She Won't Fuck Me? Okay, He Will(5)

Marcus pulled away and stood up, towering over me, his cock jutting hard and slick from my spit. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet so fast my head spun. His mouth crashed into mine again, brutal and hungry, tongue shoving deep, teeth clashing. I could still taste myself on him, salty and sharp, mixed with his own flavor. My hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.

He broke the kiss only to growl against my lips, "Bed. Now."

There was an old pull-out couch against the far wall, the sheets rumpled from some past visit. Marcus shoved me toward it. I stumbled, pants still tangled at my ankles, and he kicked them off me completely. I was naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, I hit the mattress on my back. The fabric was rough against my spine, smelling faintly of dust and old cologne. Marcus loomed above me, stripping his sweatpants in one rough yank. His cock slapped heavy against his abs, veins throbbing, head glossy with leftover spit and pre-cum.

He crawled over me, knees forcing my thighs apart. The weight of him pinned me down, chest hair scraping my nipples, stubble burning my throat as he sucked a bruising mark just below my jaw. His hand snaked between us, fingers slicking through the mess on my cock before sliding lower. One thick finger circled my hole, teasing and pressing. I gasped at the cool shock of spit he added, then moaned loud when he pushed inside.

"Fuck, you're tight," he muttered, voice gravel-rough against my ear. "Gonna open you up for my cock."

He worked that finger deep, crooking it, finding that spot that made sparks explode behind my eyes. My hips jerked up, cock smearing wet trails across his stomach. A second finger joined the first, scissoring and stretching. The burn was sharp and perfect, blending with the ache in my balls. I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers fucking in and out, obscene and loud in the quiet basement. My own ragged breathing filled my ears, mingled with his low grunts.

"More," I begged, voice cracked. "Need more."

Marcus added a third finger, twisting hard, and I cried out, back arching off the bed. The stretch stung, but the pleasure overrode everything. His free hand pinned my hip, holding me still as he finger-fucked me relentlessly. Sweat dripped from his brow onto my chest, salty when I licked my lips.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He reached for a small bottle of lube someone had stashed in a drawer years ago, slicked his cock in quick, rough strokes. The sight of his fist pumping that thick length made my mouth water again.

He lined up, head nudging my hole. "Look at me," he ordered.

I forced my eyes open. His face was flushed, jaw clenched, eyes black with lust. He pushed forward slow at first, just the fat head breaching me. The burn flared hot and intense, stealing my breath. I gripped his biceps, nails biting deep.

"Breathe," he said, voice strained. Then he thrust.

One hard snap of his hips and he buried half his length inside me. I shouted, the sound raw and broken. Full. I was so fucking full. The stretch bordered on too much, but my cock throbbed harder, leaking steadily onto my stomach. He paused, letting me adjust, sweat-slick chest heaving against mine.

Then he started moving.

Slow, deep thrusts at first, dragging over that spot inside until my vision blurred. Every stroke sent fire racing up my spine. The slap of skin on skin grew louder as he picked up speed, hips snapping harder and faster. His balls smacked against my ass with every brutal drive. I could smell us everywhere, sex and sweat and lube.

"Ah fuck," I moaned, my head thrashing on the pillow. "Harder."

Marcus growled and gave me what I wanted. He hooked my knees over his elbows, folding me nearly in half, opening me wider. The new angle let him pound deeper, his cock slamming into my prostate on every thrust. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious in my gut. My cock bounced between us, untouched, dripping a steady stream.

"You take it so good," he rasped, voice wrecked. "Tight little hole sucking me in. Been waiting years to fuck you raw."

I could only moan in response, loud and desperate. "Yes, yes, fuck me."

The couch creaked under us, springs protesting with every savage thrust. His hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing against my pulse. The slight pressure made everything sharper. I felt every inch of him dragging inside me. I felt the ridge of his head catching on my rim when he pulled back and the heavy slap when he buried himself again.

Sweat slicked our skin, making us slide together. His chest hair rasped my nipples raw. I tasted salt when I licked his shoulder, bit down hard enough to leave teeth marks. He hissed and fucked me harder, hips pistoning like he wanted to split me open.

"Ahh, shit," he groaned. "Gonna wreck this hole. Make it mine."

"Do it," I panted. "Fuck me harder."

He shifted again, pulling my legs over his shoulders completely. The stretch in my hamstrings burned, but the deeper angle was devastating. His cock slammed into me so hard my whole body jolted up the mattress. I gripped the edge of the couch above my head, knuckles white, moaning nonstop now, broken cries spilling out with every breath.

"Marcus, fuck, right there, don't stop."

He didn't. He pounded into me relentlessly, balls drawing up tight, breath coming in harsh pants against my neck. The wet sounds of lube and skin filled the room, mixed with our moans and the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of his hips against my ass.

I felt the pressure building, coiling low and hot, even without a hand on my cock. Every thrust nudged my prostate mercilessly, sending shocks of pleasure radiating out. My balls ached, heavy and full, ready to explode.

Marcus leaned down, mouth finding mine in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Our tongues tangled, teeth clacking. He tasted like sweat and pure sex. I sucked on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as he kept fucking me deep and hard.

"Close," I gasped against his lips. "So fucking close."

He growled, hips stuttering for the first time. "Come on my cock. Milk me dry."

One more brutal thrust and I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a freight train, my cock pulsed hard between us. Thick ropes of cum shot up my chest, splattering my chin, his stomach. The clench of my hole around him dragged a guttural moan from his throat.

"Fuck, Theo," he roared, slamming deep one last time.

Heat flooded me as he came, pulse after pulse of hot cum filling me up. His hips jerked erratically, grinding deep, riding it out. I felt every spurt, I felt the warmth spreading inside, marking me.

We stayed locked together, trembling, sweat cooling on our skin. His weight pressed me into the mattress, grounding me. The basement smelled overwhelmingly of sex now.

Marcus finally eased out slow, both of us hissing at the sensitivity. Cum leaked from my hole, warm and slick down my crack. He collapsed beside me, pulling me into his arms with a heaving chest.

I could still feel him everywhere, inside and out. My hole throbbed, tender and used, but the ache felt perfect.

He pressed a lazy kiss to my temple, stubble scraping gently.

"Next time," he murmured, voice hoarse, "I'm fucking you upstairs. In your bed."

I shivered at the thought, already half-hard again…