Give it to her

She stays on her knees exactly where you left her, face painted in thick, pearly ropes of your cum, the heavy scent of it already filling the quiet morning air of your room. A slow strand slides from her chin and finally drops onto the upper slope of one bare breast. She does not wipe it away. She does not move to clean herself. She simply kneels there, thighs pressed tightly together, the soaked crotch of her little shorts clinging to the swollen lips of her pussy, staring at the still-hard length of your cock as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist.

You take your time.

You walk to the dresser, open a drawer, and pull out a clean pair of dark athletic shorts. You step into them slowly, deliberately, tucking your thick, glistening cock upward against your lower stomach so the heavy outline remains obvious even through the fabric. The waistband snaps into place. You do not bother with a shirt. You turn back to her and simply look.

She is trembling.

The cum on her face is beginning to cool and dry in places, tightening across her cheek and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are glassy, pupils still blown wide. Every few seconds her hips give a tiny, involuntary rock against nothing. The silence stretches until it becomes another form of pressure.

You speak at last, voice low and even.

“Stand up. Take the shorts off. Leave the rest of the mess on your face.”

She rises on unsteady legs. Her fingers hook into the waistband of the soaked shorts and push them down. The fabric peels away from her with a soft, wet sound. A thin strand of her own arousal stretches between the crotch of the shorts and the puffy, glistening lips of her pussy before it breaks. She steps out of them and stands completely naked in front of you, cum still streaking her face, nipples tight, thighs shining.

You nod toward the bed she made earlier.

“Lie down. On your back. Legs open. Hands above your head.”

She obeys without a word. The clean sheets she smoothed with such careful precision only minutes ago now receive her naked body. She stretches her arms up toward the headboard, fingers loosely curled around the edge of the mattress. Her knees fall open. The soft, swollen folds of her pussy are flushed dark and visibly dripping; a small wet spot begins to form on the sheet beneath her. Your cum glistens on her cheeks and lips under the gray morning light.

You stand at the foot of the bed for a long moment and simply look at her. The contrast is almost scientific in its clarity: the neat hospital corners of the bed, the orderly room she cleaned, and the completely undone girl lying open in the center of it with your seed drying on her face. You can see the faint tremor in her lower belly. You can see the way her clit has swollen into a tight, needy pearl. You can see how hard she is trying not to squirm.

You step closer.

The mattress dips under your weight as you kneel between her spread thighs. You do not touch her yet. You simply rest your hands on the insides of her knees and keep them open, thumbs stroking once along the soft skin there. Her breath hitches. A fresh bead of arousal slips from her entrance and slides downward.

“You begged,” you say quietly. “You said you needed it in your wet snatch. You said you’d take it however I wanted.”

“Yes,” she whispers. The word is raw.

“You wait until I decide. Not until you need it. Not until you’re dripping on my clean sheets. Until I decide.”

She nods quickly, eyes locked on yours. A smear of drying cum cracks at the corner of her mouth with the motion.

You reach down and free your cock from the athletic shorts. It springs upward, still thick and heavy, the head flushed dark and shiny with leftover spit and the last traces of your earlier orgasm. The measurements she took earlier are still burned into both of your minds: nine and one-eighth inches of rigid length, six and one-third inches of girth. She stares at it the way she has been staring all morning—hungry, awed, a little afraid of how much she wants it.

You lean forward and drag the heavy head of your cock through her folds.

The contact is electric. She is so wet that the thick crown glides effortlessly, parting her lips and smearing her own slickness along the underside of the shaft. You drag it up to her clit and press there, rolling the head in slow circles. Her hips jerk. A broken little sound escapes her throat. You do it again, and again, until her thighs are trembling hard against your hands and fresh arousal is coating the first three inches of your cock.

Then you stop.

You pull back just far enough that the head rests against her entrance without pushing in. The heat of her is intense. The wet, soft kiss of her opening against the broad head makes her whimper.

“Ask properly,” you tell her.

Her voice is small and wrecked.

“Please… please put your cock in me. Please fuck my wet snatch. I’ll be good. I’ll take every inch however you want. Please—on your terms.”

You hold still for another three heartbeats, watching the way her opening flexes and tries to draw you in. Then you push.

The stretch is immediate and visible. Her outer lips bloom around the thick head; the tight ring of her entrance thins and pales as it is forced wide. She gasps—high and sharp—and her hands fist in the sheets above her head. You do not stop. You feed her another inch, then another, the heavy shaft spreading her open with slow, relentless pressure. Her pussy is soaked but still almost too tight; the six-and-one-third-inch girth forces her walls to yield in a continuous, trembling ripple. Halfway in she makes a soft, overwhelmed sound and her eyes start to water.

You pause there, buried halfway, and simply look down at the place where her body is stretched obscenely around you.

“Feel that?” you ask.

She nods rapidly, unable to form words.

“That’s what you waited for. That’s what you cleaned my room for. That’s what you measured.”

You push the rest of the way in with one steady thrust.

Her back arches. A long, broken moan tears out of her as the final thick inches sink home and your hips meet hers. The head of your cock presses deep against her cervix; her inner walls flutter and clench in helpless waves around the massive intrusion. For a moment she can only lie there and shake, mouth open, cum-streaked face twisted in overwhelmed pleasure. You stay buried to the root and let her feel every pulse of your heartbeat against her most sensitive places.

Then you begin to move.

The first strokes are slow and deep—long withdrawals that leave her almost empty, followed by heavy thrusts that bury every inch again. Each time you bottom out her breasts bounce and a fresh, wet sound fills the room. Her pussy is so slick that the thick shaft glistens with her within seconds; strings of her arousal cling to the base when you pull back. You keep her legs spread wide with your hands, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, holding her open so you can watch every inch disappear inside her.

She tries to stay quiet at first. The house is still silent; somewhere downstairs a cabinet might open, a footstep might sound. But the depth and the girth quickly strip that control away. Soft, rhythmic cries begin to fall from her lips with every thrust. Her hands leave the headboard and clutch at your forearms, then your shoulders, then the sheets again, as if she cannot decide whether to pull you deeper or brace herself against the intensity.

You lean down until your chest brushes her tight nipples and your mouth is close to her ear.

“You don’t come until I say.”

She nods frantically, tears of pure overload starting to slip from the corners of her eyes and mix with the drying cum on her cheeks. You fuck her harder. The wet slap of skin on skin grows louder. Her pussy clenches in tighter and tighter ripples around the thick shaft; you can feel her trying to hold back the orgasm that is already building like a storm at the base of her spine. Her clit is swollen and dark; every time your pelvis grinds against it on the deepest strokes she jerks as if shocked.

You shift your angle, hitching her hips higher with your hands so the head of your cock drags firmly across the sensitive front wall on every stroke. The change wrecks her. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. Her walls clamp down so hard that the next thrust takes real effort. You keep the same relentless pace, driving into that spot again and again until she is sobbing with the effort of not coming.

“Please,” she gasps. “Please—I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Not yet.”

You pull almost all the way out, leaving only the broad head stretching her entrance, and hold there while she twitches and whimpers. A thick gush of her own wetness spills out around the intrusion and soaks the sheets. You wait until the trembling eases slightly, then drive back in to the hilt in one heavy thrust. She cries out. You do it again—slow withdrawal, long pause, brutal return—until she is shaking so hard the bed frame creaks.

Only when her eyes are glassy and unfocused, only when her pussy is fluttering in continuous helpless spasms around your cock, do you give her what she needs.

“Come.”

The single word detonates her.

Her orgasm hits like a breaking wave. Her entire body seizes; her pussy clamps down in hard, rhythmic pulses that milk the thick shaft buried inside her. A gush of clear fluid spurts out around your cock and soaks both of you. She sobs through it, face contorted, fingers digging into your arms hard enough to leave marks. You fuck her through every wave, never slowing, dragging the climax out until her legs are kicking weakly and her voice has gone hoarse.

When the worst of the contractions finally begin to ease you shift again. You pull out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach, then haul her hips up until she is on her knees, chest still pressed to the mattress, face turned to the side so the cum on her cheek smears against the sheet. You sink back into her from behind in one smooth thrust. The new angle lets you go even deeper. She moans into the bedding, broken and grateful.

You fuck her like that—steady, powerful strokes that rock her entire body forward with every impact. One of your hands tangles in her hair and holds her in place; the other grips her hip hard enough to bruise. The wet, filthy sounds of her pussy taking every thick inch fill the room. You can see the way her stretched entrance clings to the shaft on every withdrawal, the way her soft ass ripples when your hips meet it. She comes again without permission this time, a smaller but still violent climax that makes her push back onto you and grind.

You do not stop.

You keep driving into her until your own orgasm begins to coil tight at the base of your spine. The wet heat of her, the way she keeps clenching and fluttering, the sight of your thick cock disappearing into her again and again—it all builds until the edge is unavoidable. You lean forward, chest to her back, and speak against her ear in a low, rough voice.

“You waited. You cleaned. You measured. You took it on my terms.”

She can only whimper in answer.

You bury yourself to the root and let go.

The first pulse of cum is heavy and deep, flooding her already-soaked pussy. She gasps at the heat of it. You grind against her as the second and third thick ropes pump out, filling her until the excess begins to leak out around the base of your cock and drip onto the sheets. You stay locked inside her through every spurt, hips twitching, until the last of it is emptied into her trembling body.

For a long moment neither of you moves. The only sounds are the two of you breathing hard and the soft drip of combined fluids hitting the mattress. Your cock begins to soften slowly inside her, still thick enough that she whimpers when it finally slips free. A heavy rush of your cum follows, spilling out of her open, well-fucked pussy and adding to the wet mess on the sheets she made so carefully earlier.

You roll her onto her back again. She looks up at you with dazed, sated eyes, face still streaked with the earlier load, thighs quivering, pussy puffy and leaking. You brush a strand of hair from her forehead with surprising gentleness, then rest your palm against her cheek—right over the drying cum.

“That’s how it works from now on,” you tell her quietly. “My terms. Not yours. You wait until I want you. You take what I give you. And you stay open and ready whenever I decide it’s time again.”

She nods, small and complete.

“Yes.”

You stay there with her for a while longer, one hand idly stroking the soft skin of her thigh, watching the slow leak of your cum from between her well-used lips. The house remains quiet. No one has come up the stairs. Outside the window the morning continues as if nothing has changed.

But everything has.

She is yours now—on your terms, for as long as you decide to keep her that way. And from the way she looks at you, soft and wrecked and already hungry again, she would not have it any other way.

(Word count: 2,227)