I gripped his throat as I bore down on him, clawed at his chest and pinched and twisted his nipples. My hair hung about my shoulders wild and messy, and my breasts bounced as I rode him until I wore myself out, slumped down by his side and sunk into the mattress and an alcohol-laced sleep.
In the early dawn light his hips pulsed slowly against my rump and I sighed. I was tired — but he persisted and so I engaged.
I played with his fat morning wood not absentmindedly until he asked that I climb back on top of him. I obliged. Tore open the condom, rolled it on. “Guide you in,” I told him as he lay below me with his arms above his head.
What had been wet had dried and the push in was yummy. I rocked and he guided my hand back to his throat. I guided his hands to my breasts.
I worked on him, gently crushing his throat with my hand and rocking my hips, punishing his little nipples. I filled his greedy mouth with my breasts and he suckled as he curved up inside of me again and again.
I rode him until I exhausted myself and slumped down by his side, deja vu. He began to pulse against me again. I lifted my legs over his hip and he pushed back inside of me and curled around to my breast and latched on.
Later, as he jerked himself off beside me, he whispered that he wanted me to make him my bitch, code to grab his throat again. I looked into his eyes and felt a million miles away. I pinched his nipples and scratched his abs, whispered to him that his jizz was mine.
He came in a tumble and soiled my hand and filled his belly button.
I dozed for a little while, spooning him. He pulled me closer into his back and seemed to fall asleep. My alarm went off, the sun had crested and the room was bright, the sky a light grey. I quickly and quietly dressed as my phone chimed with my ride’s arrival.
He stirred and rolled over, sat up for a peck and a hug and I left, exhausted. I’m not sure I like fulfilling fantasies.