I agreed to meet John at his friend’s place.  It was somewhat of a distance from my place but was a pretty direct route.

John was someone I had met briefly on Grindr, so yes, this was going to be a hook up. His friend’s place was ideal because there was privacy plus the faintest possibility of a threesome.

I finally got to the place on the rainy and wet evening. John was slightly better than his pictures and we soon established a rapport in the small but cozy one bedroom apartment that belonged to his friend. I noticed that his friend was awfully busy with something, so busy in fact that I still hadn’t met him after an hour of being in his place. I could tell he was probably in the bathroom, judging from all the noise coming from there

I was too lost in my conversation with John however to bother. The more I spoke with him, the more I began to see him as a friend. I wasn’t intensely attracted to him. Not that he was bad looking; the entire setup simply began to feel more like an actual kiki than a hookup. I didn’t see myself having sex with him. At some point, he leaned forward to kiss me. It was intrusive and clumsy, and I was glad when it was over. But I found myself in an awkward spot of having to avoid having sex with him, when from all indications, he seemed like he wanted to. Plus there was the teeny-weensy fact that I had come with my jockstrap on. And nothing screams “I came here to fuck” than a Bottom wearing a jockstrap on a hookup.

I was lost in my thoughts when his friend finally came out from wherever he was into the tiny living room to meet us. And oh-my-goodness, what a sight he was! He was shirtless, average-height with beautiful chocolate skin and well groomed facial hair; he had a tattoo on his chest, it looked cheap and locally done, still it contrasted perfectly with his bare toned chest. He was undeniably handsome.

I quickly glanced away to avoid staring for too long, and said a brief good evening. He replied with a smile. Let’s call him Umar.

Now it’s my thing to always feign indifference regardless of how much my punaynay aches for a man, and that was precisely what I did. Umar soon decided to fix us dinner. He asked if I was hungry (I always am); something in the way I said I was hungry made him laugh and then he proceeded to mimic the tone of my voice. Was that a hint of possible interest?

There were more hints to come. He complimented my skin complexion (new cream is working, fam), and then he mentioned how he really loves Igbo guys a lot (I happen to be Biafran). He sat down next to me while I ate, which I didn’t like because then I had to form, when in reality I wanted to lick my plate clean.

It was getting pretty late. John had showered and was complaining about a headache he’d suddenly developed. He decided he was going to pass the night in the parlour. Perhaps he could tell I wasn’t keen on sex with him. I was relieved as I was at that point really sleepy; my plan was to sleep on the couch and head home first thing the next morning. But as is customary with me, there was no way I could sleep without having my bath.

I asked Umar for a towel and surreptitiously proceeded to undress with the towel still on; I didn’t want to reveal the jockstrap. I felt foolish for having it on now. I headed to the shower and had just taken the towel off when Umar walked in. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. He quickly proceeded to touch me, commenting on how good my body was and how light-skinned I was. Yes, Umar is hot and I was attracted to him, but I felt invaded and vulnerable in a way. I really just wanted to take a shower and sleep.

When he saw the jockstrap I had on, he went slightly mad for a second. What was initially playful fondling become rough dry-humping. I told him I wanted to shower real quick, and that I would join him later. I did want to have sex with him, but certainly not with the way he was going about it.

I showered, ensuring I took all my time. I stepped out and there he was, waiting for me in his room. He had locked the door connecting it to the living room. And he was naked. His dick looked like an angry, black serpent eager to release its venom. He dragged me to the bed and started dry-humping my ass in a vicious and lust-filled rage. He was eager, forceful and – I soon realised – much stronger than I thought he was.  He looked like a man possessed.  Foreplay was rushed and brief.  His main aim was penetration.  To my horror and utter disgust, I saw him bring out a bottle of Olive Oil – yes! The same type they use as Anointing Oil. He clearly intended to use that as lubrication.

Now I know I have mentioned in the comments section here a while ago that a Top should be responsible for lube.  But I take that back. It always pays for a Bottom to have his own – tried and tested, really good, and non-generic lube. Thankfully I had mine with me at the time. I was able to shake Umar off from his lust-filled possession and handed him the lube I came with. To my dismay, I realised I hadn’t come with any condoms. It was my intent to buy along the way but I completely forgot. I asked him if he had, and he said he didn’t.

John by this time was fast asleep, and it was too late in the night to go get any. I decided there was no way in hell we were going to fuck without a condom. At first he surprisingly took it fine. Then he began pleading with me to let us have sex, that he wouldn’t cum inside me, that it was going to be just the tip. He begged, really begged the more I refused. I told him we could fix another day or try in the morning when the shops were open. He pleaded that he had to cum that night or he wouldn’t be able to sleep. I felt bad for him but maintained that I wasn’t going to let him penetrate me without a condom.

Finally we both reached a compromise. He would dry-hump my ass till he cums, and first thing in the morning, we’d get condoms for proper sex.

He proceeded to apply a copious amount of lube on my ass, and the non-penetrative humping began. I really just wanted it to be over, as I was sleepy at that point.

Suddenly I noticed his dick savagely digging further in, trying to find an entrance. What was going on?  This wasn’t part of the plan. I protested and tried to shove him off, but he proved to be stronger than me, and held me down to the bed. I cussed at him and asked him to stop. He said he wasn’t going to cum inside me, that he was clean and safe, that there was nothing to worry about, and that I should stop acting like I didn’t want it. That part made me very angry and a small scuffle ensured. My plan was to push him off and run to the bathroom and scream rape. Umar however proved to be a formidable match, a sadistic twisted fuck. If anything, the scuffle seemed to excite him. He gave a guttural, impish laugh – that still gives me goose bumps when I remember it – and with one shove, he finally found his way in. It surprisingly wasn’t painful, thanks in part to the good lube (Lubrica Gel, I recommend!).

Just then, I remembered the words of my best friend and grand whore; he’d said that the best defense against rape is to enjoy it. And this was what I decided to do. I pleaded with Umar not to cum inside me at least. He said he wouldn’t, and then he began to rape-fuck me without much resistance from me. At first, I was livid, but soon I began to enjoy it. His strokes were extremely eager. Each one was deeper than the previous. Deeper and deeper each went like he was digging for gold. I didn’t want to moan so as not to give him validation for what was essentially him raping me, but the more he thrust, the more my restraint slipped, and the more audible my moans became. Umar was completely in charge in bed; he twisted, carried and lifted my body like it was paper, bending it and molding it to fit his perverted needs.  The sex bordered on sadistic.  True to his words, he didn’t cum inside me. He released a very hot (it felt like hot water) truckload of cum all over my ass and back.

I quickly ran into the bathroom when it was over to shower. I didn’t want to think about it.  After bathing, he apologized profusely, that what he’d done was unlike him. He wanted us to start a fresh.

When I got home the following morning, a message popped into my phone from him. It read: Can we see this weekend?

The slutty side of me wouldn’t mind being date-raped again – or simply properly fucked this time. But the reasonable side of me is angry at the audacity of such a horny beast, and also worried about having and STD.

And so I left the message unanswered.

Date rape is real, my people.

Written by Chizzie

Print Friendly
Total 1 Votes
1

Tell us how can we improve this post?

+ = Verify Human or Spambot ?