I prefer a comfortable lifestyle, but I NEED rough sex. I now have the best of both worlds, and I love it.
Mike and I were young when we first met. I was a wild-child, always attending rock shows at the local bars and clubs with my equally wild girlfriends. We were what you might call “groupies.” Barely eighteen, I thought it was cool to be fucked by random rockers backstage before the show, but the after-parties were the best. I can still see Elana’s sweet face eating my pussy and twisting
my nipples as some drummer fucked her from behind and I sucked on the rock-hard cock of lead guitarist . . . what was his name? It doesn’t matter. Every band member I ever fucked, sucked, rubbed, or came on is faceless to me now – all but one. Mike was different. He changed everything for me. And I knew he would be different from the moment I saw him.
“The Rock Hards” was a feature band from out of town – Chicago, to be exact. My girlfriends and I had never seen them play, but the hype that surrounded them had me excited before I ever even got to the club. Rumor had it the lead singer looked like a modern-day version of Jim Morrison, and sang like liquid sex. Rumor was right. As Jessica, Elana and I roughed our way to the front
of the crowd, the Jim Morrison look-alike and I locked eyes. He smiled mischievously, like a Cheshire Cat, and I instantly got wet. I staked my claim: “Girls, that one is MINE.”
I could hardly contain my sexual excitement through the concert as I watched my new conquest gyrate on stage. He had so much passion in him; it was as if watching him perform was like watching him fuck. I still remember exactly what he wore that night: nothing but skin-tight leather pants and a pair of loosely-laced combat boots. Watching his tight abdomen muscles tense up as he belted
the lyrics literally sent me into a sexual frenzy, and when he straddled the front speaker, displaying the size of his giant package in those tight pants, I nearly creamed myself. I had to have him. I would say I wanted to fuck him, but the truth is I wanted HIM to fuck ME, and fuck me hard. I wanted him to pound me like he pounded his lyrics, and like his pelvis pounded the beat. I imagined how explosive our sex would be if just watching him on stage was that intense. Later on that
night, I found out.
I have to admit I was a little intimidated as I made my way backstage after the show. The crowd was overwhelming, and mostly full of other hot groupies vying for the band’s attention. I spotted the lead singer across the room, put on a brave face, and pushed my way through the crowd, hoping he would remember me from the night’s earlier stare-down. My stomach literally dropped when our
eyes locked once again and he began to move toward me. Extending his hand to take mine, he introduced himself: “Hi. I’m Mike.”
I told him my name was Laurie, and then there were no words. We stood face to face, hand in hand, and gazed into each others’ eyes. There was no question that we both had the same thing in mind. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Within minutes we were alone in his hotel room. Mike shoved me against the wall and kissed me so hard I nearly lost my breath. He then pulled my skirt up to my waist, ripped my panties off, and pulled my left leg up so that I was wide open. His two fingers slid up into my pussy and instantly began to massage my G-spot, leaving his thumb free to rub my clit vigorously. His fingers
were strong and aggressive and knew exactly what they were doing. “You like that?” he asked. I could do nothing but moan in return. He was so powerful and in control, playing my parts likes an instrument. I gushed with pleasure. Once he felt how moist I was, he put my leg back down, put his hands on my shoulders, and guided me to my knees. “Now, suck my cock.” I was only too glad to oblige. I was pleased to find a thick and long, fully-erect cock waiting for
me. I was so aroused and wanted so badly to suck on him that I got caught up in his taste and smell and the feel of his meat in my mouth. Before long, he was halfway down my throat and we were both moaning with pleasure. He pulled my hair so tightly that it hurt in the best kind of way.
Once he had his fill he pulled me back up to my feet, put his large hand around my neck, and pushed me to the wall as his eyes met mine: “I want to fuck you hard. Right now.” I couldn’t wait to have his cock up inside of me. Mike’s strength and take-charge manner had me going crazy with desire. He picked me up and took me to the bed, removed what was left of my clothing, then
flipped me over so that I was on all fours. He rammed his giant cock into my hot and wet pussy in a way that made my cunt immediately quiver. When he smacked my ass, I stung with excitement. Pulling my hair, digging his fingers and nails into my back and thighs, spanking me, kneading my swollen clit, and pounding me hungrily . . . he was like an animal feasting, and I was thrilled to be his pray. When he sensed I was mounting to orgasm, he flipped me to my back, secured my hands over my
head, and pumped into me harder and deeper, until my toes went numb. The way he sucked on my tits and clamped his teeth around my nipples sent electrical charges straight to my clit, which was swollen like a ripened grape. Orgasm came over me in waves, from deep within, and I was pleased to feel the pressure of his throbbing climax at the same time, which intensified mine. When it was over we collapsed together, soaking wet and stunned by the aftermath of such ecstasy.
Two months later I found out I was pregnant. Mike and I flew to Vegas and eloped. I left my small town behind and moved in to Mike’s downtown Chicago pad. We had the world in our hands: Mike’s music career seemed to be taking off and we were wildly in love and expecting our first child. On top of that, the sex was mind-blowing. As we grew to trust each other more and more,
we pushed our boundaries further. Hand-cuffs, whips, gags, autoerotic asphyxiation . . . Mike took all of his animal aggression out on me and I couldn’t get enough. I reveled in knowing that under the conservative business-casual attire I wore to my secretarial job were the bruises left by Mike’s strong hands on my buttocks and thighs. Our sex was a drug to us and we fucked like rabbits, every chance we got and in every location you can imagine.
Michael junior was growing so fast. It became obvious to me that our family had outgrown Mike’s bachelor-pad studio apartment. And, to me, downtown Chicago was not a place to raise children. It was dangerous there, and I desperately wanted to be closer to the family I’d left behind. Michael needed his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Even more, he needed more stability
than what Mike’s rocker lifestyle could provide. But Mike was not ready to make any changes. He didn’t see anything wrong with his party lifestyle, rowdy friends and groupie wannabes, or with the fact that the gigs were thinning out and the money was never steady. Just three years after our whirlwind love affair began, I served Mike with divorce papers and told him I would be taking Michael to live with my parents. Mike was heartbroken, but not at all surprised.
Our last fuck was amazing. We tore in to each other all night long, coming over and over again. As he pumped into me repeatedly and deep enough to make me squirt, I bit into his neck hard enough to draw blood – a reminder of me for after I was gone. And his throbbing cock released into me another, lasting reminder of him. Two weeks after our divorce was finalized, I found out I
was pregnant again.
Fast-forward seven years later: The scene of my last sexual encounter with Mike played in my mind as I hurried Michael and Alex into my Range-Rover to drive them to meet their dad for visitation. Martin stood in the driveway, waving half-heartedly. He was clearly still upset about the night before. I erupted on him after yet another boring, ten-minute missionary sex session. I
married Martin shortly after my divorce from Mike. He was my mother’s friend’s son, and a very “nice” guy. Plus, he had a great career that afforded us a very comfortable life in the suburbs. We had everything I could want or ask for . . . everything but good sex. After our last lackluster union, my sexual frustration had gotten to the point where I could no longer control myself: “Why don’t you take me like a man?! Give it to me hard, like you’re on fire! FUCK ME!!” The
confused look on his face said even more than his words could: “Well, Laurie . . . I want to make love to you – not fuck. You’re my princess. My lady.” I couldn’t hide my contempt: “Well, sometimes I want to be your whore!”
I’d said enough – gone too far. Martin went limp and then rolled over, not to speak to me again until well into the next day. I apologized profusely over lunch, telling Martin I was just anxious about seeing Mike for the first time in so long, and also apprehensive about how I was going to approach the subject of the back child-support payments. But the truth was that I couldn’t get the
thought of Mike’s strong, aggressive dick out of my mind. I didn’t care that he was a washed-up and burnt out rocker wannabe, who hadn’t gotten anywhere since our divorce seven years prior. I knew his cock could pleasure me like none other and my pussy was aching for a good banging.
Mike had had an epiphany about wanting to be more involved in his kids’ lives and decided to move out from downtown Chicago to a lower-middleclass suburb closer to us. I was shocked to hear his voice when he called to request I bring them to his new place for a visitation. After all, it had been nearly a year since I’d heard from him, and even longer since I’d received a child support payment.
My nerves ran wild as I pulled into the driveway of the small bungalow he rented. When Mike appeared in the doorway I melted. He still looked good to me: tight pants, prominent package and all. Michael and Alex jumped out of the car and into their dad’s arms as he showered them with kisses. But they were quickly distracted by the kids next door, who’d walked over to invite them to play. Mike glanced at me, seeking my approval. I nodded, making them promise to play nicely,
then took my cue to follow Mike into the house.
Once we were inside, his eyes traveled up and down my body. “Fuck, Laurie, you still haven’t lost it.” I tried to play coy: “We need to talk about your back-payments.” But I was no match for him. He advanced on me like a tiger. Before I could say anything, I was in his vice-grip, our faces so close I could taste his hot breath and our bodies so close I could feel his growing
erection. “Does your husband fuck you, Laurie, the way you need to be fucked?” he asked.
“Maybe we can work this out in the bedroom,” I replied. He carried me to his room and threw me on his bed – nothing more than a king-sized mattress on the floor. His mouth was all over me. He sucked my tits hard, then nibbled on my clit and fingered me viciously while I suckled on his beautiful, rock-hard penis. We came in a wet spasm, hungrily sopping up each others’ juices, then
he picked me up and pushed me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around him as he pushed his dick deep up into me. He buried his fingers further into my thighs with each long pump of his penis, and I begged for more, harder, deeper. We dropped to the floor, back to the mattress, where laid me on my back. Taking a sock from the clothes strewn across the floor, he bound my wrists together and held them over my head with one arm, then pushed my leg up with his other arm. The power
of his penetration was enough to make me come almost immediately, but I focused on the sweat dripping from his chest to mine and held out for the big climax. “Tear my pussy up, baby,” I begged of him. And he delivered. When my pleasure peaked to where I could no longer think and my body was overcome with electrical waves, I cried out as my cunt contracted uncontrollably around Mike’s cock. That brought him to climax, and we convulsed in unison. We had a deal.
Mike and I revise his child-support arrangement twice a month, every time I bring the kids for visitation. It’s an arrangement that fills both our needs and gives me something to look forward to. I have gotten good at hiding the bruises, and even better at hiding the discontent in my married sex-life. Martin is in ignorant bliss with my newfound serenity. He doesn’t even notice
the sheepish grin on my face as he hovers above me, pumping away, in his missionary position.