Yank

I’d been waiting for his hand to grab and twist in my ponytail and pull. When he’d told me to wear my hair that way this time, I knew exactly what it meant. It meant he’d be pulling me back onto him as he fucked me harder and harder, forcing me to look up, arch my back, let his cock all the way in, relinquish all control. And that’s exactly what happened. 

When he thrust forward, jerking my head back, he forced my breath out in a sharp moan, his cock filling me. When he pulled back, my inner muscles convulsed at the friction and drag of his thick shaft. My body shuddered at his mastery of me – at my submission to his power.

I cum hard and fast when he does that, when he uses me like that, and I can tell he feels my pussy squeeze him desperately as I whine and shudder with surrender and release, but he never seems to care that I’ve cum. He just keeps on fucking until I’m completely spent. That’s when he starts building to his own orgasm – when I’m passive under him, limp like a ragdoll, and just feeling him fuck me relentlessly with the sole purpose of his own satisfaction. It’s so different than the sweet solicitousness of my husband. Don’t get me wrong, my marital bed is a wonderful place, and my husband cares as much – or more – about my pleasure than his own, and it’s beautiful. 

But. 

Sometimes, a girl needs to be used.

That’s why I go to him when he texts me. Because being taken like this gives me something I can’t get in my beloved’s arms. And when he cums, fucking me hard, brutally, he forces another, stronger orgasm from me as I stare blindly at the ceiling and feel his fierce pulsing inside me.

Except this time. This time, just as I start descending from my peak, he pulls out all the way, and before my stomach can even sink, he’s slid the slick head of his cock up against my asshole.

I freeze in the middle of an afterglow sigh, and try to shake my head no, not this time. I try to scooch forward away from him, But he yanks back on my ponytail, and bucks his hips forward, and the head of his cock popps past my stretching ring muscle before I can clench it shut. I shriek as he groans in his own pleasure, and pulls tighter on my hair. This is how he forces me to impale my own ass on his cock, with me whining and squirming the whole time, protesting and pleading but unable to stop it. Like he owns me, because he does.

He’d done this before, not often, but enough times for me to dread it. Not because it hurts, though it often did at first. It’s because when he’s forced is way all the way in, buried himself in my ass, where no one else’s cock, not even my husband’s, has ever been, I am utterly and completely his. I feet like a slut. Like a whore. Like his whore. And he knows it. And when he cums, pumping his semen deep as he can, I cum again, a shattering orgasm that only this complete domination ever gives me. I cum for him, and am not able to stop until he stops fucking and relinquishes his grip – until I’ve given him everything and he’s used me up completely. 

And that’s exactly what happens.

It’s why I’m a little bit afraid whenever I see his text appear on my phone. And it’s why I always answer his summons.

Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong AlphabetTags: , , ,

Cassie Andra

Old enough to know better and not care. Vanilla on the outside. Vanilla through and through, except for the mind. You don't want to go there, but I'll give you peeks. Be warned: erotica themes include standard fun, but also the taboo-est of the taboo. Coming of age, infidelity, family relations, dubious and non-consent. Every throbbing inch of it is, however, fantasy, and should be treated as such.

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