Page 84 of Intoxicated
“You sure are acting like it right now.”
I don’t think about what I say, and her reaction proves it. Yet instead of taking offense to it, her cheeks flush a deep, intoxicating pink, like a flower that could poison me if I come too close. “Am I your slut?” she sweetly asks. “Or am I justaslut?”
Shit, shit, I’m confused. Which is the right answer? Should I deny either? How can she ask me these trick questions when my brain has shut down to send blood to my fucking dick?
“You’re not a slut,” I whisper.
“Oh, no? Would some blushing virgin know how to do this?” Before I can tell her there’s much more betweenslutandvirgin,she deep throats me. Takes me straight to the hilt, her voice gagging in her throat. Her eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep breath. The elevator doors open. There’s nobody there, and I can barely reach theholdbutton.
A satisfied gasp tickles my senses as I push her off me and jerk her up by the arm. Her bag smacks against her ass. She trips in her heels. Cackles follow me out of the elevator, my damned dick hanging out of my jeans as I haul her to my apartment a blasted forty feet away.
Can I make it to my bedroom? Do I throw her over my shoulder like I sometimes love to do? Me Drew, she Cher? It’s always fun to watch her tits bounce when she lands on my bed. I’m already enjoying the sounds of her shoes falling off her feet and clacking to my hardwood floors.
“That’s right, Benton,” she says with another devilish laugh. “Own this slut.”
Her skin is hot in my hand. Every inch of her is alive with excitement and sex. Fuck it, so am I. All I have to do is look down to see what I’m doing. I bet if I put my hand between her legs, my fingers would be covered in her cum before I had the chance to stick one in.
Nope. We’re not making it. I need her now. I need her cunt like she needs my hard length. We’re not taking off any clothes unless absolutely necessary, because that’s the kind of hurry we’re in.
She lands on her feet. I waste no time pushing Cher against my couch. Neither do I bother with shutting the blinds or turning on the lights. My apartment is fairly dark at this time of day. Maybe it adds to the ambiance. I don’t give a fuck. I only have fucks to give to the dripping wet pussy I uncover beneath her clothes. Bless her for always wearing such accessible fashion.
I also hope she doesn’t need these panties again. They’re ruined, and not just from how hard I yank them aside, a rip exciting her senses. She’s so wet I almost miss her with my cock. I slip right out the moment I let go, intent on plunging into her and riding her until I’m empty.
“Fuck me,” she whines, braced against the couch, hand fisting her own hair. “I need it, baby.” The desperation mounts her body before I have the chance. It’s precision. That’s what slamming my cock into her takes, and I’m so excited I forget what precisionmeans.“Make me your dirty little bitch.”
Before I go completely nuts, let me point out that this kind of language is not unique tonight. When Cher is hornier than hell, she screams about sluts, bitches, and fucking. Some combination, anyway. Far be it from me to tell her what she can and can’t find hot. That ain’t my place.Myplace is giving her what she needs. Sometimes that means falling into the moment and letting loose the dirty talk she clearly craves. Other times, I’m a silent fucker. Literally. Just silently fucking her as she screams a bunch and coaches me like these are the Fuck Games and we have a shot at the gold medal.
Finally, I hit a home run instead of so many foul balls. I slam into her, forcing her to take my whole length in one stroke. Every part of her tenses, both against me and the couch. Her voice is caught in her throat. When she eventually makes another sound, it’s a strangled cry that tells me I’ve found her G-spot on the first try.
Cher matches every one of my thrusts, daring me to go deeper, harder, and more brazen with my need for her. My grunts are no match for her dirty words and naughtier claims. She calls herself the most sordid names in the book. Sometimes she begs me to call her this insult or some other phrase that would raise my grandma from the grave – you know, if she were dead. Instead, she’s currently climbing into her truck to come slap me forhearingsuch filth.
She demands I pull her hair. I yank. She begs for a spank. I smack her flesh. She spreads her legs wider and combusts into a pile of sporadic movements. It’s no orgasm. It’s like the opening move that preps her for climax. The hedonistic sounds of my flesh slapping into her wet body and the garbled cries of slobbery passion she screams into my couch means I’m about to completely lose it. Dare I waste energy on announcing it?
“Give me your hands,” I snap, taking both of her wrists into my grasp. Cher is so amiable that I worry she’s passed out. Oh, no. I should know better than that.
“Come in me,” she begs. “Come inside this nasty slut.”
I go in balls deep, holding myself there as I pull her up by the hair. A small cry of painful pleasure greets me when my lips hit her ear. “You’re no slut,” I say. “You’re my girlfriend. That’s better than some town bicycle I get to pound from here to across town.”
She drops back down to the couch. I brace my hand against her hip and wail on her cunt, my cock so hungry for her that I don’t feel my orgasm until I realize my cum is spilling out with every crazy thrust.
Cher screams into the couch the whole time. Her knuckles are whiter than the camisole beneath her kimono. I don’t know how she’s still alive, let alone has all her teeth. The woman doesn’t lift her head until I finally slow down, taking the time to empty my balls with a long, hearty groan.
I’m not satisfied. Neither is she. I can see it in her eyes when she slowly turns her head and gives me that come-hither look that always undoes me.
“Fuck.” My clothes are left in a pile as I pull Cher up by the wrist and drag her – quite willingly, I might add – to my room. The only reason she can’t keep up with me is because of how hard I fucked her in that position. My legs are sore, too, but I’m gonna persevere and fuck her some more.
As soon as I tear these clothes off her, anyway.
Is she upset about it? Not right now. Even if she is later, I’ll buy her new whatevers. The kimono is fabric, for fuck’s sake. Her underwear is worthless. I pull down the front of her camisole so hard that we both hear something tear inside the stitches. Her now-useless bra shelf spills out her breasts. They’re so swollen and her nipples so hard that I immediately grab them. Whatever softness had come to my cock is gone again. I need her. She needs me. Look at that face. That’s the visage of a famished woman who never gets enough hard cock. If I’m gonna be with her, I need to work on my stamina.
“Fuck me,” she continues to chant. Cher is on her side, one leg hoisted in the air. My cum mingles with hers and covers the gape I’ve left behind. She’s so ready for me that this time it takes absolutely no precision to enter her. My whole body hovers over hers, that leg swung over my shoulder as I hold onto her breast and fuck her for my life. Cher’s forced to hold herself up on one arm, lest we both collapse and have to start over again.
Her need to scream herself hoarse is as great now as it was before. It doesn’t matter how hard I pull her hair or pinch her nipples. I don’t touch her clit, yet she’s shuddering in one endless orgasm, the depths of her cunt squeezing the whole length of my cock. Yet after that climax from earlier, I’ll last much longer. There’s no mercy for her this time.
I’ve seen this look on her face before. It’s the face of a woman surfing through Heaven. I’ve probably shown her nirvana, and she hasn’t asked me to choke her yet. Not something I make a habit of doing, but when a woman whines for it, you give it to her, damnit.
This is who she is, after all. Maybe the reason she gets bored of her other boyfriends and dumps them when shit gets serious is because they can’t give her the sex she craves. Cher hates lovemaking, doesn’t she? She wants to be called a slut and fucked like a toy. Even if another guy can give her that now and again, it’s never quite right, huh?
