I had this fantasy in which we crossed paths once more, and naturally, we devoured each other without hesitation, first things first I guess.
It felt imperative that we fucked to exhaustion, raw and unrestrained, until every last drop of pent-up hunger was spent. My pride refused to let me simply sit across from you and talk like civilized people, clearing the air with words. No. I craved your body far more than any explanation. Your skin, your heat, the intoxicating pleasure only you could give away to me.
We were at a crowded party, the air thick with music and chatter. We slipped away to a dimly lit, semi-secluded corner, exposed enough that the thrill of being caught lingered like electricity. There, just as we had always fantasized, I took you. You pushed me against the wall, hiked up my dress, and buried deep inside me in one possessive thrust. But then again, I was never yours to own.
The risk of wandering eyes only sharpened every sensation.
While I fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes that gradually turned brutal, I demanded the answers I’d been denied for so long. Your responses came fragmented, spilling out between broken whimpers and desperate moans that vibrated against my neck. Each thrust punctuated my questions. I slapped your face, firm and stinging, then gripped your throat just enough to remind you who was in control. You were always such a willing bottom for this—arching into the punishment, dripping wetter with every sharp sting, every degrading word.
Your body betrayed how much you loved being used and disciplined by me.
You had me pinned against the wall, my hand still stinging from the sharp slap I’d given you for ignoring me all this time. The heat in your eyes darkened with something feral. Without a word, you gripped my hips possessively and spun me around, pressing my chest flush against the cool surface. My palms braced flat on the wall as you yanked my hips back toward you, arching my body into a deep, submissive curve.
You thrust back into me in one relentless stroke—harder now, messier, driven by pure, unfiltered need. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin echoed in our hidden corner as you fucked me with renewed brutality. Each powerful thrust drove deeper, pounding into me with a slick, chaotic rhythm that left me gasping. I arched my back further, pushing my ass out to meet you, greedily taking every inch while the angle sent devastating waves of pleasure surging through me.
In that fevered moment, I claimed it all: the sweet taste of revenge, the savage pleasure of your clenching heat around me, a shattering orgasm that left us both trembling, and finally, clarity and closure at last.
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
