I’d like to think of myself as a decent bloke – not sexist, concerned about all the right ‘issues’ – developing countries, war atrocities all of that kind of thing – overall, pretty left wing. And so it’s hard for me to reconcile this with what I want in bed.
I wouldn’t call myself extreme – if anything I’m vanilla – but there’s something about seeing a woman writhing beneath me, begging me to come on her that makes me spurt like nothing else. And when I’m fucking, although I’m all for giving the woman pleasure and positively get off on cunnilingus, deep down, really deep down, I want to slam my cock into her and make her squeal.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not remotely into hurting women but if I’m honest, there is something that appeals to the ‘man’ in me about pounding a woman so hard that the bed’s shaking, she’s screaming my name and I know I’m pushing her to the limits.
Of course, I’d never ask a woman to do something that degraded her. But when I met Jenny, I realised that my kind of sex didn’t have to be degrading.
We had one of those whirlwind courtships – if you can call getting drunk in a bar and staggering back to my place a courtship. She was stunning: pale, with huge eyed vintage beauty and lips that just begged to be kissed – and bitten. After the obligatory coffee, she’d asked me if she could stay, and who was I to say no? That night, when we fucked for the first time, she urged me on with lewd pleadings: to feel how wet she was, lick her out, fuck her harder, deeper, again, again, again. I knew I’d see her again, even before she called me to say she’d got thumb-shaped bruises on her thighs. I apologised, of course, at which she laughed and said she’d had to have a wank when she saw them because they reminded her of the night we’d had. When she told me that, I found myself echoing her behaviour as soon as I put down the phone.
The next time I saw her, it was even filthier. We met in a bar, again. We got drunk, again. And sure enough, at the end of the evening, we ended up at my place again. She’d been telling me how wet she was all night, whispering dirty words in my ear and stroking my cock under the table. I’d been hard for the best part of three hours – literally. As we neared my front door, I was wondering if it would be rude to just drag her upstairs and fuck her without offering her a glass of wine first. But she was way ahead of me. When I opened the door, she pushed me through it, grappled with my belt, undid my flies and dropped to her knees.
She then proceeded to give me the best blow job of my life. Her hand was working as much as her mouth as she wanked my shaft, lips first circling the tip of my cock then sliding right down to the base. Her other hand toyed with my balls but she never once lost her rhythm. As she flickered her tongue delicately over the very tip of my cock, I could feel my orgasm building and gasped at her to stop but she just looked me in the eye and continued sucking me.
“No, really, stop, I’m going to come,” I pleaded, half wanting to come down her throat but nervous that, if I did, I wouldn’t be able to give her the fuck I knew she not only wanted but well and truly deserved.
“I want you to come over my face,” she said.
Well, that was it. There was no way that I could hold back when this woman with the face of an angel and mind of a slut was begging me to come on her. I looked her in the eye as she bobbed her head up and down, lips slick with saliva sliding over my cock, and, as she pulled back and opened her mouth wide to reveal her pink tongue, I shot all over her. Some landed directly in her mouth, coating her tongue in a white sheen. Some splattered across her cheeks and some ran down her chin over her neck, towards her delectable breasts.
She simply smiled, ran her fingers through it, and licked them clean.
“Fuck, that makes me hot,” she said, as I staggered to the sofa to regain some element of composure.
“It makes you hot,” I said, weakly, still trying to control the post-orgasmic spasms of my body.
“It makes me very hot,” she said, lying on the floor in front of the sofa and spreading her legs to reveal that she was naked beneath her skirt.
She pushed her skirt up, bunching it around her waist and exposing her slim thighs, then slid a hand between her legs. I watched as she first slid a finger through her glistening pussy to get it wet, then slid it inside herself, rocking against her hand. I sat, transfixed, as she brought her finger to her lips and licked it, then returned it to her wetness. Her breath was quickening as she thumbed her clit and fucked herself with her fingers. Despite my recent orgasm, I could feel myself stiffening already.
“Of course,” she said, “wanking’s all well and good but what I really love is a hard fuck, doggy style. I don’t suppose…?” She looked at my swelling member and licked her fingers once more, then got on all fours and slid two fingers into her swollen pussy.
I don’t know if it was the view or hearing her articulate my fantasy, but somehow I was even harder than I’d been before. Slipping on the condom she gave me, I slid into her and was rewarded with a guttural grunt.
“Fuck, yes. But do it hard. I want to feel like you own me, like you’re making me yours with your cock.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. I slammed into her and was rewarded with a scream of pleasure.
“Fuck, you’re big, fuck, yes!”
I slammed into her again and again, feeling her buck back to meet my every thrust. The harder I pounded, the more she groaned and after one particularly deep thrust, I felt her spurt juices all over my balls. Well, that was it. I couldn’t hold back my orgasm for a second more and came long, hard and deep inside her.
Afterwards, she lay in my arms, quivering with bliss.
“Thank-you,” she whispered.
I knew I was falling in love.