She Needs It Rough

I was an instructor at a tennis club, and for several weeks I had been noticing a mother bringing her son to the club for lessons from another instructor there. The son, an eight-year old, was a first rate young tennis player with lots of potential. Plus, he had will and stamina. His mother would bring him at noon two days a week when he had no school in the afternoon, and pick him up early in the evening. Or another mother, whose son was a friend of her son's and who played doubles with him, would pick them both up later.

The mother intrigued me. There was something a little sad about her, something suggesting unfulfilled longings. She was actually quite attractive but she wore plain clothes that did little to highlight her good looks and her supple, shapely body. Her short hair may have been cut by a man's barber rather than by stylist.

And, as I've said, she seemed somehow discontented, with that look in her eyes that made me think something was missing from her life.

Her name was Ellen, I knew, and I had spoken to her a couple of times when I happened to be with the instructor who taught her son.

One afternoon Ellen dropped her son off and, rather than immediately departing the club, as she usually did, I saw her standing by the club entrance, waiting. Then I heard her explain to a club employee that her car wouldn't start and that she had called a cab.

"Which way are you going?" I asked her.

She was going in the same direction as I was. In fact the bedroom community where she lived was right on the way to my place.

"I'll give you a lift," I told her.

"Oh, that would be swell, they said the cab would take a little while," she said with a relieved smile.

As I drove her, she seemed to relax. Before, she had always seemed a little tense to me. I also noticed her furtively glancing over at me now, checking me out.

"I've heard you were quite the ladies' man around the club," she said.

"I don't know where I'd get that reputation," I said.

"Oh, it's just the vibes you give off, I think. Women pick up on that sort of thing, they can tell," she said.

"Can you tell?" I asked provocatively

"Yes, I can tell," she said flatly.

"What exactly is it you can tell?" I asked.

"I can tell that if I asked you to take me home and come in and fuck me, you probably wouldn't have any qualms about doing that. You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?" she said.

I was stunned, barely able to keep the wheels straight as she said this to me.

"Uh-- I don't know," I said, not wishing to be a pushover.

"Oh, sure you would," she said confidently, and, of course, she was right!

Neither one of us said anything for a moment.

"But I can't," she said. "I can't ask you to come up after you drop me off and fuck me. Because my home is where my husband fucks me. And so fucking another man there is out of the question."

So she had obviously thought about this before, and probably done it.

"And if you're going to suggest that we might go back to your place, don't. As long as I'm still married I feel weird about going to a guy's place. I prefer neutral territory for that kind of thing."

Hmmmmmmm, she had done this kind of thing before, it was now clear.

"Neutral territory?" I probed.

"Yeah, there's a little motel down a side street we're going to come to soon," she said, looking at me meaningfully.

"And are you suggesting we make a little rest stop there?" I asked.

"We could," she said, now gazing directly into my eyes as I glanced at her.

"Been to that motel before?" I probed again.

"Not that one, but ones like it," she said, frankly.

"Sure," I said, cool and casual. "I got some time to kill."

"Good," she said, with a slight smile. "It's right over there, the next left."

I turned down a side street and in a few blocks we came to this nondescript motel.

"Here. You don't mind getting the room, do you?" she said, taking a wallet from her purse and handing me a hundred dollar bill.

"Sure," I said, a little uncomfortable now, feeling like a paid stud or something.

But I got us a room and came back to the car with the key. And then me and Ellen went inside. She had put on a pair of sunglasses, and quickly moved the few feet from our parking spot to the room, with her head down.

Now we were inside a very ordinary motel room. Ellen immediately drew the shades, knowing that for what we were here to do the shades had to be drawn.

I felt a little strange. There was no prelude, no seduction. There was something so businesslike about this. And it was a little off-putting to me.

We gazed at each other for a moment and then she pulled off her sweater. No bra, just a pretty pair of tits met my gaze.

I knew virtually nothing about her or why she was doing this. Did her husband fail to arouse her and did she need to get her satisfaction from other men? Was she getting back at him for something else? Did he lose interest in her and was she feeling rejected? Did she learn that he had been fooling around on her and now wanted to get back at him by doing the same thing?

All these were possibilities, but Ellen didn't seem like she was in any mood to reveal much of her motivations for asking a man she didn't know to take her to a seedy motel and fuck her.

Now she unzipped her skirt, and took that off, her slip along with it.

I matched her by taking off my pants and shirt. Her eyes immediately glanced down to the crotch of my briefs. Obviously that's what she was interested in now.

"I haven't done it in weeks," she confessed.

I had picked up this cutie pie at a dance club the previous night, so I had done it about twelve hours ago.

Now she took off her panties. She had a terrific body, which one would have a hard time telling from the clothes she wore.

"Let's take these off now," she said, pulling off my briefs for me, staring at my cock, which was already fat and meaty, though not yet erect.

"That looks like a nice one," she said, smiling and warming up a little.

She took my hand and dragged me to the bed, both of us tumbling down on it. She didn't bother to kiss me or anything, which I didn't really expect, just taking my cock in her hand and sliding her body down towards it. Two seconds later she had my cock in her mouth and was sucking it.

As soon as she got me nice and hard she fell back on the bed and spread her legs.

"Okay," she said, giving me the go-ahead to fuck her.

"How about if I have something to eat too?" I suggested.

"Sure, if you want to," she said, as though most men she did this with were happy enough to plunge right in without any oral preliminaries.

I brought my face between her legs and looked at her pussy. Then I dug in with my tongue and ate her up. Now this she seemed to like, moaning and running her fingers through my hair as I gave her some nice, slow head.

"Okay, that's enough," she said a little impatiently after awhile. "I want you inside me now."

I slid it into her cunt and began fucking her. She definitely wanted it, but there was something about her that was still distant, that kept her from really enjoying it. I can go forever and so I really socked it to her, fucking her like this and then in several other positions. But after a half hour of solid hammering she still didn't give any signs of being close to climaxing. Some women, I knew, just don't have orgasms, or don't have them with guys the first few times they do it with them. Or have them very rarely and with great difficulty.

"Don't worry about me, I never get off," she confessed. "But I like it, what you're doing to me, fucking me nice and hard, being inside me."

And now there was actually a trace of tender vulnerability in her expression and her voice.

"Is there anything special I can do to help get you off?" I asked.

"You're very sweet. But no, it's okay, that's just the way I am," she explained, a slightly sad look on her face.

I started to pull out of her, figuring I'd take a break.

"No," she said, holding me inside her. "I want you to get off; I want you to cum inside me. I like that."

"I will," I said, pulling out. "Let's just take a little break first."

I always feel uncomfortable when I sense a woman isn't really into it, but is just being nice, wanting me to get my release even though she obviously is unable to get the release she needs.

"Mind if I smoke a cigarette?" she asked, a little nervous now.

"No, go ahead."

She lit up and took a deep drag.

"I don't know," she said wistfully. "I don't know what would get me off."

I was a little startled by this sudden disclosure.

"I'm sure you've thought about it. Are there any special things--"

Suddenly she turned to me, taking another drag, looking at me for a long, long moment, wondering whether she should tell me something.

"You know my husband is really a great guy, too great in fact. He gives me everything I want, and he expects little in return. He's so obliging, even timid. Anything I want he says 'yes' to. And he's considerate in bed, very gentle and everything. You'd think I'd be happy with all that."

She took another drag.

"But I'm not. Gentle is not exactly what I'm after. I have these fantasies. Fantasies of my husband being just the opposite of the way he is. Coming home and seeing that the beds are unmade, knowing I've been doing nothing all day, and really giving me hell for it. Screaming at me for being a lazy, selfish cunt who sits around all day and jerks off and does nothing but take care of her own needs. And then really punishing me for it."

Another drag as she looked at me, searching for my reaction.

"Pretty freaky, right?" she asked.

"Each to her own," I said.

"So then I imagine my husband coming home one day after work, seeing what the place looks like, actually catching me in bed, masturbating. He screams and yells at me, rebuking me for being a slovenly slut. And then he really goes to work on me, treating me like a low-down cunt who needs to be punished and shown her place."

She put out her cigarette.

"Thinking about something like that really gets me off. I guess it's what I must want. But I could never mention that to him, ask him if we could act out that fantasy. He'd just about faint, I know."

She looked at me with an openness I hadn't seen before.

"I've never confessed this to a guy before, to anyone. There must be something about you that got me to reveal my secrets. Maybe it was all that hard screwing. I didn't get off, but don't think it didn't have an effect on me."

Now I wondered what, if anything, was next.

"Just one more, okay?" she said, lighting up another cigarette, obviously nervous.

"Could you get into a scene like that?" she suddenly asked. "Do you think you could act out something like that with me?"

"You mean here? Now?" I asked.

"Sure, Alice is picking up Tommy and Scott both, so I don't have to be anywhere for hours."

"Uh-- yeah," I said, suddenly very turned on by all this. "I think could get into something like that."

"I see that," she said, smiling, taking hold of my cock. It had gotten soft after I pulled out of her; now it was all hard again.

"Okay then," she said, excitedly. "Why don't you get dressed and go out for fifteen, twenty minutes. And when you come back you make believe that you're my husband, returning home from work, seeing me the way I told you I'd be. And then you really take care of me."

"I get the picture."

"Now remember, I'm a willful slut, so I'm going to resist and balk like crazy, but you ignore that. Punish me when I resist and force me do anything you want, okay?"

Her eyes were alive and glistening; she was getting very aroused this, telling me just how she wanted it.

"Anything I want?" I repeated.

"Like I said, anything you want. You can do all sorts of stuff to me, the nastier the better. Spank me, slap me around, tie me up, restrain me, make me really feel it. Call me a bitch, a cunt, or anything else you want to call me. Treat me like a real slut, a real piece of meat. Just don't leave any welts or marks that my husband would notice, okay? That's the only thing I'd ask."

"Sounds like a plan," I said, putting my clothes back on.

Her eyes were sparkling with desire and anticipation.

"I've been dreaming and fantasizing about something like this for so long."

Dressed now, I grabbed the key and left the room.

Once outside I stood by my car, excited as hell, thinking what it would be like to see Ellen after I returned to the room, this crisp, slightly sad young wife who obviously had deep-rooted needs to be subdued and punished, and treated roughly and harshly.

We were near an industrial area and now I suddenly remembered that no more than a five minute drive from the motel there was an 'adult' store -- one of those places that sells sex toys and gadgets and videos.

So I thought I'd take a drive over there and maybe bring back a few items.

Walking inside I quickly looked around, knowing I didn't have much time. I grabbed a buttplug off a rack filled with dildos and vibrators and other toys like that. I had never handled one myself but had seen them used on babes in porn tapes. Ellen wanted to be put through some rough paces -- after all, she said I could do 'anything' to her that didn't leave a mark -- so I thought I'd get a pretty good-sized plug, not one too monstrously large, but not a peewee version either. Then I picked up a tub of what was billed as a 'special' lubricant designed for 'back door play.'

I walked past the bondage equipment display and asked the clerk to get me a pair of handcuffs and a paddle.

"Ring these up for me," I said, slapping a credit card down on the counter. "I'm in a hurry."

The clerk was gay and he gave me a lewd wink.

"I'll bet you are," he said with a nasty lisp. "Looks like you're going to have some fun later, something a little different."

He probably thought I was gay myself, and getting these items to use on a queer like him, or to have a guy use them on me. The way he was eyeing me, he probably wished that he could be the guy. No need to tell him they were destined for a young wife and mother with kinky, submissive fantasies. No reason to blow his own fantasy.

I returned to the motel with all the items in a shopping bag, and opened the door.

There was Ellen, laying on the bed, the TV on, though she wasn't watching it. What she was doing was playing with herself, her legs spread wide apart. She had put on my T-shirt but was otherwise naked.

The room was a mess. She had torn up the bed, and the covers were on the floor along with a pillow. She had strewn her own clothes all over too. The dresser drawers were open and the room looked like it was being lived in by someone who never bothered cleaning up.

I glared at her. She had a foul, surly expression on her face, like she wasn't exactly happy to see me. I put down the bag and approached her.

"Look at this shithole!" I barked. "Is that what you do all day? Lay around and jerk off instead of cleaning the place up?"

"Go fuck yourself, Carl. Clean it yourself if you want it nice and tidy. I'm gonna finish whacking off." she said. Carl was obviously her husband's name.

"Get over here!" I shouted.

"Make me!" she said, idly fingering herself, her face twisted in a nasty, challenging expression.

I walked over to her and slapped her face.

"You do what I say, bitch!" I snapped.

"Don't you slap me, asshole!" she screamed. "I'm staying right here as long as I want. And since I'm horny and feel like beating off that means I'll probably be here for a while."

Now I reached down and took hold of the T-shirt, tugging hard on it. She pulled back, away from me. And so I tore it off her, the T-shirt ripping at the seams and exposing her breasts.

"Leave me the fuck alone and go jerk off yourself," she bawled.

Now I grabbed both of her exposed breasts, squeezing them hard, forcing her off the bed.

"Let go of my tits!" she yelled.

I slapped her face again.

"On the floor, cunt!" I barked menacingly.

Now the challenge seemed to suddenly disappear from her expression as she suddenly went limp and meekly dropped to her knees.

"The place is a fuckin' mess and you're sitting here playing with yourself. Is that what I married you for? So you could jerk off all day while I slaved away at the office?"

"No," she said, meek now. "I'm sorry."

She was ready for the transformation.

"Sorry isn't good enough," I said harshly. "You need to be punished!"

Her eyes lit up as I emphasized this last word.

"Punished?" she said.

"Yes, punished. Punished for laying around in this filth playing with your pussy when you should be getting the place all nice and clean and ready for your family."

Now I sat down on the couch.

"Get over my knees"

Ellen obediently got over my knees and I looked down at her pretty rump. It looked especially appealing to me now, with her draped over my knees like this, exposed and vulnerable.

"Tell me why you need to be punished," I asked her.

"Because I've been a bad wife. Because I haven't performed my wifely duties. Because I sit around the house all day, masturbating, when I should be keeping the place clean and tidy for my family."

"That's right, Ellen," I said, bringing the flat of my hand down sharply on her taut buns. She winced.

"Oh God! That's so hard! It stings!" she squealed.

"It's not hard enough," I said, bringing my hand down and proceeding to give her a thorough spanking, tenderizing her butt until her quivering buns were a deep pink hue.

"Are you sorry?" I asked, momentarily stopping.

"Yes, I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please forgive me."

Now I pushed her off my lap, onto the floor, and reached into the bag, pulling out the pair of handcuffs.

"Oh God!" she exclaimed. "What are those?"

"They're handcuffs... cunt!" I snarled.

Still down on her knees, I got behind her and took hold of her wrists, pulling her hands behind her back. All resistance had faded as she passively let me do this. Then I snapped the cuffs on her wrists.

The look on her face was one both of utter shock and total joy as well, as she realized we were now deep into her fantasy, restrained like this, her hands handcuffed behind her.

Then I walked up in front of her again and slapped her tits.

"You like showing off your tits, don't you, whore?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm a dirty slut and I love showing it all off! To anyone who wants to look!"

I slapped her tits again as she winced.

"You show them off to anyone but me, and I'll beat the shit out of you," I threatened.

"Yes," she said, meekly.

"Yes what!" I shouted.

"Yes, master," she repeated.

On her knees, her wrists cuffed behind her, she now shuffled over to me, dragging her knees on the cheap motel room rug, trying to reach for my cock with her mouth.

I slapped her face.

"Did I say you could suck my dick!?" I snapped.

I turned around and pushed my butt to her face.

"Lick this!"

"Oh God, that's so humiliating, asking me to lick your asshole!" she said, though I knew she was desperately eager to taste it.

"Lick it, whore!" I barked, reaching back to force her face between my buns. She lapped away at my asshole, panting loudly.

Then I reached back again and roughly pushed her away from my butt, turning to face her. She looked up at me pleadingly, down on her knees, her hands behind her, handcuffed.

I waved my dick in her face.

"Beg for it, whore!"

"Please, honey, please! Let me suck it. Fuck my mouth with your cock, please!" she begged.

"Not yet, slut!" I hissed, slapping her face with my hard cock as she groped for it with her mouth. But I wasn't ready to feed it to her, not yet.