Drunk Driver

He released me and sat up for a moment. I had no idea that a man could take off his trousers so fast. If my last boyfriend had tried to strip like that he'd have tripped over his trousers and brained himself. (He was a bit of a klutz at times.)

He was pushing my legs further apart, lifting my knees at the same time. A moment later he was kneeling between my thighs, his cock right there ready for action. My god I was going to be fucked if I didn't do something awfully damn fast.

"I don't even know your name," I told him.

Yes, well that was an effective move, wasn't it?

"William," he said. "Call me Will."

With that he was moving my lips apart and I could see his cock was about to push into me. Then I was both feeling it and seeing it and I'm mentally yelling, "Oh my god, he's really going to do it."

From his point of view I could see why he felt he could do this. A wet noodle would have put up more of a struggle than I did. I'd never had problems shutting down importunate boyfriends in the past but I seemed to have lost all my will power where Will was concerned. Oh god. That was not a pun. I couldn't smile at silly puns at a time like this. The man was fucking me.

Oh, was he ever. His cock was big and fat and simply demanding that I yield to it, no negotiations being entered into. My body said fine and let him do what he wanted, my personal opinions being ignored. It's a crying shame when your body can dictate what you're doing.

I had the firm intention of not doing anything to help him but it seemed to me that just because he was being rude, beating me and jumping me like this, it didn't mean that I should be rude. My mother raised me to be polite in all circumstances although I'm not sure she envisaged these particular circumstances. Accordingly, I started moving with him.

I have to admit that he seemed quite skilled in what he was doing. I also feel that this was what he intended right from the start, damn him, which is why he 'spanked' me the way he did. Deliberately trying to arouse me was what he'd been doing. Spanking indeed. A spanking does not involve a lot of touching to a young ladies pudendum.

I was moving along with him quite smartly now. He had hit his straps by this time and was moving right along at quite a respectable pace. I had my legs wrapped around his waist, ensuring he stayed in place. Too, too, embarrassing if he bounced right off me and had to start again.

Mind you, I was trying not to do anything that might be taken as approval of his actions. Still, I suppose my screaming, "Oh god, yes, yes, yes," could be seen in that light whereas it was really just me trying to let off a bit of excess energy. Every time he thrust into me I seemed to be generating more energy and I had to scream or die of frustration.

If Will was an athlete I was willing to bet that he'd be a long distance runner. He was certainly going the long distance with me, banging away and seeming to know just what to do to build my excitement higher without letting it go too high.

Not that he could stop my excitement completely. All of a sudden I was gasping, "Ah, AH, AAH," with each forced exhalation being louder than the one before and I was working my way up to a screaming finish. He must have guessed it, too, as he lifted his head and stared me in the face, giving me a wink and a big smile, and then he stepped up the pace for one last ride.

He came into me as though he was a demented runaway and after a few moments sampling that I gave a demented scream as I climaxed.

He let me grab a shower and get dressed and when I came out of the bedroom he was right there, offering me coffee. Politeness is a bane at times, but I smiled and accepted. (The fact that I was suddenly desperate for a cup made the decision a little easier.)

"Does Jetta girl have a name?" he asked me and I was shocked all over again.

"You just threw me over your knee and savagely beat me and then you made the situation worse by tearing off my clothes and ravishing me and you now have the gall to ask my name? Don't you think it would have been polite to ask my name when we first met?"

"I did," he calmly told me, "but you just snored in reply. As for tearing off your clothes and ravishing you, I took off your clothes last night, remember? Oh, no, you wouldn't, would you? Too busy sleeping. Um, your name?"

Really, he had to nit-pick at little inconsequential, didn't he.

"My name's Miranda," I told him.

I had a nasty thought. I had no idea where I was and how to get home from here. I gave him my address and asked if he could advise me on the quickest way there. My car GPS doesn't exist and the one on the phone has a tendency to get more lost than I do.

He gave a cut-off laugh.

"No problems," he said. "You're parked in my drive. Just turn left as you leave and go down about three houses. Your place should be on the right."

I walked into his front room and looked out the window. There was my little car. I slowly turned my head to the left and there was the block of units I lived in, about three doors down. I went and finished my coffee.