True Sex Stories: Willingness

He surprised me, his voice startled me, the splintering sounds of want gripped in fear.

He met me at my place. I made him wait while I showered the library away. The water extra hot turned my skin pink. I wanted to stay in there forever, not knowing what I wanted to say to him. I know what he wanted, but what does he really want from me–and can I afford to give it to him. I'm quite sure he knows my weakness. Cock.  He knows I cannot resist his cock, the way it turns thick with just a look, the smell, the curve that stretches towards my lips.

There is fracture between us though–but of course the slut I am, let him in. I get this feeling, particularly when coming off the high of cock–the low side– that it is really is like the elation of drugs and the lows that come with them. I cannot resist–and I hate my cunt for its insatiable wantonness–I want it desperately, I want to be used, I want to feel, I want to be taken, I want it all to be erased.

We are awkward, we are not the same people we were before NYC, we fumbled with words, glance, smiles made uneasy, and touched tinged with the pain of being human. We are children, emotional children not knowing how to love or give without associating it with pain.

His body pinned me to the door, his weight holding me, sparking a charge to my cunt. The  struggle of our bodies longing to get close as possible to one another, it becomes a fight of limbs and clothing. The power between us is desperate and volatile. My clothing gets pulled, tugged and ripped at. Pushed to the ground, I finally feel what I want-the strength of a man–his cock throbbing against my body, his heaviness engulfs me.

His hand grabs my now fat flowing cunt, his fingers slipping into the sloppy folds of skin and wet pubic hair. His other hand wraps around my neck and clutches. In this moment the last weeks disappear and the loss I was feeling, the emptiness–is being filled. His body and cock have become ferocious, it is a willing rape. Because I had not had sex for a few weeks–I was tight–not use to the thrust of a cock. It hurt with each shove of his thickness into me, it is the brutal fuck I needed and wanted. The grunts, moans fill the air, yet it all seems remarkably quiet.

One hand surrounding my throat–breathing becoming a useless entity, his other hand still covered my face and eyes. Looking through the slits of his fingers I watch the shadows of light and dark as they dance across the ceiling and let my body be taken, let myself feel the pain of this man, taking mine and giving me his.

Republished with permission from Library Vixen. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by Aeric Meredith-Goujon.