Oh God, He's Fucking My Tight Little Asshole

I can see his perspective. This is one of those experiences that I will never get, a need that I will always be craving. Just his body pressing against me as more and more of him disappear inside of me with every last stroke and we start to rise and fall on the rhythm of our hips, as we start to time our breaths to the movement of our bodies.

A new kind of pressure builds within me. A need that had been present nearly the whole time since he got me alone.

I want to fucking cum, and Blake is going to get me there.

"Take it," he grunts, "Take every last inch of it. You're such a good girl. You're such a dirty little whore."

I moan out in approval, his hand still cupped over my mouth until I reach up with one hand to peel it away so I can gasp in a gulp of air and breathe out a moan in reply.

He takes the opportunity to roam with both hands, one massaging the cheek of my ass while the other cups my breast and squeezes. My hands curled under myself as I am pressed against him again and again and again and again take more and more.

How much?

"How is there still more for me to take?"

I can barely believe it, but Blake only chuckles at my words. He kisses my neck and I nuzzle into him as he pumps forward and feeds me yet another inch of him.

My whole body alive with the desire of this moment now, given in to it wholly and fully as I strive to take every last bit.

Right now I am memorizing every sensation, convinced that I need to keep it frozen in my mind. The friction of his cock pressing into me, the heat and hardness of it. The way that my body almost sighs to take him. The burning that is still there at the edges and the pain that is still radiating out from the point of our connection, running through the highways of my body straight to the places that matter the most.

My nipples are so hard they could cut glass. My neck is arched, tension running through my shoulders and down my arms to my fingers. Curled like claws against my skin and twitching for more. My feet raised up as I stand on tip toe. My muscles tensing just right to press back to meet him.

Meeting every stroke of his. Feeling it pressing into me and finding some hollow place inside of me and filling it. Almost beyond just filling to fulfilling, to finding meaning in the madness.

Is Blake right? Was I built for this? Was I made for this?

Was I able to do this so easily because this is where I was meant to be? Will this lead me onto more?

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