by Nicole Fox
I felt something warm and liquid slide down my inner thigh. It was not water.
“Ah,” I murmured. “Ah.”
And then, one of his fingers––his big, calloused, biker’s fingers––dipped inside me.
“Oh!” I gasped, as his pressure increased. Pleasure surged through me, such that I had not felt for years. Brian never touched me there with his fingers. He was an on-your-back, in-and-out kind of guy.
“You need it bad, don’t you?” Dominic whispered. As he stroked and pushed upon my pussy, I could feel the strength flowing back into his body. Terribly injured? Maybe. But that wasn’t going to stop a man like Dominic from a fuck when he saw one.
“How’s the cut?” He asked, relinquishing his grip for a moment.
I bent to inspect it, while his hands fondled my breasts.
“It looks okay,” I said. “The tape is keeping the water out, and I don’t see much more blood.”
“Good,” he said. “Now towel yourself off. We’re going to the bedroom.”
Chapter Eight
Dominic
She was stunning. Her hands, as they navigated my body, expert. I knew I should probably rest. It was important that I heal up soon, with the heist coming up. But I did not care.
I must have her.
And so, with her hair sopping wet, hanging in glimmering cascades past her breasts, and water streaming down the slopes of her breasts to spray in soft fans from her nipples, I ordered her from the shower. I waited for her to towel off, and then leave the bathroom. I wanted to dry my body myself, for if I was to wince, I did not want her to see me do it.
Now was the time for hardness. No more pain. No more recovery. I would show her what a real man was.
Even with my blood loss, I was as hard as a rock. When I marched completely nude from the bathroom, it bounced up and down in rhythm with my steps, slapping against my thighs, all the way up to my belly button. I tickled my balls with my fingertips, inviting them to swell, to impress her with their size and their force.
She was waiting on the bed, sitting neatly like a lady, with her arms and legs crossed.
“No,” I said, seizing her by the wrist. “Put away the lady. I want the slut.”
And I hurled her headlong across the bed.
Her body splayed out before me like a Greek statue, all marble busts and curves, dips and mounds. Her breasts bounced on the impact, her little nipples hardening at the sight of me. For a moment, she looked afraid of my aggression, but then a wicked grin spread across her face.
“Alright, bad boy,” she chuckled. “Show me what you got.”
I was on her. In an instant, she was pinned against the bed, her arms outstretched over her head, her wrists held fast by my own.
“Put it in me,” she begged, but I just smiled.
“No, darlin’,” I replied. “You’ve got some work to do before that.”
So then, with my legs shimmed up to either side of her neck, I took my cock in hand and rammed it down her throat.
“Suck it, you little slut,” I ordered, and she automatically obeyed.
Oh, the ecstasy! The slick, wet pressure of her mouth upon my dick. Like an expert, she rocked her head up and down, lengthening her movement along my shaft, tightening her lips around my tip, and never, ever grazing me with her teeth.
Most women would be afraid with me up and on their face like that. My balls pooled against her neck. I could have crushed her throat with my thighs. And yet, all of her focus was on pleasing me. It was a great view: her mouth flexed and poised for sucking, her lovely hair splayed out in a fan across the pillow. Already, I could feel myself throbbing as she built the pleasure up inside my cock.
“Now your turn,” I grunted, and wrenched myself from her mouth. Like a predator, I dove between her legs, slapped her thighs aside, and pounced upon her pussy. My lips closed around her clit, sweet and small as a berry. With one hand, I worked my way below my chin and stroked at her lips, spreading them wide with my fingertips.
“Oh, fuck…” She moaned, and her legs spread wider. Already, I could feel wetness coating my hands, and slipping its way up to her clit. She tasted delicious, salty and sweet.
Then, without warning, I ceased stroking the outside of her pussy and drove two fingers inside her, hard. She screamed out, but not in pain. I could tell by the way her pussy flexed and throbbed that she liked it.
“You gonna cum for me, huh?” I growled, forming my fingers into a hook shape and scraping them along the soft tissue of her g-spot.
“Yes!” She cried, bucking and writhing on the sheets. “Yes!”
“What, already?” I teased. “It must have been a long time then, huh?”
“I…I….ooohhh!” Her screams reached a crescendo. I felt her whole body tighten, lifting up off the bed into a bridge. Her fingers dug into the sheets. Her toes curled, and her eyes rolled back into the whites.
And still, I kept pounding with my fingers. I felt wetness gushing past, not a trickle now but a flood. The muscles of her pussy spasmed again and again as she came, until, at long last, I slowed my assault.
Slowly, she sagged upon the bed, like a deflating balloon. Every now and again a tremor would run through her, as if she’d been touched with an electric wire. I waited until her breathing calmed, and she was able, at last, to blink her eyes into focus and look at me.
“Alright, Erica,” I said, grinning down at her from my perch between her legs. “Now, it is time for some cock.”
I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, so she was on her knees, bent down, with her ass on proud display before me. I gripped the left cheek appreciatively, relishing its size and its lovely tone. The right cheek, I slapped with my hand so hard her flesh rippled with the impact.
She moaned aloud, and reached behind her to grasp both her cheeks in hand. With her face buried in pillows, she spread herself wide, opening her pussy to me.
“Perfect little pussy,” I murmured, running my finger along it. It was still soaking wet, and throbbing from her last orgasm. I could ram it right inside. So, I took my cock in hand, gave it a quick rub to make sure it was at maximum firepower, and pressed it against her opening.
“Please,” I heard her beg, as I teased her with the arrow-head hardness of my tip. “Put it in me.”
I stroked the hair behind her ear, then gripped her scalp, hard. “I fuck you,” I growled, “when I want to fuck you.”
And I rammed it inside her.
Her tightness was incredible. The pressure on my cock, from the squeezing of her pussy’s lips to deep within her, enormous. “Oh yeah,” I moaned, and slid up and down the length of her, relishing the elastic strength of her opening to the gentle ripple of her g-spot along my tip and the length of my shaft. That’s when I noticed, as my balls slapped upon her pussy, the most amazing thing: she could take all of me in.
I am a big guy. I am not going to deny it. Most women wince, or cry out in pain when I try ramming the entirety of my cock inside them. But Erica...no. She was tough, and her pussy strong. With every thrusting lunge inside her, she moaned with pleasure, spreading her cheeks wider, and letting me pound her face in the bed. I could see her muscles bracing and the way her toes curled beneath her as she was overcome.
“You like that?” I demanded, increasing my tempo. “Yeah, you do, you slut!”
I was pounding her so hard that she was forced to let go of her butt, and brace herself with her hands upon the bed. She threw her head back, gasping for breath, and her breasts, now raised upward, pounced and trembled with the hard little points of her nipples drawing circles in the air. I reached around her and seized one, pinching it hard, and she had to lean down and bite a pillow to keep from screaming out with the intensity of it.
“Come here,” I ordered, my other hand clawing its way up her body and heaving her against me. There we were, my chest pressed to her back, her tits heaving, my cock now slamming at a new angle inside her pussy. I closed my fingers around her neck, not to chok
e her, but to show her how absolutely within my power she was. I could fuck her or destroy her as the fancy took me, and I wanted to make sure she knew it.
Dimly, I was aware of the thin scab that had formed over my wound ripping open, but I didn’t care. All the wounds and Crooked Jaws in the world could not have kept me from pounding her into oblivion.
Seizing her by the hair, I whipped her mouth to face me and kissed her, while my free hand pushed and prodded at her breasts, her clit. Her moan burst into my mouth, and a rippling of muscle in her pussy told me she had cum yet again. Then, I threw her down. It was end game. Time to focus on me.
My ramming intensified. Now, powerful, full-body thrusts that drove me all the way inside her. Next, jackhammering, my tip like a piston against the liquid resistance of her opening. Back and forth. Deep and shallow. Sending jolts of pleasure blasting through the length of my cock.
“I’m gonna cum in you,” I told her, feeling the load building. She dug her hands into the bedsheets, curling them tight beneath her fingers, bracing herself for the onslaught.
“Please…” She begged, her voice barely discernible amid my pounding. “Cum in me…”
“Almost!” I roared. I could have cum right then if I wanted, but I wanted it to be enormous. Explosive. Volcanic. I kept pumping, feeling the pressure build, until my tip seemed hard as metal and twice its regular size. And then…
“Ah, yes!”
The dam burst open. Her pussy saw a flood. Wave after shocking wave of it, pumped deep inside her. It splattered her g-spot. It filled her insides, so much so that some spilled out, coating the length of my dick, my balls, and her clit in an instant. She groaned, her whole body flexing to take it as I slowly decreased my pounding, still pumping her with the last few, sweetest drops.
At last, I stopped. My dick was still inside her, twitching, and sending jolts of pleasure through her body that I could feel all the way through her hips. I stroked her back, her butt, her hair, gently this time, as I waited for my manhood to diminish, and slip, with satisfying wetness, from inside her.
She collapsed onto the bed, gasping and trembling. With a sigh of satisfaction, I settled down beside her.
“Tell me, Erica,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face and grinning. “Have you ever been fucked like that before?”
She blinked and gazed at me dimly, as if I had fucked her so hard that she had forgotten how to understand human language. After a moment, however, she was able to collect her thoughts enough to utter a single word: “No.”
“Which leads me to my next question,” I teased, tracing a finger around her nipple. She was so sensitive that she jumped at the slightest touch. “After everything that happened tonight…was it worth it?”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the scent of us that permeated that room. Then she rolled over and sat up, laying eyes on me that were this time sparkling and clear.
“Yes,” she said. “It was. Now, let me redress that damn cut of yours, before you ruin my bed.”
I laughed. We kissed. And I let her redress me.
Chapter Nine
Erica
That night, Dominic and I had sex three more times. By the final act, my hips, thighs, and jaw were so sore that I pleaded for him to finish quickly. He seemed to like that, and, soon afterward, we were panting and gasping once again in each other’s arms, lying naked on the bed. I fell into a deep and pleasant doze, enjoying the manly scent of him and the feeling of fullness in my pussy.
At about four a.m., I was dimly aware of him rising from the bed and making his way to the bathroom. I didn’t blame him. After the night’s festivities, we both really needed a shower.
Next thing I knew, I woke up at eight a.m., and the bed next to me was cold.
“Dominic?” I asked hesitantly, wincing as the pain in my hip and ankle flared when I stepped out of bed. I checked the bathroom first, but found it empty, and the water in the drain cold. The towels we had used and tossed aside the night before were now hung neatly across the bar.
“Dominic?” I said again, more urgently this time. I went to the living room, hoping, perhaps, to see him sprawled across the couch, or wrestling himself into his jacket. I even (though I felt silly for even thinking it) dared to imagine the smell of eggs and bacon frying in the kitchen, a good morning “thank you” for everything that I had for him (and let him do to me) last night.
Nothing. The door was closed. No note, no goodbye, nothing.
“Of course, Erica,” I scolded myself aloud. What did I care that I was talking to myself? It’s not like anyone was around to hear me. “This is how these things work. They fuck you, and then they leave. You knew that.” Suddenly, without meaning to, I felt tears spring to my eyes. My ankle ached. My hip scalded. My pussy and breasts were sore. Every part of me seemed as if it was in pain. Clumsily, I slid to the floor, covering my eyes with my hands.
“Oh, Erica, you’re so stupid,” I sobbed, shivering naked in the early morning light. “Why on earth would a guy like that be interested in anything you have to offer except sex? Ha! You were lucky even for that!”
I could imagine him now, returning to his biker’s gang to report his latest conquest. “He’s probably even getting my name wrong. Calling me ‘Stella’ or something.” And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst thing, by far, was the feeling of loneliness I had upon awakening in an empty bed.
“You were so close, Erica,” I whimpered. “So close. The husband. The job. The white-picket fence. Everything I ever wanted….”
“At least,” I realized, “everything I’d ever been told to want.”
That thought made me pause. I remembered being five years old, and dressing up as a bride for the amusement of my parents. In the weeks leading up to prom, my mother told me that handsomeness and charm would end up being a good indication of the man I would one day marry. “If you go with a loser, Erica-Bella,” she’d said. “You’ll end up marrying one, too. And God forbid you not find a date at all!”
In the end, my prom date had been sweet and charming and a joy for my mother to behold. They, at least, did not have to see him puking behind to gymnasium after one too many swigs of Jack Daniels.
I remembered Brian. He, too, had been the epitome of my parent’s wants. I had never found him exhilarating, of course, but he was a safe, sensible choice. He would make sure I got my house, and my clothes, and my children.
Out of spite, I imagined Dominic being a father. “Ha,” I thought. “The kid would probably be dead by six months.” This disdainful laughter hurt the bruise on my hip, and I grimaced.
Still, as angry as I was at Brian, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how right my parents and my friends were. In the five years I had been with Brian, the most dangerous thing we had experienced together was buying marijuana from some college kid at a concert we’d gone to, and smoking it giddily in the fields. For weeks afterward, that memory had filled me with rebellious euphoria. It was my pride and joy––an exciting thing for me and Brian.
Now, after the night I’d just had, this adventure suddenly seemed laughable. But wasn’t that the point? Brian had hurt me, of course. He’d fucked up big time. But in all the time we’d spent together, wasn’t only having one fuck up a good thing? Exceptional, even? Wasn’t he perfect, in every other way?
As I thought this, I dried the tears from my eyes, rose to my feet, and stiffly marched my way back to my bedroom, where my cell phone was waiting on the nightstand. Absent-mindedly, almost without any conscious thought, I clicked it on, and scrolled down to Brian’s number.
“You should call him,” I told myself. “Think of how shitty you feel now. You’re going to feel this shitty every day for the rest of your life if you don’t get back with him.”
I imagined it: waking up in a cold and lonely bed, perhaps winning an hour or two of fucking amid endless solitude, until at last I became an old spinster, dried-up up-top and dried-up below. That’s what Brian
was, really: a safety, a vaccination against a life of loneliness.
My finger hovered over the call button, about to descend, and…
“Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz!”
It suddenly burst to life in my hand, vibrating violently as it received a call. I did not stop to think. Instead, I pressed to answer and swept it to my ear.
“Dominic?” I spurted stupidly.
“Dominic?” The loud, ugly voice growled back at me. “What, are you drunk again, Erica my sweet?”
I scowled, and held the phone as far away from my ear as the volume would allow. It was Mr. Blade, my boss.
“No, sir,” I responded wearily. I had in fact never been drunk at work, despite his numerous offers to pour whiskey into my coffee. I made very sure not to leave my drinks open around him. The incident he was specifically referring to occurred at the end of a seventy-hour work week, when I had been too tired even to string my words together.
