Monthly Archives: September 2013




“You like that?” Like there was any doubt, like she wasn’t grunting and moaning, baring her teeth, she realized now and again. “You like me fucking you?”

He wanted to hear the words, she understood that. Words were, at times, the only thing they had, they had spent hours, days, weeks, lifetimes with only words. Vivid, sexy, filthy, but just words. Now, now they had the real thing, flesh. Skin and tongue and hair and smell and fingers   and cock and pussy, hallelujah.

He was balls deep, her legs wrapped around him like a vise, pulling him deeper still, as hard as possible. Her hair wrapped in his fist, he brought her throat to his mouth. She felt his teeth for the briefest moment, then just his tongue and lips leaving marks for her to hide tomorrow. She heard herself gasp as she sunk her fingers into his hair, thick and slick, she could smell the fucksweat as it dripped down onto her

“Tell me,” he said, biting her nipple. “Tell me you like getting fucked, cause you’re a dirty whore. You are my filthy whore, aren’t you?”

The question was unexpected, and it unexpectedly excited her. Was it the word, the context of it, called a whore while fucking a man she had no business fucking? Did she feel like a whore? Did she want to?

“Right . . . there,” she said as he put her ankles up over his shoulders, deeper and deeper he slammed into her, she could feel his balls slapping her ass. He pulled her hands above her head, pinned her wrists to the bed. “Oh god yea, hard like that, fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

“My whore,” he was two inches from her face now, making sure her eyes were open. “Are you? Are you my filthy whore?”

The rhythm slowed, she narrowed her eyes. “Fuck you,” she said, without ever stopping, fucking as hard as she was being fucked.

“Listen to me, motherfucker,” her hands reached down to feel his ass, the muscles hardening as he stroked, in, out. She grabbed both hands full, nails biting into the skin. “I am not a whore, yours or any fucking body else’s.”

He was surprised, but not taken aback, his stroke was hard and steady, out out out, the barest of pauses, then slam back into her, his cock filling her so that is almost hurt. Almost.

“Do I like this? Do I like you fucking me? Oh hell yea,” she told him, never blinking. “Harder, c’mon baby, give it to me.”

He grinded on top of her, his dick moving around, touching her pussy in places she didn’t know existed.

“Yea, I like this, no goddam doubt,” the last word came out as much a moan as anything. “But I am not a whore, I just like this, I just want to fuck you. Doesn’t make me a whore, fuck you.”

Her eyes challenging him, he fucked her as hard as he had ever done anything, as if to make her his whore simply by willing it, by fucking it into her .

He kissed her, sucking her tongue into his mouth, she could feel he wanted to bite it, she simply dug her heels into the small of his back, dare you.

He lowered his mouth to his ear, “So, you won’t be my whore?”

“Never. if I am a whore, I am my own whore, I do this for me, not you. I am here to cum, to lick and fuck and suck and to cum. I am filthy, I am fucking yes. But I am not a whore, and I certainly don’t belong to you.”

His hand moved to her throat, never taking his eyes off hers. Squeezed, not hard enough to stop her breath. Still, he fucked her, her hips moving up to match his strokes, her heels grinding into his back.

“Oh you’re mine,” he told her, a predator toying with his prey. “Whore or not, right now, these moments, you belong to me. I call the shots here, I dominate you, I own you, for just this time.”

It made her furious, the thought of it, that he thought she would allow this, submit to it, get off on it.

“Fuck you,” she said, using her legs to pull him in deeper still. “I belong to no one.”
His hand moved from her throat down between their bodies, to where his cock was shoving into her.

“Here, baby, this,” he said, loud. “This pussy, this cunt, this is mine. You know how I know it’s mine?”
“No, tell me, fucker. Tell me,what makes it yours. What makes you think that’s your pussy and not mine?”

“Because you can’t stop fucking me.”

And she didn’t; she fucked him harder, her pussy clutching at his dick, squeezing it with the orgasm his words brought to her. He pulled his hair, screamed like a banshee, fucking and cumming and fucking, out of control.

Later, recovered, composed, she called him. “Not yours.”

“Not now, my love. Only when I make it mine, only when I fuck you. Then there is no yours, it is all mine. Then you are mine. My pussy, my whore.”