This is not a true story. However it should read like one...
This is not a true story. However it should read like one. This is what I would call ‘reality porn’, it’s the erotica equivalent to the amateur porn sites. You’ll find no fantastically slutty porn queens with enormous tits and endless wet pussy, just ordinary people doing what ordinary people would do if they thought they could get away with it. Enjoy !
This story is dedicated to all those authors whose stories I've enjoyed over the years ...
This story begins in the South of France. Not the south of France with the palm trees, casinos and millionaires yachts, but a grey industrial town a few hour’s drive from there. Now life can be good here, the sun shines and the wine is cheap and plentiful, but like everywhere else there still traffic jams, mortgages to pay and bosses who want you to bleed for the good of the company. The recession hit hard here, and there are a load of people struggling to get by.
I guess I was more fortunate than many, steady job, house, wife and kids – an uneventful life. I’d not seen much of the poverty which was all over the media. The story begins in our local supermarket, while waiting in line to pay for my shopping, My thoughts were elsewhere, possibly wondering why it takes so long to get anything done in this country, when I slowly began to focus on the cause of the hold up. The woman in front of me was emptying her purse to find the last few coins to pay her groceries, watched by the uninterested and faintly contemptuous cashier. It was clear that even paying every euro cent that she had, she was a little short of the total. Looking at the customer screen, I could see she was missing 3 Euros. “You’ll need to put something back, then” said the cashier pointedly. The woman began to look through her shopping to see what could be spared from the fairly basic pile of staple foods on the conveyer belt. Who knows why, maybe to just save my time, maybe in a fit of unusual altruism, maybe the smirk on the cashiers face moved me, I still don’t know, I pulled a 5 Euro note out of my pocket, ‘Allez tenez’. There was a moment’s surprise, the woman started to object weakly, but the cashier had already taken the bill, cashed up, and handed me the change. Thanking me in an embarrassed manner, and muttering about leaving her other purse at home, the woman took her shopping and moved away. I’d already half-forgotten the incident by the time my shopping too was scanned and I walked back towards the car park, when I saw the damsel in distress waiting for me. For the first time I looked at her more closely. A little older than I, early forties, dark hair, almost black eyes, most likely Italian or Portuguese origin. Earlier she must have been pretty, if never drop-dead, but the years had sat heavily on her features, lined and tired. Just like plenty of others in this town. She started to thank me again, and I simply replied that she could pay me back another time, there was a moment’s silence, then having nothing much to do, I invited her to take a coffee.
The conversation confirmed my earlier assumptions, divorced for several years, two grown children working in other towns that she saw seldom, a dull job with not enough hours to really make ends meet. She seemed happy to have someone to share her problems with. I’m a good listener, comes with the job I guess, I seemed to listen intently and sympathetically, whilst beginning to have an idea which was slowly making my cock hard. Should I try it on with Mireille ( who had given her this 1930’s throwback of a name ? ) ? Yet but what for, some listless fuck that would be no better than the standard at home ? But how about if I just imposed what I wanted? I’d always been kind of dominant, but the wife was allergic to machos, so I always needed to keep myself in check and continue to play the model husband – which explains why it was me doing the food shopping on my day off. With a thumping heart, I steeled myself, and said to myself go for it. If it didn’t go down well, I’d have lost nothing. Once the conversation had died, I offered her to drive her back to her flat in one of the grey high-rises that this town seems to specialise in. As she otherwise needed to take the bus with her shopping, she agreed gratefully.
In her flat, I did not waste time, she offered me a drink, I followed her into the kitchen and as she had her back to me, I put my hands around her and grabbed a breast firmly in each hand. They were large and slightly sagging under the cheap material of her bra. Mireille froze and begun to say something in an uncertain tone. I just shushed her and began to knead her breasts, tweaking the nipples. I pushed forward with my thighs and pinned her against the kitchen work surface, with my hard cock nestling between her arse cheeks. Please, she said softly, which probably meant stop, or maybe continue, I don’t know, I had no intention of stopping. Still keeping her pushed against the table top, I manoeuvred by hands under her top, pulling it to her neck. The bra I simply rolled down. I glimpsed large white tits with small pink nipples, which I immediately grasped and begun squeezing. Still no clear Go/ No Go sign from Mireille, just a gasp when my fondling became a bit too rough. With one hand, I travelled down her body heading for her cunt. I passed underneath the elastic band of her skirt and then of her panties. My right hand was enveloped in thick hair for a moment, then moving a little further my middle finger reached a moist point. Her body went rigid, but with one knee I widened her legs, then slapped my hand all the way between her legs. Moving aside a little, I took my left hand and drove it between skin and dress, but this time from behind, sliding the crevice of her arse. A thin sheen of sweat or grease helped my fingers slid down, until they met my other hand curving between her legs from the front. I then see-sawed my fingers, not penetrating, but just pushing on her open cunt and arsehole, spreading lips and arse cheeks to get there. All this time Mireille has said nothing, just gripped the table top until her knuckles were white, with eyes closed, a lower lip caught between her teeth. Her breathe was coming in sobs, although there were no tears. I sensed I was going about as far as I could today, and began to soften my caresses in her panties. Still I needed to come, this was why I was here and that was what I intended to do. ‘ Do you want to see me again ?’ I asked. Her eyes opened slowly and seemed to have struggle focussing. Only after I repeated the question, did she give a brief nod. ‘Then you need to bring me off, think you can do that ?’ No reply. ‘You need to make me come now, or I walk out of here for good.’ ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked uncertainly.
Removing both hands, I took a step back, then undid my trouser zip and pulled out my now very stiff cock. ‘Go on, go to it’ I said. She knelt slowly in front of me, her face nervous as it approached. One hand grasped me softly, indecisively. Another pause, she was very close, but nothing was happening. ‘Go on’ I urged, an anger welling up inside now. A series of soft wet kisses on the underside of my cock was the response, nothing special, and far too vague to have any effect. Yet another one how had zero idea of how a guy wanted to be treated. Frustration was overwhelming, and my right hand placed on her head was itching to pull back and slap her for being so fucking useless. ‘Stop’ I said. She pulled away, her shoulders slumped. My cock started to wilt, I knew that saving the situation would be up to me so I pulled her up and planted her on her back on the sofa, pulled her head up on a cushion and knelt with one knee either side of her head. My cock pointed directly at her face, her body pinned under my weight on her chest. The situation felt much better for my dominant soul and I once again strained for release. Her mouth remained closed and her head turned aside, seeking to avoid an oral invasion, but unable to squirm away completely. No chance to force the issue today, so I proceeded to wank myself slowly and deliberately just millimetres from her turned-away face. As orgasm approached, my left hand wound around a clump of her hair and forced her to turn towards me, with eyes closed and mouth half open, the first steak of sperm dirtied her cheek, nose, lip, eyelid, missing her mouth in the wild splattering, but making a satisfactory mess of her features. Wiping the excess specks of cum from my cock with the handful of dark hair in my hand was not very effective, but worthwhile for the grimace that it extracted from the cum stained face below me. With a contented sigh from being so thoroughly milked, I dismounted, straightened myself out and glanced at the frozen figure on the couch. ‘Did I do OK ?’ she asked meekly without looking at me. I smiled to myself. ‘Did you get what you wanted ?’ she said again to cover the silence. It was fine I said, just make sure you do what I want and that I leave here satisfied each time, and we’ll get along just fine. I’ll call you soon I said as I exited the room. However before I exited the flat, the small pressure on my bladder reminded me that coffee always made me want to piss. The toilet was spotless, pink-frilled and cloyingly perfumed when I entered, annoyingly so. It made me want to leave my mark on the place, like a dog marking its territory. Primitive I know, but whereas the first few spurts went noisily into the toilet, I delighted in watering first the toilet seat, then the floor and for good measure, the last few sprays into a soft pink towel left dangling from a door handle. I left without flushing and as I rapidly descended the stairwell, could not restrain a chuckle.
That’s the way it started. I got a plaything, a doll to put into whatever position I wanted. Slowly I would increase the intensity, go farther than she really wanted, that’s for sure. Carrot and stick, dinner, advice, an understanding ear, a little money at the end of the month on one side, simple force of will and the unspoken but ever present threat to disappear and leave her to her dull little life on the other. Maybe she hoped for a shining prince who would make it all better, or at least someone who would make her forget the everyday burdens. And for that, she was prepared to put up with a lot, and I would be pushing to squeezing the most out of this investment.
We moved quickly through the prelimineries, the usual stuff. She showed no great skill or subtlety, she came gratefully when I went down on her, or when I curled two fingers up into her cunt and fingered her harshly. I got some pleasure from taking her from different angles, hard and soft, but only when she was spread wide apart so that I could fill her from behind, while squeezing and mauling her large hanging breasts did it really do much for me. I enjoyed pressing a digit or two into her tight arsehole, all the more as I knew that any activity which approached her pink rosebud made her nervous. I ignored her protests and would slap away any hand that approached to resist me. She was tight, partly as I’m sure she’d never had anything up there since her last childhood suppository and partly through her panicked scrunched sphincter. Still the match was uneven, determined hands were more than enough to penetrate and I would delve into her dark fundament using spit-covered fingers. I knew I had to have it, and she would give up her arse for me.
I texted one Friday, to say I’d had a hard week, and that I wanted to amuse myself with her. Or rather her arse. I wanted her naked, on her knees in the hallway of her apartment, with her arse greased ready. That I did not want her to speak, that I would not touch or caress her, the only thing I wanted that evening was that tight puckered hole, which I would play like a violin. I thought she would refuse, but the door was unlocked when I arrived, she was splayed on the floor, hairy heavy cunt topped by a glistening pink anus. Without a word, I approached, removing my belt, and freeing my hardened cock from my trousers. I spit into my hand and rubbed the head, knelt and positioned myself. A thrust, but the oil had made things so slick that I simply passed too high, repositioned and thrust, too low, into her pussy. Difficult to see much, with one hand I try to part her arse and one hard on my cock to keep it in place over her arsehole. Thrust again, and the tight bud unfurls a little around my cockhead, before pushing me out again. Position and thrust, just harder this time, she grunts as the full cockhead passes her sphincter, far enough so that no ejection is possible. I pause again before trying to push in further, but the friction is tremendous. My cock is hurting and the squeals and muffed groans coming from her are putting me off. Seems that when she oiled herself, she barely let a finger enter the scared orifice, so while the entrance was slick, the rest of her rectum remained dry as a bone. If I slipped out to lubricate again, she would freak and not let me back in, and now I was so close to the goal, I did not want to let up. Making minimal movements, like wanking myself into her bowels, I quickly closed into a climax. The thought of sodomizing the barely consenting Mireille was far better than the actual pleasure from the act. I come quickly and withdrew, almost coughing from the sudden effort. It was all over within 5 minutes of opening her door. As I readjusted my clothing, I could see the sweat beads on her back and the red raw colour around her arsehole and her laboured breathing. I felt like saying a kind word, but true to my fantasy, I say nothing and leave quietly.
Obviously after that particular episode, I am on my best behaviour, for a while. I manage to free a weekend, I treat her to a jazzy hotel and fine restaurants in Lyon. I am attentive, free with my affection and cash. I lap at her clit while fingering her and she comes loudly, as she always does. But as she lies on the thick orange cotton sheets in the afterglow, I always reach for the lubricant and begin to plaster it over my rock hard cock to begin another arsefuck. She gets used to it, kind of.
Having got that far, I wonder where I can take her too next, just how much is she prepared to put up with to have a man in her life? I was never really one for whips and chains, real violence, even a spanking was always a turn-off for me. Far better to get what you want be persuasion even if that bordered on and crossed into coercion. This had got me the use of her arse, but despite my best attempts, she never did learn how to use her mouth to pleasure me. I amused myself by pushing further and further into her intimate sphere, to leave nothing hidden from me. I got her to tell me about her secrets, how she lost her cherry in an alleyway behind a club, just hidden in the darkness from the drunks who came to piss out of sight of the street. I insisted that she asked permission before using the toilets, even in her own house. Sometimes I denied her permission for a while, sometimes I would come with her to watch, once I made her kneel down and piss herself in the bath while I slowly wanked myself off onto her hair. The humiliation on her face made me harder than any hole she could offer me. I decided that the bathroom would become my next hunting ground.
As soon as my interest in toilet sex became apparent, she tried, in as much as it was possible, to stop going. She drank little, to avoid going for a piss while I was visiting. And I never saw her shit, she just kept it all in. Still she could not stop me going, I would insist on her presence during my after breakfast dump. She would suck listlessly on my cock, or I would get her to wipe me, telling her if it wasn’t spotless, that she would lick my crack clean. Once I tried to get her to tongue me, to feel that soft warm thing around my arsehole, she wouldn’t have it, and I had to leave and refuse to see her for a while. I could sense that I was beginning to go too far, that what I could do for her was beginning to be outweighed by the suspicion that I would keep pushing her to further and further into perversion. There was assertiveness about her that had been lacking before, my grip was weakening fast. Still I thought I could just manage to coerce one last outrage, if planned well.
A pleasant evening out, fine wine began to dull the suspicion and the senses. By the time she fumblingly opened the door of her flat, she was happy and pliable. I had her lie naked on her back on the floor, with her hands cupped over her. I straddled her and told her that I wanted to piss on her tits and face. She immediately objected, as I had heard before, that the carpet would be ruined. She had only to catch it all, I said. Impossible, she countered, it goes everywhere, too quick to get the lot. OK, try this then, I squatted over her cupped hands, I’m going to shit on you, you catch it, you don’t get the carpet dirty. Her protests quietened once I started to painfully maul her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples until she shut up and lay back, resigned, eyes closed. I positioned myself again and pushed downwards. Not as easy as it seems, my hard-on was distracting me, and I was unconsciously tensing, as I was trying to crap where no toilet was in sight. Suddenly my arse opened and I filled her hands with a sudden movement, she flinched as her hands filled, shuddered, tears forming. I rose quickly and told her to get on all fours. Her hands still occupied, she was on knees and elbows, her face gazing at my looming shit. She was still, still trying to save her beige carpet from unmovable stains. I sodomised her without mercy, reaching under to crush and pinch her dangling pendulous breasts. She was trying her best to remain motionless, but my weight pushed her face inexorably closer to the light brown heap in her open hands. ‘Kiss it’ I hissed in to her ear, lick that shit up. I roughly pulled out of her arse, grabbed a handful of hair, pushed her head forward and clawed the closest nipple until she opened her mouth. ‘Stop’ she groaned, ‘please, I’ll do whatever you say, if it means that much to you. But if you make me do this then that’s the last I want to see of you’. She had been learning, it was her who was trying to make the conditions. As I well know though, it’s the one who cares less who will always win in these situations. And I wanted to see it, I wanted to see her little pink tongue lapping at my shit like an ice cream. ‘Do it’ I growled.
And she did, she did it all in a kaleidoscope of images that I’ll never quite forget as long as I live. Scenes lubricated by alcohol swigged straight from the bottle. Amongst those that I particularly appreciate, was where Mireille was frantically licking up a mixture of sperm and shit from her no-longer immaculate beige carpet and where she did a tiny turd into her own hand, then smeared it onto her face and her hair and then gagging as she chewed on a nugget. But most of all, the last view I had of her, as I shrugged on my shirt and trousers and turned to go for the last time, her features disguised by a log of shit which trailed out of her part-open mouth and her strangely white teeth upwards and then between her vacant eyes. As the weak sunshine rose on the street outside, I knew the first thing I needed was a damn good shower.
Much later, I heard she’d quit her job suddenly, left the town, and started over with a better job in the sunshine. I mentally wished her well, and better luck with her next beau. But for me, the ending was less fairy-tale like. No, I didn’t get caught; it’s more insidious than that … I once heard someone say that you should be careful what you wish for, ‘cos you might just get it. I didn’t really understand the sense of it at the time, but now I know what that means. All this, just showed me that the fantasy is, without a doubt, far better than the reality. Doing is imperfect, messy, unsatisfying … In the real world, we settle for the comfortable and predictable weekly one under the bed cover, or with lights turned low; and what makes that easier to handle over the years, is that our fantasy remains free. In the end she robbed me of my fantasies, in that she fulfilled everyone, including those buried so deep in some black version of my soul that I hardly admit them to myself. She damned me for the 25-30 years which remain to me, until I finally lose all interest in carnal things, to live only in the real world. All I have left now to keep me warm at night is a few slowly-dimming memories....