Force Fantasy Erotica
"The Rainy Adventures of Amber LaRue" a sex story by L.A. Madison
Torrents of rain buffeted Amber LaRue as she flung herself out of the office. What a dud party! Was she the only one who wanted to Xerox her bare butt on the copy machine? She tapped carefully down the dark sidewalk in her heels, struggling with both hands to hold her umbrella over her and keep her raincoat closed over the striped micro-mini she found suitable for her work as an office manager. Every couple of feet the wind tried to tear her protection away. She could hardly see in front of her.
Cars passed with their windows steamed. At the corner of 23rd and Lexington, she stepped into the crosswalk but sprang back. A turning vehicle plowed around the corner, splashing her with cold water. “Goddamm you!” she yelled, but the driver neither heard nor saw. Chilled and dripping, with water filling the pointed toes of her pumps, she continued, pushing against the strong wind, troubled by her near-invisibility. Was she even going to have sex that night? What kind of a world was this? She needed help and no one noticed!
Hot as Icarus by Darren Hopes at ObsessionArt.com
She passed a dark alley where broken beer bottles gleamed amidst newspapers piled against old brick walls. The gale howled and the wind finally succeeded in tearing her umbrella completely out of her hands. It went skittering down the street, spinning in the whirlpool created by the flooded gutters. Now she was really going to get soaked.
Luckily at that moment, with the force of a club, someone grabbed her neck from behind. She struggled to keep from falling backward.
“Don’t scream, sweetheart and everything will be fine,” a low voice instructed.
Amber’s heart raced—she loved being called “sweetheart”. It was an excellent start. She turned her head as far as she could, an inch, and glimpsed a face encased in a nylon stocking. Although his features were somewhat distorted by this costume, her assailant seemed attractive, and despite the unorthodox circumstances, she looked forward to a possible sexual encounter.
He dragged her by the neck into the alley. “I’m Amber, what’s your name?” she coughed out, staggering backwards and trying to maintain balance by digging her heels into the pavement. Sex on broken glass and wet newspapers was a little unappealing, she thought, but possibly a new kind of kick. As it happened, he pulled her into a dark doorway, and opening a ripped screen door, and a battered front door, pushed her inside. It was nice to be out of the rain. She took a deep breath and wondered with pleasant anticipation what would happen next with this silent, purposeful man.
Once indoors, he no longer gripped her throat. That was another thing she appreciated. She couldn’t help noticing how big and strong his hands were. Through the black clouds of dizziness appearing and receding before her eyes, she remembered her mother’s words of instruction: “Big hands, big dick.” She hoped she wouldn’t pass out and miss the enticing spectacle.
“Don’t scream, princess. I’m gonna show you a good time.” He was a man of few words, but she liked a lot of them. He got right to the point, and his rough voice promised virility. If she wanted communication, she could always talk with her friends on the phone. Too bad she wasn’t supposed to scream because things promised to get very exciting.
He tore off her coat. A few buttons rolled into dark corners. He grabbed her breasts a few times and made some crude remarks—but then Amber was never a big one for foreplay. She wasn’t one of those women who needed endless attention in order to be turned on, made ready, or lubricated.
He flung her onto the bed and her head knocked a bit on the headboard. With treatment like this, who needed a chiropractor? The pillow beneath her neck smelled musty but she was soon distracted by something far more important, a bigger deal in every way. He had unhooked his belt and shed his pants.
“I hope you like them big,” he said. And there it was, as big around as a doorknob.
Instead of saying, “No way, buddy. You’re not getting that thing anywhere near me” as a prudish friend had once done, she smiled invitingly. Who could have guessed the evening would end this way?
Like most women who don’t mind menstrual blood dripping down their legs and—whether they’re Xeroxing, eating lunch, or just picking up the dry cleaning— hope that at any moment a stranger will jump them from behind, Amber wore no underpants. The stranger seemed both pleased and surprised when he yanked her skirt up.
He spent a little while talking about his dick (coincidentally one of her favorite subjects—already they had a lot in common) then spread her legs for her in a businesslike way, and plunged in. He was not afraid of hard work. She could sense that. She was reminded blissfully of childbirth, one of her most erotic experiences. Although his dick was not as large as an infant’s head, the sensation was not dissimilar.
He continued his relentless pounding which gave her time to look around the apartment: dark fingerprints on the kitchen cupboards, a vast array of Penthouses and Hustlers strewn on the floor, a bottle of booze on the counter. ‘Perhaps’, she thought hopefully, ‘he’ll ask me to move in. This place could use a little neatening.’
She had orgasm after orgasm, one for every position, even the rare but highly satisfying anal orgasm, best accomplished with little or no lubrication. Finally, like saving the cherry on the sundae for last, they finished with oral sex on him. Although her throat was a little raw from the grasp of his manly hands, it didn’t interfere with giving head. There were so many ways to be choked, all equally enjoyable.
Following that night-- such a bracing surprise after the world’s dullest office party -- she couldn’t get him out of her mind, not even with a therapist’s help, so it will surprise no one that they got together many more times in the days and nights and decades to come for a galaxy of memorable interludes, each involving more orifices than the last.
Originally published May 2011