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His big hand was warm, tender, even as he held my throat, slapped my cheek, dug into my flesh while he rode me deep on that shockingly white hotel carpet.
Vought had spared no expense- keeping their golden boy in the lap of luxury. They surrounded him with the answer to his every possible desire: drugs, booze, me. Sure, it had started out as a job, but the first time I felt those giant hands, those long, thick fingers on my body I knew there was no going back.
Soldier Boy was it for me. The ultimate fuck, the dangerous love of my life.
Of course for him I was just another easy lay, a paid partner in the game. But sometimes, when his thick, muscular thighs were slamming into me so hard that I could feel my flesh bruise, I liked to imagine that he would remember my name the next day. If he even knew it at all. I was just holes and tits for him and I wish that I cared. I was just happy to be there.
So happy to have his juicy cock deep in my pussy. Happy to feel the swirl of his hips, see the drug-abled fire in his forest-colored eyes.
"Fucking shit this pussy is tight."
The dark groan floods my brain and I swear I can feel my thoughts leaking right out of my cunt, spilling out with each pull back, not returning with his quick thrusts.
The plush carpet saves my back, burning into me only when his heft pushes me back and forth upon it. I dig my nails into the fibers, try to catch something to hold, to ground me, but it's no use. Ben's powerful thrusts save me no room to breathe or collect myself.
“So glad they sent me a whore like you instead one of those fucking prudes from corporate.”
There’s a response somewhere in the back of my head but all I can do is moan out his name. My pussy is throbbing, clenching around him with each push of his trim hips. I’m so close to cumming that it’s almost painful but I just need a little tip over the edge.
Of course Ben is nowhere ready to cum; he can go on for hours and start back up anytime he wants.
He grabs at my shoulders suddenly and pulls me up. He shifts, sitting back on his heels and setting me in his lap. His arm knocks into the glass coffee table beside us and the coke-dusting mirror crashes to the floor.
I look back at it, worried, but he smirks.
“Someone else’s clean that up,” he laughs, wrapping his strong arms around me. He cradles the back of my head in his left hand, grabs my tit in the right. He’s still moving, still grinding up into me and the pleasure spreads upwards into my brain.
“Fuck. Fuck. Please…”
He ignores my cries and tweaks my nipple hard before dropping his hand down to smack my clit. Heat waves up from the base of me and I hold my breath as it permeates every cell.
“Yes!”
The smack turns to fevered rubbing and my toes curl against his ass. Everything tenses and Ben smirks smugly.
“Nice and tight, just how I like it.”
There’s almost no life left in me and I go limp in his arms. He moves me like a ragdoll over to the sofa, lifting me as if I weigh no more than a single sheet of paper.
Up on his knees he drives his cock in deeper, moaning behind a bitten bottom lip as my pussy milks his flesh.
When he pulls out, I’m nearly gone, just a spent bit of flesh for him to unload all over; and he does. His cum paints my stomach in opaque threads and each drop sears into me like flame.
He finishes with a few lazy strokes and then gets up, grabbing a beer from the table. He takes a swig, sighs, and looks me over; laughing under his breath at the mess he’s made.
“Don’t worry,” he teases, “someone’ll clean you up too.”