I took in my friend's girlfriend after a fight.

Lera showed up at our apartment doorway late at night. Her eyes were tear-stained, her mascara smeared across her cheeks, and she was carrying the smallest duffel bag I'd ever seen. She and my friend Anton had had another huge fight, and she couldn't think of anything better to do than come over—she knew Anton was on a bender and spending the night away from home. My girlfriend was visiting her parents, so I had the apartment to myself. We drank tea in the kitchen, talking about the worthlessness of men in general and Anton in particular, and I caught myself staring at her knees, clad in thin nylon. I'd never had any thoughts about Lera. Seriously. Until that night, I'd simply seen her as a friend's girlfriend, attractive but forbidden. But now, as she sat across from me in a light housedress she'd clearly thrown on in a hurry, her body wrapped helplessly in a blanket, something dark and viscous began to brew inside me. I imagined lifting that dress, squeezing her hips, her crying out in surprise but unable to resist. The thought of her being virtually defenseless on my turf made my blood pound. I put her to bed in the bedroom and went to the living room couch. But I couldn't fall asleep. The silence in the apartment was pressing on my eardrums. I knew she hadn't locked the bedroom door—we never had that habit. Getting up from the couch, I walked silently down the hallway. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. She wasn't asleep; the phone screen illuminated her face with a pale, bluish light. Seeing me in the doorway, she flinched, but didn't scream. "Can't sleep?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. My voice sounded hoarse, almost unfamiliar. "I'm texting him," she whispered, sobbing. "He's insulting me again..." I took the phone from her weakening fingers and placed it face down on the nightstand. In the dim light, I could see her chest heaving beneath the thin fabric. Leaning down, I began kissing her shoulders, neck, and earlobes, feeling her skin break out in goosebumps. She pressed her palms against my chest, but the gesture was symbolic, lacking any real force. “I want you to feel the difference between someone who humiliates you with words and someone who can do something truly good for you,” I breathed into her ear. My hand slid under the blanket, trailing down her stomach and thighs, pushing aside the lace of her panties. The fabric was damp. My touches grew rougher, more insistent. I abruptly pulled the blanket off her, flipped her over onto her stomach, lifting her dress so hard that the fabric crackled. Lera gasped softly but didn't protest, merely pressing her face deeper into the pillow. I sank lower, spreading her buttocks with my hands, and pressed my mouth to the most forbidden spot. She moaned and squirmed, trying to either avoid or push forward. My tongue worked quickly and forcefully, preparing her for what I had planned from the very beginning. Realizing natural lubrication wasn't enough, I reached for the bedside table. There was no cream, but there was a bottle of massage oil. Unscrewing the cap, I poured some onto my fingers and began working her from behind. The narrow opening resisted, clenching with every touch. When I tried to insert my index finger, Lera tensed and tried to pull away. "Please, don't go there," she babbled, looking over her shoulder. Her dilated pupils were filled with genuine fear. "I've never... I've never tried..." “That’s why you’ll try,” I snapped. I rolled her over onto her stomach again, pressing my palm between her shoulder blades to keep her from twitching. My cock, rock hard, pressed against her buttocks. I generously lubricated both myself and her, positioned the head of my cock toward her entrance, and began to press. Lera screamed into the pillow, her body arching, her fingers clutching the sheets. Her sphincter contracted with incredible force, but I didn't stop, maintaining steady pressure. "It hurts! It really hurts! Stop it!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, no longer embarrassed by her neighbors. I grabbed her wrists with one hand and pinned them behind her back, preventing her from moving. A jerk of my hips—and the head slid inside with a distinctive squelching sound. Lera screamed louder, more piercingly, and real, large tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to kick, but I pinned her legs with mine, stretching her out on the bed like a butterfly on a pin. Her suffering, her sobs and pleas acted as a catalyst for me, igniting my arousal to the point of passion. "Quiet, quiet," I hissed, continuing to enter deeper, tearing apart her tightness. "It will only hurt more if you resist." I was already two-thirds of the way in and stopped, giving her a second to breathe. But the breather wasn't for her, it was for me—to savor the moment. I suddenly let go of her hands and, falling on top of her, grabbed her by the hair, throwing her head back. Her tear-streaked face, her anguished eyes, her lips bitten until they bled—the sight took my breath away. I began to move, increasing the tempo. Each thrust was accompanied by a muffled cry from her, but suddenly something changed in those sounds. Her body, previously tense as a string, began to relax. The resistance disappeared. She stopped struggling and, instead, began to thrust her pelvis back, impaling herself deeper on my cock. Her moan became drawn-out, low, guttural. I felt her inner muscles begin to contract rhythmically, massaging my shaft. “More,” she croaked, moving in time with me. “Harder. Hurt me. I deserve it. For being such a fool. Fuck me so hard I forget my own name.” This unexpected burst of lust was the last straw. I slammed my cock all the way in and began thrusting with such force that the bed shook, slamming the headboard against the wall. I couldn't even think about what the neighbors would think. Reality narrowed to a single point—a hot, slippery, tight tunnel accepting my entire cock. The orgasm surged suddenly, rolling down my spine in a red-hot wave and exploding somewhere in my lower abdomen, filling her with hot seed. I collapsed on Lera, pinning her to the sweat-soaked sheets. We lay in silence for several minutes, breathing heavily. She spoke first. Her voice was quiet and somehow alien. “I told you to stop,” she said, looking at the ceiling. I was already bracing myself for hysteria, curses, and threats to tell Anton everything. A disgusting feeling of shame, mixed with fear, clawed at me inside. “Yes,” I answered dryly. “She asked.” Lera turned on her side, laid her head on my shoulder and suddenly laughed - nervously, but sincerely. "I never thought it could be so... so amazing. I came, I think, three times. Thank you for not stopping." She reached for her phone and, looking me straight in the eyes, pressed the button to block Anton's number. “You’re welcome,” I exhaled, closing my eyes and feeling the last drops of tension leave my body.