Inspired by actual events, but significantly changed for narrative purposes and no one (except the narrator) should be assumed to be anyone in particular.
(words: 1144; would be $60)
I was so frustrated lately. Desperately frustrated to the point I was finding myself rubbing against counters and looking at my stuffies in a way that probably frightened them. So when my bootiecall pal texted me that he was available to relieve my pent up angst, there was no reality in which I wouldn’t have said, “Yes!” Actually, I could see a reality in which my reply would have been, “Fuck me senseless, now!” But I have a certain demure and falsely innocent appearance I try to maintain.
We arranged to meet up at an adult theater after I was done with an appointment I couldn’t get out of. Not exactly the most classy of hookup spaces, but I didn’t exactly appraise the decor last time and I was anticipating I would give a half care this time either. My decor, however, I did give some thought to. A pretty but casual sundress with easy access, a pair of my favorite polka-dot panties, playful socks, and, of course, a variety of pretty-smelling scents from breath to bits. The venue might smell like mildew, but I was sure as hell going to be the prettiest daisy of the field!
I zipped to our meetup place as quickly as I could, barely repressing shouts at other drivers for cock-blocking me! (Gods I so needed cock!) Once there I parked, ran a brush through my mess (smells? On point! Hair? Weeelll.... Let’s just say I was hoping the dark hides a lot of things.) I knocked on "our booth," he let me in, and we immediately started making out. “Making out” sounds far too innocent and chaste. We started eating each others’ faces! My hands went right down to his pants and struggled to release his very needed cock while his hands went right to feeling under my dress. It was good to know we were of similar mind and goals.
And oh, was I so very needing this! It is impossible to state enough how much of a painful and angsty ball of frustration I had been since the previous weekend when I had gone to an event hoping to get gangbanged, and instead, got a (very lovely but very non-intimate nor wantonly deviant) foot-rub. I had been vibrating like an over-shaken cartoon soda can filled with carbonated disappointment! So as I stroked my bootycall’s huge cock while he played with my tiny tits, I was literally dripping with arousal!
I went to my knees and started sucking and playing with his already very hard cock. It wasn’t long before he finally asked if I was ready to be fucked. I know I must have been wearing my "keri is checked out and this is just a mindless slut nodding YES" expression guys seem to love. I wish I could say it was intentional but I will admit that whatever desperately needy bimbo look I was wearing, was absolutely authentic. He condomed up as I lubed up, then I bent over the bench and lifted my dress. (Oh my gods old and new! I absolutely love and crave that part! The act of lifting my skirt or dress is so fundamentally raw sluttery that screams, "Fuck me!!!" and charges the air with heady anticipation that you know is only just about to be fulfilled.
He pushed the giant head of his cock into my ass and it literally "POP"s in! It hurt, I’m not going to lie. I am far far from my body having the experience of being the slut I crave and try to be; but like last time, I just relax and let the pain subside as he goes slow. Pretty quickly, though, the pain is gone and I become a fucktoy! I love the sounds I can't help but make as he fucks me hard! I start saying things like, "Fuck this whore!" and "Fuck this little slut good!" around my forced grunts and whimpers and whines.
And he does, for a long time, and I just start to fade almost like dropping into subspace. I'm so aware of my body being penetrated deep, almost violently but in the best way. Every once in a while he would hit and stroke along my P-spot, and my body would surge and ache in deep pleasure for a moment, through the next several strokes. It reminds me I very much need to focus sometime on getting a guy to fuck me intentionally to hit that blissful spot and see what happens.
Eventually, he slows and stops fucking me. It saddens me a little as I was thoroughly floating in a dreamy headspace at that point, my mind a completely reset and static-free blank slate of blissful peace. In a mindless way completely motivated by need and want, I dropped back on my knees and pulled the condom off his still hard and throbbing cock and sucked him hungrily. He stopped me after a bit, though, and said he wanted to make me cum! So he pushed me back against the wall with the video monitors and started playing with my clit like he was hungry himself to see me writhe and moan.
With just a little reminding, with a shaky and small voice, to treat it like a clit and not a dick, he found the right type of pressure and very quickly brought me to climax! First, a small one, but then a big, hard orgasm that had me clawing the wall. Then kept going until I was rolling on the waves of a multiple! Honestly, I tried so hard to be quiet, and not slam my hands on the wall above me. But alas, I was less than successful at being demure.
Finally, he stopped torturing me and left me panting and quivering and whimpering. I know I must have looked a complete disaster: dress all askew, top and bottom; a tit "hanging" out; my crotch open like I was a whore on display (gods I want to be a whore on display!); my hair all in my face. We sloppy kissed a bit before we got ourselves together. I walked out just a couple moments after being thoroughly railed and forced-climaxed, absolutely feeling high and drunk and knowing I was smiling stupidly with a destroyed face and sleepy eyes. I am not exactly sure how I was walking straight. Actually, I probably wasn’t.
He tried to ask me about other play opportunities and I saw myself as if from the outside, hanging onto my purse strap with both hands like a shy and horny teen with a stupid-silly smile as I dreamily said yes to anything. We parted to our cars and I had to sit in mine for some time, ritually brushing my hair, before I was able to start thinking coherently again and safely operate a motor vehicle.