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And my cunt—my slick, hot, ovulating pussy is throbbing around him like it’s trying to jack him off instead of letting him fuck me. So when he comes—when he finally shoots me so full of his salty seed that I can practically taste it in the back of my throat—my pussy is so happy, I nearly fucking cry.
Hormones, right?
“God,” Rainier breathes heavy over me, wrapping me up in his thick, sexy arms.
“That felt amazing. In fact…it’s my professional opinion that we should do it again.”
His cock throbs inside me, making me gasp.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Immediately,” he adds, and we smile at each other like two teenagers freshly in love.
What can I say? Doctor’s orders.
Alexis and WineBar #4
After our first date, I couldn't get enough of WineBar.
He fucked me in the shower.
He would press me against the wall and bite my ear.
“Come for Daddy, baby girl,” he would whisper, and I would whimper and hold onto the wall.
He took me to Bloomingdales and sat down in the man chair as I traveled the lingerie section with the sales lady. Then we went into the fitting room where he had me try them on. He made me bend over and would slap my ass if he approved. When the lady thanked us as he paid, he looked over to her, grabbed me by the small of my back, and responded back with, “No. By the end of the night, we’ll be thanking you.”
We would go to dinner where he’d order for me when I told him what I was in the mood for.
My feet never touched the ground when I was with this man. He kept me cocooned up in a haze of pleasure.
I was his. And he was mine.
“You’re my queen, baby,” he would tell me.
I would nod.
And then he would tell me to come for him.
Margarita & Thomas
One
Margarita
“Hello,” the pajama-wearing young woman says, her breathing nervous and heavy. “You must be new to the neighborhood.”
There are some sights you expect to see in an old walkup somewhere down in the depths of the West Side. An aging tenement building on Eighth Avenue, perhaps. One that’s falling apart and carries the stink of neglect and decay going back decades.
This is one such sight, I’m sure of it. Except this sight isn’t in some rundown flophouse by Penn Station.
This sight is unfolding, as clearly as my eyes can see it, right here in what’s supposed to be the Upper East Side.
In what’s supposed to be a luxury building, complete with a doorman.
In what’s not only supposed to be, but very much is, the hallway just outside my apartment.
An apartment that’s goddamn supposed to be protected from this sort of thing. Both by geography and by a security staff who must’ve decided it was high time to stop taking their jobs seriously.
