Gripping your sticky cock like it’s an ill-gotten sweet, you look up into my eyes with a four-year-olds defiance. I feel the heat rise in my face and a cry pushing against my lips.
“No,” I half sob, half spit. Tortured by desire, I grab for your spent cock. Laughing, you take a half step back so my hand only brushes against your leg. Tilting your head, you press your tongue against your upper teeth and wink. Then you tuck your dick neatly inside your pants and pull up your zipper.
I stand in stunned, hungry silence as you pull a tissue from your jacket pocket and begin gently dabbing at the milky white cum crystallizing in the blonde ringlets that carpet my mound.
“You bastard,” I hiss and reach down to knock your hand away.
My sudden contempt for you fills my throat and I gasp for air… still, it’s subordinate to my complete dependence on you and that fuels my anger. I want to knock you down, rip off your clothes and take what I have already paid for.
As if sensing my impossible intentions, you push your muscular body into mine and pin me against the cement wall. Then you grab my hair and pull my head back so my neck is exposed. Planting your mouth on the soft flesh above my collarbone you begin tracing circles with your tongue. I’m enveloped in the warm, private smell of your sweat and passion. I squirm, but am unable to move and -- as a final gesture of protest in this primal struggle -- I bite the flesh of your jaw.
“BItch,” you growl and force your body between my legs, parting them with your knee. Suddenly, I feel two fingers slide into my wet pussy and warm breath in my ear. Anger and desire collide and I struggle against your weight, even as my pelvis bears down on your fist.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
Against my thigh, I feel your cock coming back to life…
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