what you need, Presley. You need to be fucked so hard that you will never ever forget this moment.”
His stern voice, almost demanding, turns any fear I had into raw, heated, unadulterated excitement. I do the most unexpected thing, dropping to my knees and ripping the rubber off so that his cock is bare in front of me.
Sweet Jesus! The silver barbell is shining so bright, pierced directly into the tip of his cock. I have never seen one, let alone been fucked by one, which totally explains why it feels so different.
“Like what you see?”
It’s not a question, rather the cocky bastard thinking he is some sex god because I can’t stop staring at it. I’m drunk, I know, but fuck me dead, his cock is so full and…large. No fucking wonder you were screaming in pleasure.
I take it in my mouth, slowly then forcefully, and watch him crumble. The moans escape his mouth are hidden pleas, begging me to take him in further. The second his tip hits the back of my throat, I use my hands to control the speed, all the while stroking him.
He is completely losing control.
Serves him fucking right.
His hands move to the back of my head. With his fingers running through my hair he moans loudly, and in a sudden move he pushes me away, turning me around to face the brick wall.
“Fucking tease. Now it’s payback.”
Another foil packet rips, and he re-enters me in just one short breath.
There is no holding back as he slams inside me; this time his thrusts are hard and fast without any delicacy. I beg him to fuck me harder, surprised by my own words, and he obeys with a brush against my clit that throws my body into a complete meltdown.
“I feel you. You want to come, Presley?”
I nod, not sure if words actually come out of my mouth.
He gives a final thrust with the loudest groan and just when I’m about to see stars, on the brink of orgasmic paradise, he pulls out of me and my buzz is gone.
What the fuck?
I don’t turn around instantly, allowing my brain to catch up with reality. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, my breathing out of control as my lungs struggle to coordinate with my brain.
Did he just…?
The sound of his zipper being pulled up alarms me, followed by a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder. Without seeing his face, his breath lingers against my ear as he whispers, “Now you know how it feels.”
And then it clicks. As I turn around, I instinctively cover my breasts with my hands and attempt to adjust my dress.
He walks towards the motorcycle parked beside the door and climbs on. With his helmet in his hand, he blows me a kiss, then places his helmet on and jumps on the accelerator. He rides off with a rev of the engine, leaving me alone in the alley.
I watch him drive off, all the while thinking this is some fucking horrid nightmare. Did he just fuck me then leave me hanging without a happy ending?
I stomp my feet in frustration, screaming out into the air, “YOU FUCKING JERK!”
What have I just done?
I don’t have a second to think any longer, vomiting profusely onto the ground before I am rescued by a worried Vicky and taken home.
I spent the weekend in hangover hell, dressed permanently in my sweatpants that had a huge hole in the crotch which I only noticed after I came home from the grocery store. To make matters worse, I happened to be wearing my big-girl panties (often referred to as Aunt Flo’s couture) because I was fresh out of clean sexy ones and had zip all energy to go do laundry. They were unflattering, had some weird cat pattern on them, and I could have sworn the old man in the cereal aisle had spotted Kitty peeking out from the hole.
Cats—it’s an omen.
When you spend most of the weekend making friends with the basin, you vow to never touch an ounce of alcohol again. This is why drinking and being single is a deadly combination. Tequila was to blame. It always is . Nothing ever good comes from doing tequila shots.
Friday night was a
His stern voice, almost demanding, turns any fear I had into raw, heated, unadulterated excitement. I do the most unexpected thing, dropping to my knees and ripping the rubber off so that his cock is bare in front of me.
Sweet Jesus! The silver barbell is shining so bright, pierced directly into the tip of his cock. I have never seen one, let alone been fucked by one, which totally explains why it feels so different.
“Like what you see?”
It’s not a question, rather the cocky bastard thinking he is some sex god because I can’t stop staring at it. I’m drunk, I know, but fuck me dead, his cock is so full and…large. No fucking wonder you were screaming in pleasure.
I take it in my mouth, slowly then forcefully, and watch him crumble. The moans escape his mouth are hidden pleas, begging me to take him in further. The second his tip hits the back of my throat, I use my hands to control the speed, all the while stroking him.
He is completely losing control.
Serves him fucking right.
His hands move to the back of my head. With his fingers running through my hair he moans loudly, and in a sudden move he pushes me away, turning me around to face the brick wall.
“Fucking tease. Now it’s payback.”
Another foil packet rips, and he re-enters me in just one short breath.
There is no holding back as he slams inside me; this time his thrusts are hard and fast without any delicacy. I beg him to fuck me harder, surprised by my own words, and he obeys with a brush against my clit that throws my body into a complete meltdown.
“I feel you. You want to come, Presley?”
I nod, not sure if words actually come out of my mouth.
He gives a final thrust with the loudest groan and just when I’m about to see stars, on the brink of orgasmic paradise, he pulls out of me and my buzz is gone.
What the fuck?
I don’t turn around instantly, allowing my brain to catch up with reality. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, my breathing out of control as my lungs struggle to coordinate with my brain.
Did he just…?
The sound of his zipper being pulled up alarms me, followed by a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder. Without seeing his face, his breath lingers against my ear as he whispers, “Now you know how it feels.”
And then it clicks. As I turn around, I instinctively cover my breasts with my hands and attempt to adjust my dress.
He walks towards the motorcycle parked beside the door and climbs on. With his helmet in his hand, he blows me a kiss, then places his helmet on and jumps on the accelerator. He rides off with a rev of the engine, leaving me alone in the alley.
I watch him drive off, all the while thinking this is some fucking horrid nightmare. Did he just fuck me then leave me hanging without a happy ending?
I stomp my feet in frustration, screaming out into the air, “YOU FUCKING JERK!”
What have I just done?
I don’t have a second to think any longer, vomiting profusely onto the ground before I am rescued by a worried Vicky and taken home.
I spent the weekend in hangover hell, dressed permanently in my sweatpants that had a huge hole in the crotch which I only noticed after I came home from the grocery store. To make matters worse, I happened to be wearing my big-girl panties (often referred to as Aunt Flo’s couture) because I was fresh out of clean sexy ones and had zip all energy to go do laundry. They were unflattering, had some weird cat pattern on them, and I could have sworn the old man in the cereal aisle had spotted Kitty peeking out from the hole.
Cats—it’s an omen.
When you spend most of the weekend making friends with the basin, you vow to never touch an ounce of alcohol again. This is why drinking and being single is a deadly combination. Tequila was to blame. It always is . Nothing ever good comes from doing tequila shots.
Friday night was a
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