callously.

Time would only tell, however, just what he would do to her…

Fuck that bitch.