On Demand!

As Amy maintains her fierce pace, my spine arches with every twisted yank of her hand in my hair. I whimper in pain and pleasure, both, as my best friend takes full control over me. Her thick shaft slams deep, grinding hard across my prostate.

Her prowess in sex is unmistakable, as I remember that I've met at least four boys she was fucking. She gives me no choice but to moan, weak and trembling with arousal. The hand on my back slides down, her nails scratching, knowing me well.

The sensation of being filled, of someone grinding something on my prostate for my pleasure, is new and unfamiliar. The masochistic rapture of being spanked, decidedly less so. She's never spanked me, but she knows it's something that I like.

Her hand cracks down on my ass, one cheek and then the other, in the intervals created between the heated collisions of our hips. Each time she slides out, her hand comes down hard, forcing me to gasp to flood my lungs with air in response.

Then her hips slam back in, knocking the air from my lungs in a huff, only to yank back so she can smack the other cheek, instead. The rhythmic slap of her hips against my ass, and her hands on my ass, is amplified by my own gasps and moans.

Amy's angle is perfect, every drive in, she grinds as much of her meat as possible, for as long as possible, along the most sensitive part of me. My mind blanks out on the rhythm, the sequence of breathing, moaning, and then breathing, again.

I'd always considered the phrase fucked stupid to be ridiculous, but I can see where it comes from, now. The pleasure my best friend is hitting me with is like rolling thunder inside my brain. If there's another thought in my head, I can't hear it.

In this moment, nothing else matters except riding Amy's cock. My body sways with her movements as she spanks me. I flex the muscles in my legs and arms, swaying hard, driving myself back onto her cock as Amy slams her length into me.

“That's it, you little faggot!” Amy growls at me lustfully, “Fuck yourself back on my cock, you whoring little minx!” Amy strikes me again, her palm cracking hard on my ass as it turns pink from her continued spanking, and I groan, loudly.

I could make a comment, right now, but my brain is simply uncooperative with even the notion of thinking complicated thoughts. Instead, I simply do as she commands, pushing myself back, cooperating and riding her cock as hard as I can.

I can feel my own cock growing closer and closer to release. Need forces me to look over my shoulder, whimpering and arching as I am. The brainwashing overpowers even the haze of lust and yearning. “Do you want to know if I'm close?”

“Yes!” Amy answers immediately, and I nod, lifting one hand to motion down to my cock, and Amy nods, understanding, as she continues slamming in. “Fuck yes! Cum for me you little slut!” I arch and moan loud, trembling as Amy drives me.

Four more strokes of her cock slamming into me, and my own is pulsing relentlessly. Thick ropes of my release pump out, draping across her thick comforter from on top of her pillow down to my hips. She growls in arousal in my ear as I release.

“Don't worry, faggot!” she hisses the words in a lustful whisper, “This comforter is explicitly easy to wash. Your cream's not gonna stain it!” A moment later, Amy slams her hips into mine, and holds me tightly against her, her own rod pulsing.

Amy's seed pumps into me, more than mine, as she stuffs me hard. I can feel it overflowing me, the kind of eruption that'll leave me needing to bathe again. My shorts are short enough that once I'm dressed, people would see her cum on my legs.

Once her pulsations cease, I tighten my muscles on her, milking every drop I can from her as she withdraws. Amy breathes in deeply, then slides off her bed, pulling me after her. She pulls her comforter off, after her, and then she jerks her head.

“Follow, faggot,” she orders, and I do. First to the laundry room, then the bathroom. We shower fast, then dry and dress, before she calls out to her mom and brother to tell them she'll be walking me home, receiving only lackluster responses.

A moment later, we are out the front door and then out the front gate, onto the sidewalk.

Author's Note:
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