The Unspoken Rule

“You fuck me like you love me,” she says, as my cock moves deep inside her. Slowly. Intentionally. My mouth against hers. Our eyes lock. Her breath becomes my breath, and mine hers.

Usually that’s not a bad thing. Except—it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be good, sure. But not like this. 

Not so tender, while still so hard. My hand fits so nicely around her throat. Her mouth so well around my cock. My tongue and her tongue in sync. My good girl. Daddy’s little slut. She could cum from the sound of my moan in her ear as I release everything fucking her has built up in me: Through the phone. Against the bathroom sink. In my car (hers is always dirty). She would swell the minute she walked through my door. Her first thought as she opened her eyes was us. Mine too. Mouths snapping at one another like wolves. And we were. On the scent for this kind of sex: filthy, kinky, wet and creamy, sensual fucking that never seemed to finish. 

I met her in a class she wasn’t supposed to attend. I walked in, looked right, and there she was. Her soft green eyes were shining. Her perfect face looking at me, the supple skin of her cheekbones, the sharp line of her jaw that flowed into an adorable cleft chin. And the way her bottom lip curls under, making a perfect altar for my lips, my fingers, my cock. I was fucked from the moment we said hello. I spent the rest of the class trying not to get hard thinking about her lips. She would absentmindedly bite her fingers, and I envied them for being that close to her tongue. 

Then it was her turn. 

She used me for a demonstration. We never broke eye contact. I could see how her cheeks flushed, holding my gaze. Being held in mine. When she was done, she had to walk by me, and I so badly wanted to slip my hands down her jeans to feel how wet that made her. She gets so swollen for me. Her clit hood so thick it squeezes the tip of her out so it’s exposed for gentle flicks of my tongue or fingers that send her into fits. We looked at each other and knew it was only a matter of time. 

First was a slide into DMs. Then text. Flirting. Every conversation started innocently, then words like “aching,” to “throbbing,” and “wet,” and “hard,” led to “touching myself while reading this,” and voice notes filled with breathing, moaning, my name, her name… “fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard.” “Fuck, I’m gonna… I’m cumming.”  I cracked her code, and she cracked mine. 

We couldn’t realize the full potential of us. She was unavailable. She is unavailable. Perpetually. Intentionally. Which I respect. Women need freedom to live as they please. But there’s a kind of intensity to the way I fuck. It’s intimate and intense. There’s nothing casual about it.  

I go deep. I want to know where you live and breathe. I stop at nothing to give and get every ounce of pleasure—her body was my opus. I kissed every part of her. Stopped for seconds at her thighs. And thirds. Fourths. Fifths. Then, her lower back. Her hips. The soft skin on the back of her neck. I liked to spoil her with delicate touch, especially after fucking her so hard. 

I’d tell her she had won a prize. One thousand soft kisses for her to use at anytime, anywhere on her body. The first ten were delivered to the inside of her right thigh. The next five, just above her hip bone, on the soft skin where it dips to become her abdomen. I could have spent a week on her collarbone, but I only got six kisses. The back of her neck was a favorite. I could never get every strand of her dark hair out of the way. There were always one or two strands left as my tongue grazed her body. Her soft moan would swell my cock. 

Some of the kisses were gentle caresses of my lips against her skin. Others, like the ones at the very top of her public bone just before I took her in my mouth, were long, slow make outs with her hair. I love the taste of her body hair, especially when it was soaked in her cum.   

Her pussy consumed my thoughts throughout my day. Her sloppy, creamy, tight little pussy with the thick hood that popped up that delicious clit. She was a conundrum: a slut with a sailor’s mouth who turned shy when I put my tongue on her. Just as I’d get going, encircling her hood with my wet tongue, swiftly and softly swiping back and forth over her swollen, aching clit, pushing my middle and ring fingers into her soaking wet hole, she’d push me off, spin on her stomach, “It’s too good. I can’t. You’re gonna make me cum.” And I’d be left with the remnants of her on my face, knowing the spring waiting within, if only given the chance to finish. But it was unavailable. Well, she’s unavailable. Perpetually. Intentionally.

I made her cum once so hard she screamed, then burst out laughing. She was on her stomach, my cock deep inside her from the back. Her clit was being sucked by a small toy she mounted. My body pressed against hers, while I whispered filthy things into her ear. “You like Daddy’s big cock inside you, don’t you, my good girl? Squeeze that fucking cunt and milk the cum out of this dick.” 

It started as a low rumble; I could feel her pussy clenching on my cock as her orgasm began building. She said my name, almost as a warning shot: If you don’t stop sliding your cock in me now, I’m gonna explode. 

My mouth watered, and I pushed myself deeper. I took her hips and rocked them up and down, grinding her pussy against it on the inside while the toy sucked at her swollen clit. 

Her beautiful ass shook against me. She pressed her face down into the pillow and screamed. She came so… fucking… hard on my cock. Her pussy went from rigid and tight to silky smooth. I could slide it in and out easily as her orgasm melted away into a pool of cum in my sheets. Then she laughed. A deliciously satisfied laugh.  

She thanked me by swallowing my cum-soaked dick, then kissing me softly while I came in her hand. My cock throbbed as it spurted a long overdue load. She smiled as it trickled down her fingers. 

We had so many gears: Hard and fast, slow and deep, passionate, filthy, teasing and flirtatious, impatient and rushed. She still had 250 kisses left to use anywhere on her body, any time. 

It would have been fine just fucking if she hadn’t fit so well in my arms. If her cheek didn’t feel so perfect against my chest. If the crown of her head didn’t come up just below my lips, making it an easy reach for soft kisses when she was sad, or tired, or spent. It would have been fine to “fuck her like I loved her,” had I not, in fact, loved her. But I did. I do. 

But… she didn’t ask for that. I broke the one unspoken rule. And with that, she vanished. 

Wherever she is. Whomever she’s with: I hope she’s fucked like she wants to be. 

No more. 

No less. 

Photo by Volodymyr Baranetskyi