getting backshots from logan howlett and you’re having the time of your life. a puddle of proof pools on the sheets below you. your hands can’t stop grasping at whatever’s in reach: pillows, the bedframe, the nightstand, anything. anything that can help you bear this onslaught behind you. you don’t know how you’re taking all of him, but you are. the ache of him stretching you out isn’t entirely gone; it merely underlines the roaring waves of euphoria he’s giving you. it’s a lot, sure, but you’ll be fine. you can take it. you’ve been taking it for a while now. earlier, when he had you on your back, he took your hand in his and pressed it to your tummy, right where his cockhead nestled comfortably inside you. he asked “y’feel me?” and you sniffled a pathetic little “mhm…” in response. it was sweet. gentle.
missionary’s angle could at least soften the blows, warm you up a bit, but doggystyle holds nothing back. you feel everything. you’re being cored from the inside out. logan has to keep lifting your ass up because your body’s too weak to do so without being reminded. and with logan keeping your butt in the air, it gets him even deeper, somehow. you could’ve sworn ‘balls deep’ was two inches ago, but hey, you’re not complaining. in fact, it’s perfect. he’s hitting right where you need him. bullseye. you egg him on by thrusting yourself back into him, driving the point home, accentuating his movements without him asking you to. you assume he’ll appreciate it, but alas, that’s your downfall. instead, he goes still, bottomed out inside you, throbbing angrily. he grips your hips far too tight, locking you against him, and he speaks with a tone that makes your blood run cold.
“who said you could fucking move?”
you freeze. no one said that. he certainly didn’t say that. you gulp, and sheepishly turn your head back around to see him staring daggers at you. he raises an eyebrow.
“you gonna answer me, hole?”
you have no answer for him. you start to craft one, “i— i’m sorry… i… i thought—“
but he cuts you off, “you thought what? that i’m not going hard enough?”
logan starts to withdraw his cock, and you panic. instantaneously. 0 to 100. like him pulling out would be disgracing your bloodline for generations, and you can NOT let that happen. you’re frantic by the time the ridge of his head catches on your entrance, “n-no! nooo, logan, oh my god, please, pleeease, you feel so good! you feel so good inside me, you’re so fucking good at this, logan, i swear, i—FUCK!”
he cuts you off again, this time, physically rather than verbally. he takes his cock nearly all the way out, just to SLAM it all back inside you. the force of it shoves you up the bed a few inches. then he does it again. and again. slow, hard, reverberating shockwave thrusts that knock the words right out of your mouth. once he’s made his point, he picks up the pace, giving you pure aggression with every snap of his hips.
“hey. look at me.” one of his hands leaves your hips. he grabs a fistful of your hair and forces your eyes to his, “next time you want more? use your words like a big boy…”
and then your face is being shoved into the mattress.
“…and you’d better know what you’re fucking asking for.”
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