Fantasies V

An eBook By Victoria Blisse, L E Bryce, Kate Burns, Emma Wildes.

Reluctant Muse

She mustn't think like this. It will come to nothing. Jamie is handsome, though. His trendy, soft blond hair trailing just into his eyes so his hand is constantly flipping it out of the way. His lean body oh, yeah, especially his tight buttocks. The cheap polyester of his work trousers clings to his butt very nicely indeed. And then there's his eyes. You know those kind of piercing animal eyes you see on hawks and big cats and other predatory beasts? Well Jamie has predatory eyes, bright, blue and blazing with intelligence, cunning and charm.

Carrie slips off her turquoise tabard. She unbuttons her blouse, shrugs out of her trousers, then picks all the clothes up from the floor and places them in the washing basket.

She avoids looking down at her body as she takes off her bra. Taking away the support that holds her breasts in check, they drop and wobble to a standstill on her chest and she lets out another frustrated sigh as she slips off her knickers and her stomach greets her gaze.

Fat, she thinks. No, she knows she is fat and she knows Jamie could never be interested in her, oh goodness no. No man will ever be interested in her. She pads over to her bed and lifts the long, cotton nightdress up off the pillow and places it over her head, letting its copious folds hide her body away. Snuggling down under the duvet, she remembers Andrew, the only man to ever touch her sexually. He'd been bumbling and hesitant, but eager. A wry smile crosses her lips as she remembers the way they pawed at each other in the back seat of his car, rushing to see as much as they could, to touch it all before the booze wore off and their shyness would return.

That was the sum total of her sex life, one fumbled fuck in the back of a battered up old Ford Fiesta with a fellow virgin. Well, least he was gentle and caring even if he was, well, fast. Andrew's fumbling is not what fuels Carrie's fantasies. No, she always dreams of raw, passionate, animalistic sex. She imagines a pretend him holding her down as he mounts her, slapping her arse before fucking her, face down in the sheets.

She always feels a little ashamed after these fantasies, wondering what in her diseased, abused mind makes her crave a similar kind of abuse to get off. Vanilla sex just can't cut it though and in her fantasies she never feels scared or repulsed like she did when her father hurt her. No, in her fantasies she feels cared for, she feels powerful as her man loses all control over the sight of her curves and the feel of her cunt around his cock.

She feels worshipped, not downtrodden. Although if she confessed such fantasies to a counselor, she knew they would condemn such foolish fantasies as some kind of mental sickness. Still, she finds comfort in them for a while, imagining herself attractive until orgasm, when the reality of her ugliness hits home and often makes her sob herself to sleep.

Behind her closed eyelids Carrie attempts to sleep, her body is tired, her mind is exhausted but her cunt is alive. His touch is being played over and over again in her mind until it bends into a new fantasy. Jamie has her serving the customers, but it's late and no one is in. He walks past her and squeezes her bum, then repeats the action as he brushes past again. She is staring into space when he pushes her forward, grinding his hardened cock into her clothed bum.

She gasps out her protest as he rips down her trousers and knickers, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

"Shush," he commands, dipping his fingers between her globes, "My sweet, wet slut, shush. I need to fuck you now."

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