Our bodies and hands are a whirlwind as we rip off clothes. César yanks my skirt down and cusses. I smirk, knowing he sees I’ve decided against panties today. “You’re fucking sinful, Lety.”
“I know.” I didn’t know that this would happen, but as I was getting ready this morning, part of me hoped for something to happen. I was going to be prepared, and clearly, it worked out.
I finally undo his pants, and I waste no time reaching in, feeling his silk boxers before my hand wraps around a large cock.
“Fuck, César.” I’ve had my fair share of dicks, and I’ve enjoyed them at any size, but something tells me that not only does he have a large cock, but he knows how to use it.
“Lay down.”
His back seat is wide and comfortable. I lay back on the seat, spreading my legs wide. One look at the intensity swarming in his eyes tells me my core glistens with arousal. “Are you going to fuck me raw, sir?”
Again, he curses. It takes a moment for him to compose himself and I can’t help the accomplished smirk that crosses my lips. “Can I?” Despite the heated moment, he still takes time to check in with me.
“Yes. I’m on birth control.”
Thank God for birth control and regular STD screenings.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Then yes, Lety. I’m fucking this pussy raw. It’s mine.”
“Then fucking do it.”
His nostrils flare—and then he’s on me again, crashing his mouth against mine in a kiss that’s all hunger and heat.
His rough and greedy hands find my breasts, squeezing and rolling my nipples between his fingers until I gasp into his mouth. I writhe beneath him, hips shifting in search of relief, but he’s got me pinned—his thighs bracketing mine, his grip holding me exactly where he wants me. Helpless, aching, and completely at his mercy.
Then I feel his heavy cock bob between us. I spare a glance down, seeing his erection. Just as I suspected, he’s long and thick. His cock is slightly curved with a mushroom tip. I desperately want to take down my throat. Soon. First, I need him inside of me. Ineedto feel the burn of the stretch and the feeling of being stuffed.
“Fuck. Me,” I growl again. I run my nails down his back, earning a hiss from him.
“So fucking dirty. Are you my little slut, Lety?”
“Fuck…” I moan, nodding. I’ll be whatever the fuck he wants me to be, as long as I feel his dick inside me.
“This what you want, mi reina?” He fists his cock and strokes himself. I whine underneath him, growing more frustrated by the moment.
“Either fuck me or I’ll find someone who will.” My words have the desired effect. His eyes narrow, darkening. He bares his teeth at me, and I know I’m in trouble.
“You can show this pretty pussy to the world, Lety. You can fuck it and come on camera. But I’m the only cock allowed inside it.” His words make me tremble, but I don’t get a chance to respond. He’s notched at my entrance, and in one powerful thrust, he’s sheathed balls-deep inside of me.
I scream.
He moans.
It’s fucking bliss.
My walls tighten around him, screaming at how full he makes me feel. I wrap my legs around him, heels digging into the top of his ass.
“So fucking perfect,” he moans into my ear. I arch my back, needing to feel more of him. It’s both too much and not enough. My mind can barely comprehend the pleasure, even as it begs for more.
The truck rocks gently at first, the suspension squeaking beneath us with each movement, but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. The scent inside is thick—leather seats warmed by the sun, a faint trace of his cologne, and now, the unmistakable musk of sex and sweat clinging to the air.
He thrusts into me without warning. Hard. Fast. Deep. His cock curves just right, dragging against my walls and hitting a spot so sensitive it sends sparks down my spine.
I cry out, the raw sound tearing from my throat without permission. It’s not just pleasure—it’s shock and need from the overwhelming stretch of him filling me completely.
The force of his rhythm builds, powerful and relentless. Each thrust slams into me with enough strength to make the whole truck lurch, the shocks creaking in protest. The windows may be tinted, but it hardly matters anymore. Anyone walking by could tell what’s happening by the way the vehicle bounces, by the fogging glass and the rhythmic thud of bodies colliding.
His breath is sharp against my neck; the low growls escaping his throat vibrate against my skin. My hands scramble for purchase, digging into the seat, into his shoulders, trying to anchor myself against the onslaught of pleasure. But there’s no control. No slowing down. Just the raw, desperate pace of him claiming me completely.
