He doesn’t say anything. No “good job,” no “good girl,” no “thanks, princess.”
It stings.
“I did make you come.” I cough up at the silent shadow. “Didn’t your mom teach you to say thank you?”
I hear the slap on my face before I feel it. It’s not hard, but it stings.
I shove him. “Asshole. Say something.”
He takes a step back, catches his balance, then he’s on me, dragging the back of my shirt. The soft skin of my breasts scrapes the concrete. I lose one of my shoes as he drags me upright and tosses me over an overturned metal trash can.
I’m trying to adjust my top, but he’s already grabbing my skirt, pulling it down to pool in the puddles.
“Wait, wait, I—”
My panties are next. I whimper as they pull against my swollen pussy.
I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want to get fucked in an alley by a strange, violent man.
That’s supposed to be my worst nightmare, right?
So why is it the thing I’m craving?
My stomach is tight, like I’m already close to coming.
Just from the thought of that cock in me, claiming me, abusing me, using me.
“I need—I need—” I pant as his hands, bruising my thighs, force my legs apart.
I really shouldn’t.
I want it.
He can’t go again, right? So soon?
I whimper as he grinds his cock against me.
Is he half hard, or is he naturally that big?
No, he’s half hard. Or maybe a bit of both.
But he’s definitely not done with me.
The gloved fingers—two of them—push into my opening while I cry out.
The metal of the trash can is cold against my tits. I barely feel it, especially since the thumb of his hand pokes against my ass.
Shit. I try to wiggle away.
The flat of his hand slaps my ass hard enough my nose waters.
Then he’s spreading me again.
I hear his boots crunch on the gravel.
No easing in like I did with the dildo. That cock slides into me—thick and punishing.
Just the way I like it.
