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Red-Handed

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You’re really doing this again?  you thought to yourself as you crouched against the wall, out of sight from the others, rubbing yourself through the fabric of your jeans.

It was too thick to get any real pleasure, but just enough to drive your desire higher. You wound your fingers in a deep circular motion, biting the inside of your cheek.

The feeling of warm irritation prickled across your skin, and you felt the drowsiness in your head. The intense need to fuck or be fucked.

You quickly unzipped your jeans and your hand slithered down beneath your underwear, the middle finger reaching out and curling upwards. You imagined it was his tongue.

You breathed in sharply as you grazed your clitoris. You were aware of your pulse throbbing between your legs.

Your fingers stretched and return over and over, exploring old paths through the slick wetness as though they were new and undiscovered.

Your mind began to wander – scenario you’d often dreamed of, though each time a little different. Your hips grinding against each other’s, his large hands around your body, pulling you onto him, his raging cock buried inside you over and over and over. The look in his hazel eyes as he dominates you.

This wasn’t the first time. That had been in your own room at night after your first brief encounter with him up close. You had felt a familiar wetness soak your underwear in his presence, and when his eyes met with yours, you felt yourself clench up below. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had invaded your thoughts.

So when you found yourself alone at night, unable to sleep, with this low-buzzing alertness he’d given you, your hand crept down beneath your sheets. You masturbated to the thought of him fucking you, and stifled your moans with your fist in your mouth. It was the most intense orgasm you’d experienced in a long, long time.

You thought that was the first and last time. That whatever strange fantasy this desire was born from had been quenched, quelled, explored.

But it wasn’t.

He had the same profound effect on you every time you saw him. Worse, even.

The second time, you had watched him stroll around the compound, idly swinging Lucille by his side. The broadness of his shoulders, the casual confidence in every stride. The carnal instinct was so intense that you had darted into a bathroom stall and imagined him fucking you against the wall as you vigorously pleasured yourself to an orgasm.

But the release was too bittersweet. It satisfied you enough at the time, but drove you to need more. It wasn’t enough. And it wouldn’t ever be enough until he had repeatedly thrust his cock in and out of you, and made you scream his name.

Today, his body had been thrusting through your thoughts for hours on end. Against the wall, on the floor, a table, his bed, in front of everyone, in seclusion. Every possible scene had played in your mind. You were on the edge of madness. Your head was too drowsy to function. You had to do it. Nothing else mattered.

You had excused yourself for a break on account of feeling a little dizzy, made your way to the seclusion of the back of the compound where no one ever went, and began to masturbate.

Your fingers had found a rhythm against your clitoris and your hips bucked at the thought of taking him inside you.

It felt so wrong out in the open, but it only made you wetter. You had been waiting all day. The only thing better than this would be for him to fuck you right then and there. You were rubbing so vigorously that it should be too much, but this was who you were now. This was what it took to satisfy you. This was what that man had made you.

Your wrist begab to ache and threatened cramping, but you ignored it. You focused on the thought of him inside you, tasting you, owning you.

You felt the rising of your climax throughout your body, climbing higher and higher. You quickened your pace with his imaginary thrusts. More. More. More.

There.

As your orgasm radiated through your body, your insides spasming, stars in front of your eyes, a soft, whimpering cry of satisfaction escaped from your lips.

Negan!

You sat there for a few seconds, exhausted, your cum pooling in your pussy.

“Well hot diggity-damn!

Your eyes snapped open. You stopped breathing.

But that’s-!

You spun your head around to see Negan leaning against the railing of the ramp you had been up against that lead down from the rusted back door. Lucille was resting beside him.

You thought no one ever used it…

But how long had he been standing there?

He sauntered down the ramp and made his way towards you, a mischievous, seductive grin on his face. You gingerly stood up, keeping your fingers slathered in your own cum significantly further from you.

He stopped a few feet away from you and looked you deep in the eye. You already felt yourself getting wet again. You swallowed hard.

“Just what do we have here?