flimsy pretense

The second the words leave her mouth you both stop pretending the “friends with benefits” label means anything restrained.

You shove her panties aside, push her onto her back among the scattered cards, and drive back into her in one deep thrust. She’s still loose and cum-slick from the night before, so you sink in to the hilt effortlessly. Sandra’s head tips back with a broken, grateful moan, legs already wrapping around you again.

You fuck her like you’re trying to breed an entire soccer team into her.

Hard, deep, relentless strokes that force the head of your cock against her cervix on every thrust. The wet, filthy sound of it fills the bedroom—your hips slamming into hers, her soaked pussy squelching around you, cards getting crushed under her shoulders and back. Sandra meets every thrust with equal desperation, heels digging into your ass, hips rolling up to take you even deeper. She’s moaning openly now, no more quiet little sounds.

“Just friends,”
she gasps between thrusts, the words completely ruined by how hard she’s clinging to you.
“F-friends with benefits—fuck, right there—keep filling me, it’s fine, we’re just helping each other—”

You’re both far past helping. You’re rutting like animals that have decided this is their new purpose. Every time you bottom out and grind against her cervix she clenches hard and whimpers, clearly trying to pull the cum straight out of you. Her heavy tits bounce with the force of it. One of her hands keeps sliding down between her legs so she can feel where you’re stretching her open, fingers brushing your shaft every time you pull back.

You don’t last long like this—not with the way she’s locked around you and begging with her body for another load. When you finally bury yourself to the root and start pumping her full again she comes with you, pussy spasming and milking every thick pulse while she moans into your neck.

“That’s it… good… just friends… keep it all in…”

Even while she’s trembling through her orgasm and your cum is flooding her womb for what feels like the twentieth time in less than a day, she’s still forcing the label out between gasps.

You stay buried inside her, already starting to harden again from pure instinct. Sandra’s legs stay locked. She’s not letting you pull out. The “friends with benefits” excuse is the only thing stopping either of you from saying what this really is, and right now neither of you is willing to risk it.