Free To Be Fucked Right

At that point she could not tell wrong from right. Her whole body was beaming, strung up with great doses of lust, so much that if this strange man decided he was no longer interested in taking her, she would beg him to. She would cry and beg on her knees.

Stepping into her, not knowing the thoughts running in her head, he lifted his right hand and once again ran it down her face and neck, pausing on Zainab's pulse. It was racing. Her breathing ragged.

Latifah felt like she might just pass out soon. Dropping his hand, he walked behind her again, and she heard a drawer open and close. Then darkness covered her eyes.

A blindfold?

She lifted her hands to remove it. “What …?”

The material fell to her feet, and her arms were immediately grabbed and yanked behind her back.

Before she could catch her bearings, Latifah was bent over the side of the bed in the room.

She wanted to scream, but she could not. Her breath got caught in her throat. He held Zainab's wrists crossed with one hand effective keeping her still. Then she heard the sound of metal before something cold was tightened around each wrist.

“Stay,” he growled and walked away.

Latifah immediately felt the loss of then warmth of his body. She had just began getting used to it.

Latifah panted, her body shaking while she waited there like an obedient dog, pulling on what she finally realized in her delirium to be handcuffs.

Seconds later, the dark material was placed right back over her eyes, taking away her sight. It was tied in a knot that secured it firmly in place.

The masked man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to stand from where she was leaning over the bed.

Latifah cried out, the sharp pain coming from her scalp blinded her even more than the blindfold on her eyes. She was even surprised it didn’t rip the blindfold off with the force.

“You can take it off when I’m done with you.” His voice was rough, rougher than it was a second ago. Almost angry. Latifah kept thinking if she had somehow offended him. But with the way he held her close to him, she doubted it. He wasn't angry. He was possessive.

It made her legs tighten and her pussy throb. She moaned in acceptance for whatever the stranger wanted to do with her. Her body had been screaming in silence for years for someone to touch it. To have their way with it. She could not fully satisfy it. Not like she wanted. Not like she craved.

She imagined having to scratch an itch that she had been struggling with. An itch she could she could not quite reach no matter how hard she tried.

Imagine trying to scream underwater for help, knowing that no one can hear you.

Her late husband ruined sex for her. He gave her bad experiences upon bad experiences sexually. And she needed a redo. She remembered once where she had tried to seduce him. Hoping he would make love to her, listen to her needs.

Instead, he tied her up just as the man was doing now, but instead of touching and loving on her, he had beat her up till she collapsed twice and then he rammed into her from behind without any form of lubrication.

The man slapped Zainab's ass, effectively bringing her back from her thoughts, making her jump and cry out. “Answer me,” he demanded in her ear.

Did he ask her a question? She was so soaked into thoughts of her past, that she had not heard a word he said.

She tied to rack her drunk brain but came up with nothing, so she just say, “Yes.”

His hands come around the front of her jeans, and he unzips them.

“Yes,” she repeated again just in case he didn’t hear her the first time as the song blaring from the club changed to “Guest Room” by Echos.

She knew. She knew deep down in her heart that she was going to agree to whatever the fu*ck this stranger wanted from her. Hoping he could show her what her body was meant to do because she knew, she could it. All her all life, she knew she had been missing something.