I met his eyes. “Fuck me.”
It was blurted and unnecessary. He chuckled and it was made of smoke, curling and dark. The stranger came down on his forearms. Tilted his hips away to slide most of his length back out. Then plunged in.
Fucked me.
He wasn’t in a hurry. It didn’t matter. Someone else could show up on this floor now or in ten minutes, or never. He plumbed in and out, taking full advantage, the initial disbelief on his features melting into unexpected pleasure.
Full and then not full. Over and over. I spread myself to it, rocked up against him. The flex of his leg under the arch of one stockinged foot I’d curled around to lock him in. My other heel dug into the carpet so I wouldn’t go sliding.
Our breath came short, the only sound now on the empty floor. Grunts as we worked together, milking the opportunity for what we could take.
The fucking came with more force. A jerk of hips to punctuate every thrust, and I wanted to take all of him in. To just eat him with my cunt, and I turned my face to the side to bite my teeth into his wrist where he braced himself next to my head.
The flat chunk of wall made a dull thud on the carpet each time he speared me full of cock. It was bruising my tailbone, my spine, but something shifted. His knees on the floor spread me wider, and the head of his cock began to ring some inner bell of mine on every upstroke. I didn’t care about the drywall.
My eyes went round and I whined, the sound rising at the end like a question. He understood this language and changed not one thing he was doing, and instead hammered home again and again, just right.
Just right, oh.
Oh.
“Yes,” I said, “please. Please!”
He rumbled some happy affirmative between grunts and obliged, filling me. Pounding me. Searing.
Everything tightened down to a point. I scrabbled to hang on, fingers clawing, mouth open in a scream before sound came out.
And then the burst. Full current, maximum voltage.
I was not quiet.
“That’s it, that’s it, yes.” Rhythmic encouragement while he fucked down into me and juice smeared my thighs and my pussy sucked at him, desperate. “Come for me. That’s it. Come.”
Oh God, did I come.
My orgasm blared around a stranger’s cock like the horns on fucking Judgment Day. I made noises that could have been red, raw pain, but they were not. He outright laughed at my loss of control, but there was no malice. It was all joy in watching me turn, I’m sure, a series of different colors, one titty out and heaving, my nails carving little moons into his arm.
When my limbs went loose, and my vision swam back into one single image, the man was still carving away. This time for himself, my release ten kinds of obvious.
There was that look on his face. Brow knotted. Sweat beading. Determined. I reached a hand for his ass so I could feel it bunch as he rooted into me. Black fabric stretched over his shoulders and the tiniest crackle of disappointment tightened my lower lip—in all this his shirt had never come off. A damn shame.
I let my touch wander there, instead, up under the tee to splay over abs and damp chest. To push up from inside his collar and lace fingers behind his neck. To satisfy that most shameful of curiosities: to know what a stranger’s face looked like when they were in the throes.
High on my own impulsiveness, I spurred him.
“Is this your pussy today?”
“Fuck.”
His back hunched. Each stroke held at the end, mouth a snarl as part of him reached for something inside me that coul—
“Don’t fucking come in me!”
A hint of sobriety slackened his jaw. Hips rolled into mine, savoring the depth of the push.
“Then swallow it,” he said, and he was out. Knees climbing over my hips. Caging my ribs until they were up under my arms.
Slick, red cock slid through his fist, close enough that my eyes went crossed. Once, twice, he jerked it, and I opened my mouth. Took in the head.
Took in more.
He tasted like me. My hands went to his backside to pull him in, to say I wanted this, too.
There was no struggle. He was too far gone. I’d only sucked him down once when he fell forward on a palm and growled.
“Oh, fuck!”
Salt jetted on the back of my tongue, and I did what he wanted. What I wanted. Swallowed his cum while I watched the show play out over his face. Beautiful. Perfect. Not trying to be anything. Just hanging on, riding it out.
He shuddered a heavy breath. I lapped him clean.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/t5kjyy/i_caught_him_fucking_fm