If I had my way, he’d fuck the tears out of me.
I watch him as he walks across the room, take a sip of my coffee, and let my mind wander again.
He’d tie my hands together, check in to see if I was consenting instead of asking if I’m okay. Because I’m not okay. But he could help me be okay by fucking me until I can’t cry anymore. By holding me, and making me feel safe and desired. By draining me of tears and replacing it with his thick, hot cum.
My eyes lower to his belt. Would he spank me with it? Would he help me get the pain that’s at the very bottom of my heart out? Or would he wrap it around my neck as he bent me over?
I blink, and shake my head. Twisted thoughts about tangled sheets, taut muscles and tender touches flash across my mind again, despite me attempting to shake them off.
I’m sad, and we both know it. It’s understandable. He’s helping me because I’m sad. So why am I thinking about him sticking that therapeutic dick inside of me and filling me with cum until I forget that everything isn’t happiness and sunshine? Why do I want him to fuck me to remind me that I’m alive, and wanted, and allowed to live?
“You okay?”
I jump at the sound of his voice, and grip my cup a little tighter.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe me, but he nods. He lets me lie, because we both know the truth.
But soon, I’ll tell him. He’s good with my emotions, however fucked up they are. Soon I’ll tell him that I want him to fill all my holes with his cum, that I want him to fuck me for hours upon hours until I fall asleep in his arms. Soon I’ll tell him that I want my nipples in his mouth, his hands in my hair, and his dick in my pussy, all while I moan, and scream and cry.
Soon.
[removed]
UpdateMe!
This is very compelling. I feel this so deeply.