He was a big man who liked rough sex.

“The last couple of girlfriends I had didn’t match up sexually.”  His words filled my head as my mouth was stretched around the fattest cock I’d ever seen while a pair of smooth, cool balls pressed against the bridge of my nose.

David was tall, 6’5″, with broad shoulders and long, muscular limbs.  I lay on my back while he straddled over my face and guided his swollen cock down my throat.  This angle was better, my throat was more relaxed.

“Good, girl,” he crooned, “That’s it, you can take it.  You’re ok.”  I gagged and spit him out, tears streamed down my face.  His sheer size seemed to plug off my airway and I panicked despite my best efforts to remain calm.  “Shhhh, you’re ok,” he said again and gently forced himself back down my throat.  Not every woman would enjoy this, I thought.

On Sunday, the plan had been for him to bring me coffee as black as my heart and crawl into bed with me.  I met him at the door instead where we promptly fell on each other and I tasted the dark brew each time he kissed me.  He towered over me and in between nuzzles I apologized for not changing out of my pajamas.  It had seemed a little silly.  He didn’t mind.

He tore my tank top off — one of The Neighbor’s — and squeezed my breasts.  His feet were split wide like a giraffe at a river as he dipped to kiss my upturned face.

I chuckled when I found his waistband chest-level and breathed harder as I heard the metal clang as I undid his belt.  I moaned when I dipped my hand beneath his underwear and found an enormous mound of hot, rigid man.  The dude was fucking hung.

He was jittery and breathing as hard as me when I took his hand and led him into my room.  He said hi to the dog and locked him out saying not to worry about the sounds that might come from the room later.  We laughed.  On Friday over beers he’d had me in stitches.  The guy was a riot.

He stood up to his full height then and pulled off his shirt and kicked off the rest of his clothing.  He looked magnificent, mustache and all.

He grabbed me by the hair and turned my back to him and bent me over the footboard of the metal bed.  I had to stand on my toes to bend just right as he kissed my neck and began to snake his hands down to my pussy.  When he found the slit and the wetness that had gathered there he moaned something about me being a good little slut and laid his hand into my flank until it stung and buzzed with heat.  So this was how this was going to go down.

I appreciated that he had a plan — a distinct flavor — and let him play with my body, let him see what it would do for him.  When his fingers hooked into me I panted, “Harder, more, deeper, faster!” until I came and quivered with ejaculate running down my legs.

He laughed wickedly.  “Have you ever done that before?”

I nodded, already devoid of words.

He played me with his hands like a maestro for many minutes and then I played with him.

His cock was massive in girth, my long fingers only barely touched when wrapped around the shaft and I felt like every tooth I had was in the way.  I popped off of him and asked how many women in his life had had mouths big enough for him.  He smiled and said, “Only two.”  I knew I wasn’t one of them.

But what I lacked in mouth space I tried to make up in excitement and skill.  I licked and nibbled and suckled.  He moaned his pleasure and gently touched my face.  The fan moved slowly above us.

And then I was done with the fucking foreplay and needed that beer can cock inside of me.

Condom on, ankles on his shoulders, he steered himself into me and I was mesmerized by his porn ‘stache.  Soon it dripped with sweat as he pumped into me wildly with abandon.  I could only grab at his shoulders flexed with rock hard muscles for purchase, I had nothing but him to hold onto.  He liked that he said.

He bent and flexed me this way and that: feet on his chest, spooning me, me on top.  He ground my face into the mattress like an apprehended criminal.  He liked holding my hands behind my back.

“Fuck me!  Fuck me so hard, fuck my pussy!” I managed to murmur into the sheets.

He roared with passion and hooked his finger into my gaping mouth and gently pulled against my cheek while slamming his cock in me as deeply as he could.  I was a fish on his hook and could only whimper and raise my hips in response.

We stopped and I grabbed the Doxy.  His eyes lit up as we laid next to each other and this is how I came to find his soft scrotum upon my face and his horse cock down my throat.  I broke the Doxy as I pressed it against my mound, its speed waned, and then I gave it up and focused instead on the flesh on my face.

I was overwhelmed with a desire to take all of him and paralyzed with the inability.  I liked that he was both devil and angel and seemed to get off on my struggle.  We hadn’t talked about his particular brand of sexuality, but he had said he was a dirty bastard.  Dirty, indeed.  A dirty dominant, it seemed, but he was keeping it vanilla enough with just rough sex and I wanted to play along.

He coaxed and coached and I laughed and cried until I switched the Doxy back on and held it crookedly against my mound.  He swung off of me and laid down opposite me.

“I want to watch you stroke yourself,” I whispered.

His hand moved on his uncut shaft.  Beautifully pristine it moved like a wave with his hand.

I came hard and arched and bucked my hips as he watched intently.  Then we lay mostly still and traced shapes on each other’s thighs beneath the puffing of the fan.  I didn’t really know what to say.  The hunt was over.  We’d fucked each other’s brains out.  What next?

He had to go, he said, and I nodded lazily.  He pulled his pants on and did the buckle as I put on my pajama shorts.  He bent down and kissed my hip, then my belly, then my breast and landed on my neck.  My hands played on his broad back until he roughly flipped me over, skillfully put a knee on my shoulders to grind me back down into the mattress and spanked me while I writhed.

I could hear his breathing catch with each strike and I was brought back to the times in my past when a man lit into me like this.  I hoped with each blow it’d leave a mark for another man to see.

He released me and I drew up to my knees and felt his hardon.  “I wish I could fuck you again, but I really do have to go,” he murmured against my lips.

“I know,” I said kissing him back.  “I wish you could, too.”

I climbed off the bed and kissed him at the door.  He left then with a wave and I watched his back disappear around the corner.  He’d tasted like coffee again.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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29 thoughts on “He was a big man who liked rough sex.
  1. Well! That was something else!
    I’m so much happier to read this than I was to read about the other poor selfish prick!
    From pictures you showed, I guess that his hand did indeed leave marks, didn’t it?
    I’m happy for you. I can’t wait to live something like this again myself, getting a bit impatient here ;-)
    It’s so nice to read you had such a good experience though!
    XO
    Dawn D recently posted…Why?My Profile

  2. You’re my hero. I’m going through a thing right now. Kinda fucking down on myself but reading you makes me smile. So naughty

  3. I might sound shallow and so “Internet Boyfriend”, but damn — this Neighbor-free blog is a helluva lot more interesting now.

      1. No, not bad at all!! In fact, its been fantastic! As a former blogger myself who started with a fun, sexy, blog documenting my adulterous ways, I fell into the same ennui, where I fooled around, fell in love, and the blog just lost its steam. A Dissolute Life has come full circle, and I’m enjoying the heck out of it!

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