DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #170 - it ain't like that (it actually is)

I rub his chest, as a silent invitation for him to waste no more time, and keep fucking me from this new position that I know he so bloody loves. He grins like the closeted pervert that he is, and he begins to rub his thumb between my nether lips, while aligning the tip of his cock with my soaking entrance. A push and a pull, and he's back inside of me, fucking me as hard as he pleases, looking at his cock darting through me 'cause he's got the best view of this, and he knows it... and of course, loading my both legs over his shoulders, so that he can go deeper and give us the best of both worlds. I'm howling for him, moaning loudly and suffering the fact that from this position, I'm useless and I can't even kiss him. I've got tears of pleasure in my eyes, and he's grinning because he knows he's doing it right... but he's also wiping them off my cheeks, because he's a gentleman, and he remains that even when he's fucking horny out of his mind.

'Hold your ankles, little slut. Turns me on'. He growls again, while my face is well squeezed between his thumb and his pointer finger, and his cock is thrusting against my deepest, most sensitive spot. I oblige to him, and I hold on to my both ankles, although this new angle ain't particularly kind on my back. My back is indeed curved in a rather unnatural, painful manner, but I'm in my best 'little slut' element, and a little pain and discomfort can't stop me. On the contrary, the sheer pain keeps me going, and it has about the same effect on my man: I'm doing what he's just asked me to do, he's had the bravado to call me the s- word, aka something I don't recall he's ever done before, and he's fucking me as if I were a slut for real. Hard thrusts, raw pulls, and merciless pace. The temptation to tell him that I don't oblige for free, and that he owes me $250 for this fuck is strong as heck... but what's stronger, and makes me subside from my any other instinct, is the deliriously good, lingering sensation in my tummy, spreading all the way down to my ankles. I'm shaking, taking every inch of him as he's quenching me hard, and I'm getting closer and closer to cumming. So fucking hard.

Speaking of 'hard', he's thrusting his hips hard against my groin, fucking me with such hunger and neediness, and through a bunch of chaotic growls. His balls are slamming against my ass, and my back is about breaking from holding on to my own ankles...  but I'm taking everything like the champion (or the slut, I don't know) that I am. All I can feel now is his cock darting deep inside of me, and the euphoria that comes with it. All I can see now, is his reddened, sweaty face, and the whole room spinning in front of my eyes. All I can hear, are my moans, his low and obscene growls, the sound of his balls slamming against my buttocks, and of my pussy squishing for him. We are both very close, I know it, and I almost regard it as an achievement. I'd bloody love to cum together with him, but I realise that maybe it's no option, when I can see him clench his teeth, like he's trying to hold himself back or something. I understand that cumming together is no option at all, when I catch him grinning with spunk at the sight of my legs shaking so frantically... and out of all the things he could do to end us now, he decides to hold it motionless inside of me, and just let his thumb draw circles over my overstimulated, swollen clit. He's cheating, and I know it, but he's doing it for a good reason, and I love him for that. More like, I could never not love a selfless king. Mine, out of all the selfless kings in the world.

'Babe... make me cum, please'. I whine, as I do my best, aka very little, to bounce up and down his shaft because I just need to feel it moving inside of me. I'm so close, I can feel my climax building up from within my walls, spreading all the way down my ankles... and if I don't cum within thirty seconds, I just know I may as well spear him back first onto the floor, slap his fucking face, and grab what's mine (and long overdue) with my own hands. But I reckon that none of that will be necessary, when he kisses my ankles, puts my hands well over his chest, and begins to pound me more or less like he was doing before he decided to slow down and do the cheater. I sink my claws into the skin of his chest, holding on to him, and subsiding to his ridiculously rough, decise thrusts. He puts one hand over my mouth and bites the inside of my ankle, when I become far too vocal about the pleasure he's giving me. And with the very little strength that's left within me, I hook my both legs around his neck, I keep rubbing his chest, and I just relax my muscles, knowing that something beautiful is going to crush onto me like a freight train. Sooner than soon.