I love the way he’s so direct about sex, so matter-of-fact and sex-positive. His confidence is intoxicating, a far cry from my ex who could barely say the words ‘sex’ or ‘fuck’ without blushing. In any case, Timmy’s openness makes me feel alive, as if I’m gradually shedding my inhibitions. I wonder if old me—before I started reading and writing dark romance—would have been able to handle someone like him. Now, though, I find myself grinning.
“Well, that sounds good,” I reply, biting my lip. “But we need to go to the store first. We’ve run out of condoms.” The way we’ve been fucking, we’re single-handedly boosting the condom economy.
Timmy groans, rolling his eyes with playful exasperation. “Do we really need to get more? Can’t we do it without?”
A flicker of unease creeps in, but I push it aside. “No, we need to get some more,” I insist, keeping my voice light but firm.
He lets out a theatrical sigh. “Fine then, let’s go.” He helps me down from the utility box, and I laugh as I stumble slightly as I make my landing. Then he leads me to a convenience store where I buy an overpriced pack of condoms. Timmy’s fun and spontaneous, but he wouldn’t push me to do something I’m not comfortable with.
The momentwe step back into my apartment, Timmy undresses with the urgency of someone starving for touch. His clothes hit the floor in a heap, and he’s already pulling me close, his hands everywhere all at once.
“We should do it without a condom,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough and persuasive.
The unease returns, stronger this time. “I don’t feel comfortable doing that yet,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.
“Come on,” he pleads, sliding his massive hands over my hips. “We need to. I told you I got tested recently. We’ll be fine.”
I hesitate, caught between wanting to please him and wanting to honor my own comfort. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’d rather not yet.”
“Oh, come on,” he pleads. “It’ll feel so much better and I’ll feel so much closer to you. It’ll be great for both of us.”
“No, I don’t feel comfortable doing that yet,” I say. I always feel awkward having this conversation, but it’s important and I stick to my guns.
His face tightens with frustration. “Come on, it’ll be fine,” he says, and before I can react, he shoves his cock into me.
The shock of it knocks the air from my lungs, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond.
But he does feel really good inside me.
Letting him slam his massive cock into me, every thrust feels like a badge of honor, a war between pleasure and discomfort, pain and desire. My body aches under the force of him, but there’s something exhilarating about how much he wants me, about the way he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every need he has.
“Jesus, Margaux,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips like a lifeline, as if he’s putting his full two hundred pounds into every thrust as he slams into me with full force. “You’re letting me fuck you so fucking hard.”
The praise sends a wave of warmth through me, my body responding even as my mind wrestles with the unease. His words sink deep into the parts of me that crave validation, and I feel myself clench around him.
After a while, it starts to feel uncomfortable, like my cervix is about to be dislodged, but it’s that line between pleasure and pain, and I feel like I’m making him incredibly happy. “You’re so fucking amazing, Margaux, taking my massive cock like this.”
I feel a swell of pride, my praise kink continuing to kick in.
He groans, “good fucking girl,” and I almost come around his cock.
His balls slam against me, and I feel little shivers radiating throughout my body. It’s not an orgasm, but it feels so fucking good, and I lose myself in the moment. My limbs feel numb as he holds my hips so tightly I know it’s going to leave bruises.
No one has ever fucked me so passionately, so violently, before.
“You’re my good little fucking slut, you know that?” he growls, and his words hit me like a drug. I never knew I liked being talked to like this, but here I am, melting beneath his filthy praise.
My pussy clenches harder around his cock. “Yes, Timmy,” I whisper. “I’m your dirty fucking slut.”
He thrusts harder, his breath ragged. “And you’re all mine, my little whore.”
“Yes,” I pant. “I’m your little whore.”
The words unlock something within me—something wild and free, something I didn’t know was buried deep inside. With each thrust, I feel myself letting go, surrendering to the moment as if I’m just a vessel here to serve his pleasure.
“Jesus, Margaux. You’re so incredible,” he says afterwards, as we lay entangled in each other’s arms, still panting from the exertion. “Nobody’s ever let me fuck them that hard,” he murmurs, a note of awe in his voice. “You took that so well. My cock is huge, and I was really slamming into you.”
“Yes, baby,” I smile up at him, basking in the glow of his words. “That felt so good. You’re amazing.”