Your erotic stories

You knew you wanted this.

How warm his breath feels, coming in ragged gasps against the back of your neck. How strong his hands are, one twisted up and fisted in your hair, exposing your throat… how sweet his tongue feels against your skin as he’s tasting the sweat glimmering in the moonlight. How blissfully forceful he is, giving you exactly what you need… exactly what you crave. He’s all around you.

He’s all you hear, he’s all you smell, he’s all you feel. You knew from the moment he slammed you up against the wall, the silver tinkling of his belt being opened, his hand grasping your painfully hard cock through your pants… you wanted this.

The dock is quiet. Every breath, every movement is as deafening as a thunderclap… the anticipation of it all twists your stomach into uncomfortable knots, your blood beats hard and fast

how you like it

every nerve like a live wire, waiting… waiting.

He grabs your collar and it’s a sweet release. You moan as he forces his tongue past your lips it’s not enough and pushes you back into the dark recesses of the alley. He wants you to scream. He wants you to beg for it. He wants it every bit as badly as you do. Every brief meeting of eyes across a crowded inn, every brush against his arm sending shock waves of desire through your loins has finally come down to this – a soiled alley behind a Ironmonger’s stall on a deserted dock in the middle of the night. The sounds of the inn fade away as you lose yourself in him, the ocean lapping endlessly away at the wharf turns silent, the seconds slowing, melting away as your lips move in complete synchronization, his tongue… urgent, desperate, plunges and wraps around yours in a slippery ballet. It’s perfect… it’s too gentle.

harder…faster

His hands are on your chest, pushing you away from him… they’re on your shoulders, forcing you down to your knees… they’re in your hair, giving you no room to breathe as he’s grinding against your face. You feel it. Up against your cheek, up against your swollen lips just one taste

With one hand holding your head back, he slaps you. Rocking you back onto your heels, the bitter, rusted taste of blood blossoming over your tongue, sliding down your throat and as you look back up at him, he knows. You’re nothing but transparent… he sees it in your eyes, the silent pleading… how you grip the sides of his hips, begging to feel his hard cock up inside against you. He likes it. You’re nothing but a toy. He’ll tear you apart. And you love it.

Get up.

You do.

His hand is around your neck as he spins you around, slamming you into the back wall of the shop… your cheek pressed into the rough how you like it grain of the wood, his arm wrapping around your waist, forcing the breath out of you as he grabs your cock through your pants. The pain… the blessed pain… all the hate you feel, all the degradation, all the… fuck me now Nothing matters anymore. Nothing matters but the feel of his cock up against your ass. He’s not meaning to tease you yet but it’s working all the same.

He yanks your pants down over your hips, seams tearing, the air cooling your blistering skin… everything is on fire and all you want, all you need fuck me now is him. His teeth press into your shoulder… almost as if he’s diverting making you feel more the pain as he forces his finger up inside you. it’s not enough You gasp, eyes tightly closed against the pain oh god it’s not enough your teeth tearing into your bottom lip as he’s working you, first one finger… then two… jamming them in and out, curling them up inside you fuck me it’s not enough

You want it don’t you?

You do.

He forces your cheeks apart, and steadies you against the wall by placing his hand between your shoulder blades, your cock rubbing up against the wood, it’s too much not enough and then everything disappears. Everything stops. Nothing matters anymore. You don’t know who you are. You don’t care. It’s him. The feel of his massive cock inside you… filling you… you hate yourself, you hate him, you can’t help the groan… you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into the wood, you can’t stop yourself from begging for it. Every moment he pulls out of you is like an eternity, an ache that he’ll tear you apart makes every need seem inconsequential. This is what matters. His breath against your neck, his tongue running along your shoulder, his hands around your hips, forcing you back onto him. This is what you need.

You knew you wanted this.

Scream for me.

You do.

His hand is pressing your face into the wall, clenching as he finally spends himself with one brutal last thrust it’s not enough and you sag… the pressure of it all, the ache you’ve had for so long… it’s done. The void he’ll tear you apart is staggering. You want him over and over again. You turn around to look at him, lips begging for a kiss, some kind of ending, some kind of closure… some kind of reassurance. You get nothing but the view of the back of his head as he’s walking away. You get nothing but the sound of his belt being reattached. You get nothing but the scent of him on your skin.

You’re nothing but a toy.