A Fucktoy’s Fantasies
Copyright© 2025 by Tom Garb
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Amora is a good girl who dreams of being temptation incarnate, and in her fantasies, men surrender to temptation in the most brutal way imaginable. She’s also a horny cunt who hasn’t been allowed to cum in too long, and her needy pussy has her wishing someone would rip her clothes off and forcibly fill its emptiness. Her desperation is driving her deeper into a mental morass of humiliation and objectification, and her tightly gaurded depravity is threatening to leak into her tidy reality.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Rape Heterosexual Fiction DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Gang Bang Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Foot Fetish Public Sex
It wasn’t just the new meds. Her boyfriend, Malcolm, had been teasing her for days. He’d fuck her or finger her or eat her pussy and bring her right to the edge of orgasm. Then, just as she was about to cum, he’d stop. He’d hold her on the brink, her body tensed and trembling with need, for what felt like an eternity. She’d beg and plead and cry, but he wouldn’t let her cum. He’d just smile that infuriating, handsome smile of his and wait until her desperation subsided, her orgasm receding like a tide pulling back from the shore. Then he’d start again, and her need would come roaring back. Again, she’d be brought to the very edge, only to be denied. And again. And again. It was maddening and exhilarating and left her a quivering, horny mess unable to think about anything but her cunt for hours afterwards.
That morning he had been particularly cruel. She’d woken up to the delicious feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of her slick, needy hole while his thumb worked her clit. “Please, Malcom,” She’d started begging before she opened her eyes, her hips bucking against his hand. “Please let me cum. I need it so bad.”
“First thing in the morning?” He’d teased her. “You’re a horny cunt, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” She moaned, grinding her cunt against his palm. “I’m your horny cunt. Please let me cum for you.”
She’d met Malcom through a mutual friend at a backyard barbecue. She’d been daydreaming about him throwing her down on the grass and fucking her in front of everyone when he’d caught her staring. Amora had flushed a deep, mortified red, immediately looking down at her paper plate, wishing the earth would swallow her whole. To her shock, he’d sat down beside her.
“You have very expressive eyes,” he’d said. “What were you just thinking about?”
She’d made something up about work, and before everyone left, he’d asked her out. Their first few dates were perfectly normal—dinners, movies, a walk through the park. He was handsome and funny, and he seemed to genuinely like her. He never pushed for sex, which was both a relief and a disappointment. The Amora from her childhood, the one who feared being a stumbling block, was relieved. But the needy slut in her mind, the one who wanted to be taken and used, was disappointed. She wanted him to see past the good girl facade and recognize the depraved creature within.
They slept together for the first time on their fourth date. It was sweet, gentle, and thoroughly unfulfilling. He was a considerate lover, but he didn’t seem to recognize the dark needs thrumming just beneath her skin. As they lay in the afterglow, his arm slung over her waist, a wave of shame and frustration washed over her. This was what she was supposed to want, wasn’t it? A kind, respectful man who treated her like a lady. Yet laying next to him in his queen bed, all she could think was how much hotter it would have been if he had just thrown her onto his bed, ripped her clothes off, and forced his cock into her. The thought had sent a bolt of heat through her.
It was several uninspired, vanilla encounters later that Malcom finally broke through her carefully constructed walls. They were lying in bed after another bout of pleasant but passionless sex. Her mind was drifting, imagining him holding her face down and fucking her from behind while he called her his little cunt and asked if she liked being used as a fucktoy. It was quickly becoming her favorite fantasy.
“You’re not here with me, are you?”
“What?” She had turned to him, startled. “No, I am. Of course I am.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. In the dim light from the streetlamp filtering through his blinds, his expression was unreadable. “You seem ... distant. During. Is it something I’m doing? Or not doing?”
“No, it’s not you. You’re wonderful, really. It’s just...” She trailed off, her throat tight. How could she possibly explain the dark, shameful things she craved to this kind, thoughtful man? He’d run for the hills. Or worse, he’d look at her with pity and disgust.
“Amora,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I want you to be happy. With me. In every way. If there’s something you need, something you want, you can tell me. I’m not going to judge you.”
His sincerity and the love she was starting to feel for him broke through her fear. “You’ll think I’m a freak,” she said. “A depraved person.”
“Try me,” he said.
She took a deep breath and confessed everything. Her repressive upbringing, the shame she felt about her sexuality, the secret thrill she got from imagining herself as an object of lust. “I want to be the stumbling block.” It was the first time she’d said that out loud to someone. “I want to be so tempting that men can’t control themselves. I want a man to want me so badly that he forces himself on me. Holds me down and uses me as a fucktoy while I cry and beg him to stop. And while he’s doing it, I want him to tell me what a needy little slut I am, how I was made for his cock.”
When she finished, she couldn’t look at him. Her face was burning, and tears of shame were pricking at her eyes. She had ruined everything. He would think she was disgusting.
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