At Home With the Movie Stranger
Copyright© 2025 by ejd1711
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The stranger from the movie theater finds her, again...
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Wimp Husband Humiliation Rough Anal Sex Oral Sex
The doorbell’s chime sliced through the quiet house, a sudden, innocent sound that sent a jolt of pure lightning straight to Lenora’s cunt. Her hand, which had been idly tracing the neckline of her blouse, stilled. Two weeks. Two weeks of trying to forget the heavy, musky scent of a stranger in the dark, the rough feel of a calloused hand over her mouth, the terrifying, thrilling stretch of a cock so much bigger than Ed’s.
She’d replayed it in her head a dozen times a day, her fingers working her clit to the memory every night while Ed snored beside her. And now ... the doorbell.
With a shaking breath, she peeked through the sidelight. A man stood there, holding a vast, obscenely lush arrangement of orchids and lilies. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a simple baseball cap and sunglasses. Her heart hammered against her ribs. It’s just a delivery, she told herself, the lie tasting thin and pathetic.
She opened the door, the chain lock still engaged. “Can I help you?”
“Delivery for a Mrs. Lenora Daniele,” the man said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that made her knees weak. It was him. The voice from the theater, the one that had whispered filthy promises in her ear while her husband slept three feet away.
“I-I didn’t order any flowers.”
He smiled, a slow, predatory flash of white teeth. “I know you didn’t. They’re from an admirer. Said you’d know what they were for.” He lifted the arrangement slightly, and her eyes dropped from his face to the flowers. Tucked amongst the blossoms, nearly hidden, was a small, sleek black rectangle. A camera. A red light glowed softly beside the lens.
Her mouth went dry. “Oh, god.”
“Gotta open the door to get your present, sweetheart,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Her hand trembled as she fumbled with the chain. It was a choice, she realized. She could slam the door, call the police, be the good wife. But her cunt was already throbbing, a hot, slick pulse beating in time with her frantic heart. She slid the chain free.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, filling the foyer with his presence. He kicked the door shut with his heel, the thud echoing in the silence. He set the flowers, camera and all, on the console table with a deliberate click.
“Remember me?” he asked, finally taking off his sunglasses. His eyes were dark, hungry.
“You ... you said you’d be in touch,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I keep my promises.” He took a step closer, and she took a stumbling step back, her ass hitting the edge of the table. “Just like I promised you’d be thinking about my cock. Have you been? Thinking about it?”
She shook her head, a weak, automatic denial. “No.”
He laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I could smell your pussy the second you opened the door. It’s the same sweet, nervous scent you had in that theater before I filled it.” His hand shot out, not to grab her, but to palm her through her thin cotton capris. She gasped, a sharp, shocked inhale. Mmmnpfh! His hand was huge, his fingers pressing insistently against the dampening fabric. “See? Soaking for me already. Just like before. You pretended to struggle then, too. Tried to push my hand away. But your body ... your body fucking begged.”
His words were a violation, and they made her cream her panties. He hooked a finger into the waistband of her capris and her panties beneath, yanking them down to her knees in one rough motion. The cool air of the house hit her wet folds and she shuddered.
“What are you doing? My husband ... he could be home any minute,” she protested, her hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. It was a token effort. Her heart was screaming yes, yes, yes.
“Ed’s at the office for another two hours,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as his fingers found her bare cunt. “I made sure.” One thick finger slid through her slickness, circling her clit. Slrk. She bucked against his hand, a moan ripped from her throat.
“Oh god, please...”
“Please what?” he growled, adding a second finger and pushing them deep inside her. Gush. The sound was obscenely wet. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?” He curled his fingers, finding that perfect spot inside her that Ed’s shorter fingers could never quite reach. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“I ... I don’t know...”
“You know.” He withdrew his fingers, glistening with her arousal, and brought them to her lips. “Taste what you do to me. What I do to you.” He pressed his fingers against her mouth and, after a second’s hesitation, her tongue snaked out, tasting her own salty-sweet essence. The submission sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
He unbuckled his belt, the clink of the metal loud in the room. He unzipped his jeans and his cock sprang free. It was just as she remembered—thick, veined, and impossibly long. It dwarfed Ed’s modest five inches, making her husband’s cock look like a pathetic joke. A real, visceral fear mixed with molten lust coiled in her stomach.
“On your knees,” he commanded.
She hesitated, looking toward the front window. “Someone might see...”
“Get on your fucking knees and worship it,” he snarled, his hand tangling in her dark hair and applying pressure.
She sank to the polished hardwood floor, her knees making a soft thump. The reality of her position—on her knees in her own foyer, her pants around her ankles, staring at a stranger’s massive cock—was almost too much to bear. And it was the most turned on she’d ever been.
“Open wide, sweetheart. Let’s see if you remember how to take it.”
She leaned forward, her lips parting. The head of his cock was already leaking pre-cum, and she caught the bead with her tongue, tasting his musk. She took the tip into her mouth, her jaw already aching with the strain.
“Deeper,” he grunted, tightening his grip on her hair.
She tried, gagging as the thick head hit the back of her throat. Glrk. Tears welled in her eyes.
“That’s it,” he moaned, fucking her face slowly. “Just like at the movies. So quiet, trying so hard not to wake your boring husband while you choked on a real man’s dick.”
The memory, combined with the present violation, pushed her closer to the edge. She reached between her own legs, frantically rubbing her clit as she sucked him, her moans vibrating around his shaft.
He pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet pop. “Not yet. I’m not fucking your throat today. I’m fucking this greedy little pussy that’s been dreaming of me.” He hauled her up, turned her around, and walked toward the den. He bent her over the couch, the force sending the flower arrangement shaking on the nearby table. The camera’s red light stared back at her. He positioned himself behind her, the hot, heavy crown of his cock nudging against her entrance.
“Please ... be quick,” she begged, the good wife making one last, futile stand.
He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth at her ear. “I’m going to fuck you slow and deep,” he whispered, his breath hot. “I’m going to make you come over and over on my cock until you forget your own name. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
With that, he drove into her in one long, brutal thrust. Splortch. She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that was pure ecstasy. The stretch was immense, burning and perfect, filling her in a way she’d never known was possible. He was so deep, she felt him in her goddamn throat.
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, bottoming out inside her. “Your cunt is fucking perfect. So tight. Like a fist.”
He began to move, a slow, relentless rhythm that had her seeing stars. Each withdrawal was agony, each deep, grinding thrust heaven. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the polished wood of the table. She was babbling, a stream of incoherent pleas and moans.
“Oh god, oh fuck, right there, please don’t stop, it’s so deep, you’re so fucking big!”
“Bigger than your husband?” he grunted, slamming into her.
“Yes! So much bigger!” she wailed, the truth tearing itself from her. The comparison, spoken aloud, shattered the last of her resistance. She was his.
“Touch that clit,” he ordered. “Make yourself come on my cock. I want to feel you gush.”
She obeyed instantly, her fingers finding her swollen nub and circling it frantically. The dual sensation—the deep, pounding penetration and the frantic stimulation on her clit—was too much. The orgasm built like a tsunami, unstoppable and terrifying.
“I’m gonna come! I’m gonna—OH MY GOD!”
The climax detonated through her. Her body seized, her cunt clenching and milking his cock in violent, rhythmic pulses. A gush of liquid heat erupted from her, soaking his balls and thighs, dripping down her own legs onto the floor with a sound like a sigh. Squirt. She collapsed over the couch, boneless and shuddering, her vision blurry.
He didn’t stop. He kept fucking her through her orgasm, his pace becoming frenzied. “That’s it, you squirtin’ little slut. Take my fucking load.”
With a guttural roar, he plunged into her one last time and came. She felt the hot, thick pulses deep inside her womb, a splurt that seemed to go on forever, filling her up. He held himself there, his cock twitching, his body pressed against her back, pinning her to the table.
They stayed like that for a long moment, panting, connected. The smell of sex and flowers filled the air. Lenora’s mind was blank, wiped clean by pleasure. She felt the warmth of his cum leaking out of her, down her inner thigh.
Slowly, he softened inside her. But he didn’t pull out. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
“That was just the first round, Lenora. The camera got every perfect, filthy second.” He gave a shallow, teasing thrust with his still-half-hard cock, making her whimper. “Now, let’s see how many times I can make you scream before your husband gets home.”
He gave a final, shallow thrust, the motion making a slick, wet sound that echoed in the quiet den. Lenora felt another trickle of his spend escape her, a warm dribble down her thigh.
“Up,” he commanded, his voice rough as he finally pulled his softening cock from her well-used pussy with a soft shluck. “On your knees. Clean me up.”
Her body moved before her mind could protest, a strange, newfound obedience taking hold. She slid off the table, her legs trembling, and knelt on the cool hardwood floor. The reality of her position—naked, on her knees in her own home, her husband’s likely return time ticking ominously in her head—should have horrified her. But a different heat was coiling deep in her belly, a traitorous ache that demanded more.
He stood over her, his cock, still slick with their combined fluids, hovering near her face. The scent was musky, primal, hers and his all mixed together. It should have repulsed her. It didn’t.
“Lick it all off, Lenora. Every last drop.”
She hesitated for only a second before leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the glistening shaft. Her tongue darted out, a tentative flick against the base. The taste was salty, tangy, uniquely male, and it sent a jolt straight to her clit. Oh god.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his hand tangling in her hair, not forcing, just guiding. “Mmmph, just like that. Get it all. Taste what we just did.”
Emboldened, she opened her mouth wider, taking more of him in. Her tongue swirled around the thick vein on the underside, lapping up the evidence of her own surrender. She moaned, the vibration travelling through her lips and into his flesh. She was worshipping him, this stranger, and the sheer depravity of it made her pussy clench around nothing, aching to be filled again.
“You remember this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “In the dark theater. Your husband snoring. My hand over your mouth. You came so hard you almost screamed, you fucking little slut.”
His words were a catalyst. The memory, which she had replayed in her head a hundred times, flooded back with visceral clarity. The fear, the shock, the illicit, overwhelming pleasure. Her tongue worked faster, more desperately, a soft slurping sound filling the space between them as she cleaned every inch of his magnificent cock, a cock that made her husband’s seem like a forgotten, useless toy.
“Yes,” she breathed against his skin, the admission torn from her. “I remember.”
“Good girl.”
With a sudden, powerful movement, he hauled her up by her arms. Her body felt weightless. He half-carried, half-dragged her through the archway into the bright, sterile light of the kitchen. The ceramic fruit bowl on the counter, the calendar with Ed’s golf schedule, the neat line of copper pots—it all watched, silent and judgmental.
He swept a pile of mail onto the floor with one arm and hoisted her up, sitting her on the cold granite countertop. The shock of the cold surface on her hot skin made her gasp.
“Lie back,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pushed on her shoulders until she was reclining, her head near the sink, her legs dangling over the edge. He knelt on the tile floor between her spread thighs, his eyes blazing with hunger.
“Now it’s my turn for a taste.”
He didn’t bother with gentle teasing. He buried his face between her legs with a guttural groan, his tongue spearing into her soaked, sensitive pussy without warning. “Glllck.”
Lenora’s back arched off the counter, a raw, ragged cry tearing from her throat. “FUCK!”
His tongue was relentless, a wicked, talented instrument of pure sin. It fucked into her, mimicking the thrusts of his cock, then flattened to lap broad, greedy strokes from her aching entrance up to her throbbing clit. The sounds were obscene, wet and sloppy, a symphony of slurps and schlicks that echoed off the kitchen cabinets. He was devouring her, consuming her, and she was utterly lost to it.
“Oh, god, right there, please,” she begged, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick granite. Her hips bucked uncontrollably, grinding her cunt against his mouth.
He pulled back for a second, his chin glistening. “You like that, you prim little housewife? You like having your pussy eaten on your kitchen counter while your husband’s at work?”
“Yes! Yes!” she sobbed, the confession a relief.
“I’m not done.” His voice was a dark promise. He gripped the cheeks of her ass, spreading her wide, and his tongue dipped lower. Oh, Jesus. The first hot, rough swipe across her tightest hole made her entire body seize up.
“No ... not there...” she whimpered, a feeble protest she didn’t mean.