Hi, I'm Anna

Author's note: This story is based on a role-play that a boyfriend and I enacted one night. It was extremely hot and I needed to share it.

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"I'm sorry. Goodbye." Those were the last words I heard him say. Then there was the click of the phone as I hung up. I breathed a sigh half of relief and half of regret. Things had not been going well with Brian for a long time. There was the infrequent sex, arguments over stupid stuff, inability to communicate. It all added up to a breakup. Well, it partially added up to a breakup. The other part was that he had been cheating on me.

I walked across the living room to the front door and looked out of the curtain. Cars passed by. The day was otherwise normal. He was probably on the phone again, this time making a date with his new girlfriend. I opened the door and walked down the cement steps, my skirt flipping a bit in the breeze. I really shouldn't feel that bad, considering it had obviously been a poor match from the beginning. But all breakups are hard. You eventually realize that even if you never really knew the person, you still miss the person you thought you knew.

It was last week that he had packed up his stuff and moved out. Now when I made coffee in the mornings, I made it just the way I liked it. Though, I also ended up buying a bunch of frozen dinners because I didn't feel up to buying new knives and cooking implements. I guess that's what you get for living with someone who has all of the good stuff. He takes it with him when he leaves. At least I still had my house.

I sat down on the steps and played with the edge of my skirt. It was just long enough for the slightly chilly fall weather, covering my pale knees when I was sitting. I stuffed my hands deep into the cuffs of my oversized sweater to stave off the chill. I looked back up the house. I didn't feel like going back inside just yet. Evenings were the worst because I didn't know what to do with myself. I mean, as far as self-gratification went, I had plenty of toys, but no company. Even outside of sex, I needed someone to talk to. I needed a companion.

I got up and grabbed a scarf from just inside the door. Just a short walk to the liquor store and back. 15 minutes at the most. I should probably try to find a roommate. The mortgage wasn't going to pay itself. My parents had been smart to add me as part-owner of the house before they died but that didn't mean I could live "rent free". Brian had been a good bread-winner, I guess. Enough of one that with my simple job as a librarian assistant, I could keep a nice life-style (without being too extravagant) and still pay the bills.

The liquor store and I were good friends, so I knew exactly which aisles to go down and which to avoid. Friends looked out for you and made sure you just got the good stuff, the stuff that wouldn't make you feel like shit in the morning. I picked up a decent bottle of zinfandel (a good peppery-red, not that pink shit), and a six pack of my favorite pale ale. A little something for whatever my taste buds were in the mood for tonight. The 30-something at the counter flirted a bit with his eyes, though he kept his voice casual. Likewise, I eyed his slightly scruffy cheeks and chin, his dark brown hair curled slightly around his ears. He had a bit of curl, maybe, but this guy was not boyish at all. And he was tall and new. I wondered where the usual clerks were. I signed the receipt and smiled coyly at him as I hoisted the two brown paper bags into my arms. Why not? I was single. He was cute. And he worked close to my house. Not an insignificant factor. Would that make me sound too easy if I thought it was rather convenient? As I walked out of the store, I saw his reflection in the glass door, watching me. I flushed.

Later that night I danced to my favorite music, the stuff Brian never liked. The cork of the wine bottle rolled around on the tiled kitchen floor as I twirled through the lower half of the house. Drunk on wine, I never felt alone. I danced into the library, one hand holding onto the wine glass and the other slipping along the book spines. Leather. Paper. The smells were lovely. Brian and I used to fuck on the floor in this room. We would slide the rug over to the window and fuck in the streams of morning light. It was beautiful. Now, in the night, it was a dark corner, and it felt appropriate for me to be there. I swallowed the last of the zinfandel and left the glass on a bookshelf. Ignoring the rug, I knelt on the smooth wooden floor and slid my hands up to my nipples. Rubbed. Tickled. I felt my wine-warmed body respond. One hand slid down and touched my clit. Pinched. I gasped and shuddered. For a moment I wondered if I could make it up the stairs to get my toys. Long experience had proved that I couldn't cum without using either my hands or a vibrator.

Brian had always been very disappointed when I didn't cum. He'd tie me up and tease me, touching and torturing me until I couldn't stand it. And then when he'd start fucking me, I was in some serious bliss. But he was always upset when he came, but I didn't. I tried to convince him that I was fine with that! I loved foreplay and sex just as much as I loved orgasms! But no matter what I said, he eventually started to either stop short and pretend to have cum, or stopped entirely when he sensed I wasn't going to cum at all. In the three years that we lived together, he grew more and more frustrated with me. No wonder it didn't last.

As I knelt by the dark window, listening to the music and feeling nostalgically horny, I didn't hear the entry door open. All I felt was a strong hand going around my face, pressing into my mouth. My hands were trapped inside of the band of my skirt, since I had been masturbating, but before I could get them out and defend myself, I was pushed forward on the floor. My sweater was pulled up from my back, encasing my arms even more. I started panting and struggling to stand up.

"Don't, or I'll kill you." His voice was that of the liquor store clerk. The sweater was pulled over my head, bearing my shoulders and arms and he proceeded to nip and kiss my pale skin. "You're so pretty. I wasn't sure if you'd be alone tonight, when I saw you buy the beer. But I guess I got lucky, eh?" I nearly screamed when he bit down hard on my shoulder. "Shhhh...." I felt a sharp object (Knife? Scissors?) cut away the sweater. He threw it away from us and tore my arms out of my skirt. "Lonely tonight? Me too, actually."

I was grabbed around my waist with one of his arms and I could feel his hot breath against my shoulder blade. The scruff of his chin brushed painfully against the bite he had just placed. I could feel the curls of his hair against my neck.

"You're going to be fucked." I felt my skirt pushed up over my hips and I remembered how much I had loved feeling the hem floating around my knees earlier. With one hand he pushed between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the ground. I had to turn my face so my cheek was against the polished wood. His other hand began to fondle and pet between my legs. I gasped when his finger stroked and pressed down into my puckered opening. I knew better than to say anything. There wasn't anyone to hear.

The finger slid all of the way into my ass and I cried out as another joined it. The asshole wasn't even using lube! "Shut up!" He pushed down roughly as he heard me start to cry. My cheeks became as cold as the floor as the tears spread. More fingers joined the first two and I lurched forward with his pumping action. He murmured into my ear. "Little whore. You know you're enjoying this. How dirty you're feeling. I'm going to enjoy your pain."

Another cry was rung from me as he roughly pulled his fingers out of my ass. My knees were so sore that I tried to collapse onto the floor, but he didn't let me. The hand that had been inside of me propped me back up and spread my knees slightly apart. Then I felt his cock slide into my ass. I whimpered. I couldn't believe how easily it had gone in. Easily, yes, but it still hurt. Every pump felt like a rough pull inside of me.

Then I felt his fingers find my clit. They circled around it several times, stroking down my labia occasionally, then back up to the clit. "God, you're so hot. There isn't anything that I couldn't do with you." He leaned heavily onto my back. My arms were pinned, but I surprised myself with the thought that I wished I could reach my clit myself. Not that he wasn't doing a good job. Wait. What was I thinking?? That fucker! I bucked suddenly, but he was able to grab hold with both hands, his cock still buried deep in my ass. "Don't try that again," he warned. He bit my shoulder again and held on until I cried out in pain.

He laughed and returned his free hand to play between my legs. The other hand held my head down, fingers curled in my hair. I felt my labia stroked aside and his fingers began to slip in rather than stroke. Damn it. I was getting wet. Fucker. "You're wet, slut. Well, I suppose we're both ready for this now.." He found the thin slit of my opening and slid two fingers inside. I gasped in unexpected pleasure as I felt his fingers seek out the bulge that was his cock in my ass. I could feel him exploring his own length through that thin wall of inner skin. "Oh...oh..," I whimpered in pleasure as he stroked and touched himself in rhythm. He half chuckled, half moaned.

When he withdrew his fingers, I bit down on my lip in disappointment. But he just stroked my clit again for a few minutes as he held still himself still against my ass. Then when he heard me whimper, he slid his fingers into me again. But this time it felt tighter. I felt pain, a slight almost tearing sensation. How many fingers? "All of them," he grunted. I blinked because I hadn't even realized that I'd spoken out loud. All of them?? His fingers groped about and found the bulge of his cock again. He began to really pound into me. He pulled me up off of the floor slightly, his arm binding me to him, his course arm hair scraping against my tender nipples, making them burn each time he moved. I felt like a simple beast; an animal. He was fucking me in the ass and he was masturbating at the same time. I could feel his hand gripping himself as best as he could, alternating between slow strokes with lingering fingers that squeezed, and hard pumps with a fist that bashed into me. I cried, screamed, gasped, whimpered, begged to cum, but his fingers were no longer available to rub my clit for me. "Not for you. You don't get to cum, slut. This is...all about me." His words were straggled as he started to climax. He held me so tightly that I couldn't breathe! I started to black out as I felt his shuddering body, slick with sweat, slump over me, still fucking me furiously. I closed my eyes and my muscles relaxed as his arms loosened enough so that I was more comfortable.

With a weakly drawn breath I asked, "Hey, you're new around here. Do you need a place to stay?"