This time I decide to add more variety. When the stalker walks in, I am already completely naked, sitting on the kitchen counter, staring at him with raw intensity.
The only thing I am wearing is a chain with my tab.
He approaches at an unhurried pace, like a predator closing in on its prey. He tilts his head slightly, then places his hands on either side of my thighs, not touching me yet.
The kitchenette is wrapped in dim light. I’ve turned off the overhead strip, leaving the space warm and intimate.
"You know," I say, "I used to fuck him like this all the time. Bay. After we finished decorating the tiny house, we went at it like rabbits. We had to christen every surface. The counter, the cabinets, the floor." I take a breath. "I want you to fuck me like that. First here, then on the table, then on the ground."
For a moment, I look straight at his face, at the place where I know his eyes are watching me through the thin mesh. Silence settles between us.
My heart starts racing, and I hear his heartbeat speeding up too.
"Don’t say anything more," I whisper, barely audible, like I’m trying to cast a spell. "Except that you are him. I need to hear it again." The words tear out of me, pain slicing straight through my chest. "Say you’re Bay. You shouldn’t be. It would be too much. Unhealthy. But I guess I’m a masochist, and I just need to hear it."
"I am," the stalker whispers, and then he grabs my ass and pulls me to the edge of the counter.
His masked face slides to my ear, then lower, to my neck glands. The fabric over his mouth presses against them, and a soft moan slips out of me. His fingers lift and begin a slow, rhythmic trace along my spine, over every vertebra, outlining my shoulder blades before drifting lower.
With one sharp motion, the stalker lifts me into the air as if I weigh nothing at all, then lays me down on the table, raises my legs, and rests them against his chest.
A moment later, I’m skewered onto his cock like a chicken on a spit!
With some amazement, I notice the stalker showed up already hard, and, almost comically, with a condom on. Wow. It’s nearly unbelievable, but it only confirms my suspicion that he’s in rut. So… I’ve unintentionally made this heat harder for him too. Because when he goes home, he doesn’t stop being hard. That’s rut in an essence, alphas can stay erect for 24 hours…
I feel a little guilty for putting him in this situation, but on the other hand, there’s something extra about it, a sharedstruggle, a bond in difficulty. That’s why this moment feels oddly more precious to me…
I lift my arms and brace them behind me on the table’s edge, just past my head. My body slides slightly across its surface, my ass making wet, slapping noises
—thwap, thwap, thwap—
as it meets his thrusts.
His rigid rod plunges into my pink, open hole, sliding into my swollen ring, and I hear my slick making squelching sounds…
I look down and see my little cock bobbing over my stomach, sputtering tiny white droplets high into the air, like, a full three feet up.
My eyes lock onto the surface of my belly, which bulges slightly where he drives into me… "Breed me, Bay…" I push out in a raspy voice, like some in a cheap porn.
His gloved hand slides along my ribs, brushing lightly against my nipples, hard and almost painfully tight, like little points of pleasure on my skin, aching to be rolled, tugged…
But he’s not done. Three orgasms and dozens of gasps later, he grips my waist and, without pulling me off his cock, lifts and lowers me to the floor, exactly how I wanted.
I land on the small rug near the coffee table, and the stalker braces himself on his elbows above me. We’re back in the same position as before, our faces close.
I hear his breath: fast, ragged, and soft words I can’t quite make out.
"Say it again," I demand, "that you love me, that you’re him… I need it."
"I love you… And it’s me."
And just as he says it, I feel him come, and his knot swells inside me!
He lets out a muffled sound, but I grip his sweater brutally, holding him against me with all my strength, preventing him from pulling back.
"Fuck me with your knot," I demand, "don’t stop, don’t stop!"
The feeling of that massive knot moving inside me, pressing against my prostate with every thrust, is liberating. The tip of his cock massages the entrance to my womb, and the sensation is pure ecstasy. I scream, I don’t even recognize my own wild cries, lost in pleasure, thrashing my body, deep in abandon, my hips jerking up and sideways, driving myself deeper onto his knot.
