The sound of a belt being undone and a zipper being pulled down startled me, then I felt something long and hard brush against the crack of my ass as it moved down to my throbbing pussy.
I’m so wet, and his cock slid inside me with ease. He groaned, filling me balls-deep, then began to thrust.
He fucked me hard, my arms still banded together at my back by his huge hands as he pounded inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs with every hard thrust of his hips.
Christ, as I sit cross-legged in the centre of my bed with my notebook open and pen in hand, the ache between my legs grows more and more intense as my pen glides across the page, the words pouring out of me as easily as breathing.
You might thing because I’m a virgin that I have completely innocent thoughts, and that I couldn’t possibly think about such dirty things.
Yeah, right.
When I was fifteen, I caught the chemistry teacher at my high school spread out over her desk with the gym coach in between her thighs. It was after school hours and I stayed behind to study, and they weren’t quiet or discreet about what they were doing. I knew it was wrong, but I hid and watched anyway. I watched the passion, the excitement of it all, the unbridled love filled with the desire they clearly had for each other. I guess you could call it my sexual awakening, the first flutter in my lower belly that had heat spreading between my legs. That image of the two of them stuck with me and in a strange way, I wanted that.
The stories I write are basically porn for readers, blame all thoseWattpadfan-fictions and the porn I’ve been watching since I was like sixteen, anything to feel the rush and excitement that I did that day in the chemistry room.
I’m twenty years old and sexually frustrated.Sue me. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to have sex before now, because I have, it’s just that no one has caught my eye yet,or rather someone has, I’m just too chicken shit to act on it.
My stories are my only outlet for that frustration, well, except for those times when the lights are off, and the vibrator that Quinn bought me for Christmas is on. Everything I write is completely imaginary, I have no experience to draw from, I learn by what I read and watch. I’m not ashamed of what I write, but I don’t want anyone else to read it either. These stories are for my eyes only.
I haven’t written one word since my dad died. When it happened I was too grief-stricken, and I had zero motivation to write. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. But since seeing Logan yesterday, the words began to flow again.
When I’m writing, I imagine that Logan is the man in my stories and I’m the girl. I imagine all the things I want him to do to me, all the ways I want him to destroy me, and deep down I know Logan would do just that.
I woke up this morning to the memory of a vivid dream I had last night, one involving Logan and I, one in which I found myself covered in a sheen of sweat with a wet spot on my underwear, my clit swollen and throbbing, and I thought the only way to quell that ache was to write it down, but it’s not doing it for me this morning.
I need more.
Logan is due over any moment, but I can’t see him when I’m like this. I’m awkward enough around him as it is, and with my pussy throbbing so hard, I don’t think I could take being around him and not have him touch me in every way that I’ve imagined for months.
I slam my notebook closed and flop back onto the bed, letting my fingers trail down my body and dip underneath the waistband of my jeans and under panties.
As expected, I’m soaked.
I let my hand wander further until my fingers finds my clit, and I begin to rub in circles, feeling the familiar feeling of an impending orgasm slowly start to build. Usually, I like to go slow, letting my pleasure build for hours before finally allowing myself to let go, but today, I need it fast.
I rub faster, using my other hand to tease my hardened nipples through my bra and t-shirt as I chase my release, imagining Logan above me, working himself in and out of me. I imagine what he would sound like as he moves on top of me, what noises he’d make when he comes deep inside me.
Pleasure zaps through my body like lightening and before I know it, I’m muffling my screams in my pillow as I fall off the edge, my legs shaking, chest heaving and my pussy clenching around nothing as I come hard.
I don’t even have chance to come down before the doorbell chimes downstairs, signalling Logan’s arrival and I fly out of bed and out of my bedroom.
“I’ll get it!” I shout as I bound down the stairs. I slow as I near the door, fixing my hair and stroking a hand over my cami top and check mini-skirt, composing myself before opening the door.
He stands there in dark jeans and a faded greyMetallicat-shirt that hangs loosely over his body. He sweeps a hand through his hair and smiles. “Hey, babygirl.” I step aside to allow him inside and he looks me over and the corner of his mouth ticks. “You good?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. “You look a little… flushed.”
Shit.
“Y-yeah. I’m good. Absolutely fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” My words fall from my lips like I have word vomit and he gives me a look like he knows exactly what I was doing just now, which only makes the blush on my face even worse. I look away quickly, avoiding his eyes.
“Come on, Ames. You know I’m only teasing.” He pulls me in for a hug. My arms go around him and I stand there, revelling in the feel of his body against mine.
God, he feels so good.
I breathe him in, taking a long deep inhale of the scent of his cologne, dark and musky with a hint of something citrusy andohso sexy.
“Amy?”hisvoice pulls me back to the present, and it’s then that I realise that I’m still hugging him, my face buried in his chest, smelling him like some weirdo and I jump back. “Sorry,” I mumble, turning away as embarrassment floods to my cheeks.
“Were you smelling me?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.
