You tell me you’re going to the gym for a swim. I peak over the top of my laptop as you head for the door: you’re wearing a light jacket and shorts over your black one-piece. You call it your “boring” suit—you’ve had it for so long. It stretches in odd places and is enticingly threadbare in others. I shift in my seat as you leave, bite my lip as the door closes behind you.
Three minutes later you’re back. “Forgot my ID,” you say and I catch your eye. You stop in the doorway, as if unsure, wide-eyed. I close my computer and stand up, I’m not even sure why. I take one step toward you and look away for a beat. I hear you reach for something on the table.
And, as if compelled, I rush at you, my hands to your face, my mouth pressed against yours: tongues and lips and spit. I pull at you with my teeth. We’re hungry. I tear your jacket off of you, right there in the entryway and then my mouth is down your neck, inhaling you. I grab your hips, open your legs, and press myself into you and against the door. Your strong swimmer legs grip around me, your arms around my neck, enveloping me.
I swing you around and put you up on the nearby counter, tossing whatever was on it onto the floor. Our eyes meet again, both of us flashing with it. I quickly reach for the shoulder strap of your bathing suit, to pull it down, but I move with too much recklessness for the worn thing. The strap snaps. Emboldened by the sound of it against your skin I grab at the suit with two hands, the black fabric buried in my fists, and I tear it off of you. It rips so easily, with that satisfying sound, and now your white flesh dazzles in front of me. With the suit still clinging to your curves I plunge my face into your skin, between your tits and down into the softness of your stomach. Within a moment I’m an animal for you, pressing you into the counter, and onto your back, my hands grabbing for your tits, your nipples, anywhere and anything, ripping away more of the suit when it blocks me from your skin.
It’s too much too quickly, but I can’t hold back. I want to hold and grab you everywhere. I spit and rub and make a mess of you, the red blooming on your body to meet my hunger. My fingers are already inside you—you lean back at first but then catch a wave of it yourself. You grab my wrist, as if my arm were a sex toy, and you start forcing my fingers in and out of you. I curl my fingers into your g-spot and your mouth opens. Your jaw tightens as you bare your teeth, breathing heavily. You use me to pound yourself, holding me firmly as I finger fuck you hard. It feels like I’m holding you up on the counter with my hand in your pussy. My other hand reaches again for your breasts while you reach down for my cock, tugging me roughly and frantically in time with my fingers in and out of you.
You can’t keep the rhythm up though, as my thrusts into you have you weak in your knees. You look up to the ceiling, lose your breath, and then spasm once, twice. I can feel you leaking into my hand. Once your breathing subsides, at least partially, I take my fingers out of you and lead you by the hand to the bed. I toss you onto it. With what’s left of the bathing suit still draped around your waist, you lay on your back with your legs spread open for me, glistening and dripping. I mount you without hesitation. As I make my way deeper inside you angle your hips upward to me, as if rolling me further and further into you. You keep your legs wide at first but then close them around me, firmly. I reach my hands around underneath you to tighten our bodies together.
And then I just start grinding into you mercilessly. Pounding down then pulling upward so that I go as deep as possible into you but then still come up against your g-spot. Each thrust makes you moan now as I answer you with growls and snarls. I ravage you, tear at you, throwing my full weight into you and onto you. Over and over again. I feel like I’m stretching you, as if each thrust takes me deeper into you, while you press back up into me, gripping me. Over and over again. Again and again. Gods, the sound of our bodies slapping into each other and how your pussy answers with its muffled gurgling. I’m drowning in you.
I reach up from your ass to grab your tits, as if to steady myself above you, but my balance falters and I fall back into you. I try to slow myself for a moment but I can’t. The rush of it all, the hunger, the way you seem to keep opening more and more for me. I reach for what’s left of the bathing suit, searching for anything to anchor me in the mounting pleasure. I feel the fabric tearing again as I begin to lose control. I look into your eyes, the way they stay so steady even as your moans answer each of my violent thrusts. You nod to me.
You say, over and over again: Yes. Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes.
You say: Give it to me, yes, give it to me, yes, yes.
You say, rising from a hiss, to a scream: Yes, fucking cum in me, yes, I want you to fucking cum in me.
More guttural now: Yes, I want all of it inside me, I want you to fill me up.
Calm for a second but with a new tremble: Yes, breed me, empty your seed into me, yes, I want it, yes, I want it all. Yes.
I try to slow for a moment, but you pull me hard into you. This jolts me, and I ram hard into you, again and again.
I say: Yes, I’m going to fucking fill you up, I going to cum so deep inside you.
The last of your bathing suit rips off between my fingers, and I catch myself by seizing you hard. You angle your hips up to me again. Something has clicked.
You whisper: Yes, now, fucking cum in me. Yes, now, now, yes, fucking cum in me.
And I just lose everything I have deep inside you, waves and waves of cum, releasing as your walls clench against me, my body spasming in and out of rhythm. I can feel a rush of heat as you gush around me. I’m still for a moment before I am wracked by two, three more spasms. I give you every single last drop, until I’m so empty, and you’re so full of me.
I’m still inside you, breathing heavily. I have no words left. I want to say sorry about the bathing suit or something about where your ID might be, but nothing comes out. I’m too drunk on the pleasure. Everything seems so heavy, so sweetly heavy. A piece of the fabric is still between my fingers, soaked with us.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/uorlss/your_boring_onepiece_torn_mf