Laura Delarato
7 mins read
Published over 1 year ago

Content Warning: This story includes graphic depictions of consensual non-consent role play within the context of an ongoing adult relationship that is based on respect, trust, and communication.

Enjoy your kink responsibly.

The high-low assortment on the wooden desk includes monogrammed hotel paper, lubricant, and the menus of surrounding take-out spots. My consciousness hovers above my body as I square off each pleasure item, as though to say, “Fuck me rough, but keep the communal space free.” 

I’ve never done this before—but currently I am so present in my own pleasure journey that I’ve conceived an elaborate plan to be surprised and brutalized to the height of my consent. I want this. I want to be taken and stripped and humiliated and used—but housed within the safe boundaries of my fantasy. The overwhelming suspense rests in the back of my brain as I brush my teeth, wash my face, and mentally prep for my in-action plan. 

Even though I know the time range he will arrive, the anticipation sends electric sparks through my whole body and erupts the moment I hear the hotel door crack open. I stand frozen until a light knock on the door springs me into performance mode. Think: Less badly acted porn scenario—“Oh No! Who Could It Be?!”—and more real, genuine concern for the next few steps I take toward a new headspace where this is real and I need to, simply, get the door. 

Then, he is on top of me, forcing my body into the manicured hotel bed using his brawn-sizing and verbal cuts to pin me against the pillows. My legs kick away as I adhere to the side of the bed, trying to get out of reach of his hostile grasp. 

Everything goes dark even though the room is brightly lit by cream-colored hotel lamps. A black hood is roughly thrown over my face and constrained around my neck; my panic is visceral as my breath grasps at the only air available and prods the mask up against my mouth. The small traces of oxygen decelerate my fight as I succumb to him ripping my panties away from my legs and grabbing at every single part of my body he desires. 

The motor functions in my limbs are puppeted by his force and will; my ass rises in the air, each cheek gets spanked with precision, force, and complete disregard for the panting and crying happening under the hood. He forces me to my knees and lifts up the hood enough so that only my mouth is available for his use. I can’t help but feel aroused by being exploited only for his pleasure; meanwhile, the real fear and very real tears move down my face and onto my red polka-dotted dress. 

His hands force me up, facing my body away from him. Each of my wrists are placed into a leather handcuff and I’m guided into the bathroom. While my eyes are glossed with mascara-filled tears, he switches on the shower and holds me under the stream. My knees give in to his force and they’re pressed into the canary-colored tiles, while that same tear-dropped, red polka-dotted dress soaks up water, laying heavy on my skin. His cock forces its way into my mouth, causing my brain to question why I like this and if I should like this. But a few hard slaps across my face keep me present as he shuffles me back up to a standing position only to rip my dress from the center of my body—buttons flying into the water. Every single nerve-ending in my body is at the precipice of my skin. 

I move with him—totally soaked and teary—and feel myself face down on the bed, while he’s aggressively removing the handcuff and discarding pieces of my dress. I am suddenly aware of a black bag at the corner of the bed as he moves his hand to pull out an elongated butt plug with a silver-black color scheme. Lube follows as he places the tip on the pad of my asshole and pushes it fully in without cause or worry. I seize every bit of pleasure to override the biological pain that comes with taking so much in a single stroke. Each push makes me open wider as he continues to berate and spank me until I am fully crying into the mascara-stained pillow. 

He isn’t done. Surrendering my autonomy, he flips me onto my back and penetrates me anally with his cock. My legs reach for the ceiling as my hands are pressed into the blankets. I can’t move, can’t adjust, can’t do anything outside of his plan: I’m a legitimate fuck toy. I’ve wanted to embody this ever since my sexual fantasies developed into a full-blown narrative. 

A Hitachi vibrator is forced to my clit and turned up high—no preface, no warning, just the ample force of 101 Hz directly placed on 8,000 nerve-endings ready to explode. His hand pushes down over my nose and mouth, again finding a way to remove my oxygen as I rock to the rhythm of his cock pulsating inside my ass. A surge of anxiety hits me as I realize the potential danger of the scenario, and then my arousal spreads across the lower half of my body and an orgasm rips away from all points of my skin. 

My internal pulsating makes him want more, so he fucks me harder and harder without letting my body rest from the total energy shift that has just occurred. He decides he wants me on the ground; he exits my ass and arranges my hands and knees on the floor in true objective form. My body moves with every thrust to my ass; he is pounding my body over and over, until he fills his toy with a load of cum. 

I thought this would be the end. 


That is not part of his plan. 

He pushes me back on the bed and reaches back into that black bag, removing an 11-inch metal dildo which he quickly inserts in my pussy. I am instructed to cum again with the Hitachi on my clit for round two. It doesn’t take long. This time my knees are arched up to make a very dramatic and sudden drop the moment I come. The shower had soaked through the sheets earlier, but it’s hard to tell if the wetness below me now is from the shower or this second orgasm. 

He shames me for not making him cum again, slapping me in the face for not doing a good enough job. I wince—but I like it. I am ordered into the bathroom to clean myself up, an act he sinisterly watches through the door frame, making the intensity of the scene heighten just to the brim of my emotional capabilities. The door fully opens. I’m naked and wet and my face is covered in mascara. I feel my arms fold into one another to protect myself from whatever is next in his plan. Our eyes meet and his entire expression changes. His arm reaches out as he calmly says, “Come here.” The anxiety lifts as I collapse into his arms fully crying. “You’re safe, you’re beautiful, I’ve got you.” I feel my eyes dilate from the experience as I rock with satisfaction.  


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This story was originally published on Aurore, a new space for real sex stories, or non-fiction erotica.