Jake was waiting for me when I finished work, he grinned as I climbed into the car;
“I was just sending off an order and thought I’d pick you up, there’s something at the workshop I’d like to show you.”
As much as I hate Jake’s car, a mess of dog hair, food wrappers and drink cartons, I love his workshop and the sawmill that it is next to.
The masculinity of the machinery that eats through trees and transforms them into smooth planes of wood makes my cunt twitch in the same way that cathedrals and empty schools do. It is something to do with reverence and immense machismo that makes me feel small and out of place. The sawmill turns me on and Jake knows it.
We parked up in front of the workshop Jake kissed me as I got out of the car;
“I thought we could have some fun, if you wanted to”
I mumbled my yesses through my kisses and in a moment he had me pressed me up against the body of the car, a hand hooked inside my dress and under my knickers. I cried as he pinched my nipples and his fingers fucked into me until the wetness of my orgasm spilled down my legs and soaked the knickers that trapped them.
Jake spat the word at me as he pulled my knickers off me, pressed them into my mouth and led me towards the sawmill.
Inside the mill smelt of green wood and aged wood, of resin and machine oil and of the sweat of the men who had so recently clocked off. The air crackled with the heat from the giant saws, teeth menacing even in their stillness, I shuddered with fear as Jake’s hand tightened around my wrist and he pulled me through the half-light of the barn into the common room.
The salty tang of microwave lunches and bitterness of cold coffee mixed with the familiar wood and oil of the rest of the building to give a threatening masculine staleness to the room that added a strange sense of being watched to the scene.
“Take your dress off.”
I did and the remains of my underwear and shoes too.
Jake pointed at the sofa and motioned for me to bend over the arm, there were no more words from him, but he made sure I could see him as he pulled a roll of pallet wrap from his bag and flipped it in his hand, like a bartender flipping a cocktail shaker, he winked at me and started to wrap, ankles to thigh.
Finished with my legs Jake pulled my arms behind me and wrapped my wrists too, the sweat trickled between my legs, my trapped skin as slick as my exposed cunt.
And then he fucked me. Straight into the wetness of me, hardness forcing into me from behind.
I wined through the sodden fabric in my mouth and hiccoughed as I tried to hold back my orgasms, tried to wait for him to finish, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t let me. Each time he felt my orgasm rise he’d lie over me and whisper how tight my cunt was or how I deserved the roughness, he knew all the ways to make me come, how to release me even as the plastic wrapping tightened around me as I wriggled beneath him;
“Come for me baby”
I lost count of the times I heard that phrase but every time he used it I obeyed and every time I obeyed he’d shift his hold and fuck me in a different way and every different fuck hurt in a new and beautiful way. The rough weave and wooden frame of the threadbare sofa pressed into my hip bones as he covered my body in his; my shoulders stretched and ached as he used my bound wrists to pull me against him when he stood up and grunted his long thrust into me; the smell of spilt drinks and tobacco burned my nose as he laid over me and with a fistful of hair pushed my face into the sofa cushions.
Finally I was limp, exhausted with the fuck of him and he hauled me up one hand across my chest, fingers pulling on my red tortured nipples, the other arm supporting me across my waist as he whispered his sex into me. Jake told me of the beautiful fucked rawness of my skin, of how he loved me as he finally let himself go and the scent of sweat and spunk and tears mixed with the smells of the sawmill.
I wrote this story and made the image for Molly’s Sinful Sunday, click the link below to see more filth.