Maybe Just Once

"Your body is perfect for fucking," I say, in a guttural corruption of my voice, grabbing a wrist in my hand and holding it to the landing, your arm sprawled above your head. "You make me want to breed you," I grab your tit with my free hand, squeezing you. "I want to put this to use." You grab your tit over my hand, moan, watch my eyes as I succumb to this primal urge.

As I kiss you, I place my cock against your cunt, gyrating my shaft across your clit. I can feel your pussy on my own groin, the heat pulsating from you, the promise of a wet and warm welcome when I take you. But I can tell, you aren't there yet. So, I let go of your wrist and your tits, and I kiss my way down your neck, over your chest, a stop-over at the freckle orbiting your navel, your hips. I work my way along the bone, to the soft middle ground between your hip and the arch above your pussy. I slip two fingers inside you, a beckoning motion, as if I'm calling you to me. I kiss your labia, taking your folds into my mouth. There's a hint of your taste and it's intoxicating. Like a sour beer, it's acidic but immediately addicting. I kiss along your thighs and back to you. I withdraw my fingers, slide them under your ass and pull you to my face. "I almost can't wait to breed you," I say, my face eye level with your clit so that I must glace across your entire body -- a rolling fertile prairie -- to catch your eyes. "But first, let's get you ready for my cock."

I bury my face between your legs, feel your pussy on my chin, damp and hot and sticky, and take your clit between my lips. If breeding is this primal instinct, this rutting grunting reflexive penetrative ancient ritual, a dirty little religion of cock urgently thrusting into cunt, then surely one must show their reverence to this goddess of fertility. An acolyte at the altar, I gently stroke your clit with the meaty, unlearned tip of my tongue. I push my self-doubts out -- knowing this won't be the best you've had, knowing my worship at this particular holy site will be rudimentary, crude, simple compared to the reverence shown by past lovers. But I recall the charge -- a one-time event, no matter how pleasing; primal; taken and bred; like an animal; fucking your pussy hard. We're not hoping for miraculous events out of this Mass, this carnal worship service. We're just showing reverence enough to get you wet so that the penetrative portion of this ritual might begin. But you thrust your hips to my face, forcing my chin and nose deeper into your cunt. I breath heavily through my nose, breathing in deep the hot smell of your cunt. The taste on my lips keeps me at your pussy longer than one might normally spend in pursuit of breeding, but this is a one-time thing, and if you may only drink from a holy chalice once, take a long swig.

# # #

Enough. My cock throbs, pulsating in my urge to have you. I leave your pussy and as I rise up to meet you, I take your legs, under and behind the knees, in my arms. I toss them back to your shoulders, bending you almost in half. I grab you by the wrists, "give me these", and toss them around your legs. You join your hands together to hold your legs in the air for me, exposing your cunt to me at the bottom of your long legs, this expansion flesh, your thighs and ass, ready for me. "You're such a slut," I say to you, "open your legs for me." You let go of your own wrists, slide your hands up your legs to your ankles, hold them above your head, and open your legs wide for me. I release an instinctive pleased guttural moan at this sight and toss myself into you. Your legs, straight in the air, press against my chest, your toenails at my eye level, your feet nearly resting on my shoulders. I pull you close, press into you so that I'm over you now, your body contorted, folded in half again. Your toes dance along the wall of the stairwell. I grab your shoulders -- isn't that how this all started? Fitting it comes back to this -- and I push down on them, pinning you to the landing, the entire weight of my body pressing down on you. I get my footing on the proper stair, and slip my cock into you in a deep, thrusting motion. You moan, I grunt, I instinctively say "fuucckk" and I'm in you.

Your cunt is warm, wet, welcoming. My cock throbs inside you, you clench around me. I pull out slightly, reenter you deeper, start to develop a rhythm. Your feet bounce along the walls as I do, your tits move with your body in response to my thrusts, it feels good to control your movement, to know your body is responding to taking me, down to the way your tits move. I grunt as have you, slow at first and then faster, harder, rutting into you. The loud, wet smacking of my cock into your pussy echoes off the walls. You moan loudly, I match with grunting, releasing half-formed words, thoughts, nothing more than declarations of my having you. You let go of your ankles, your legs crash into my chest. You grab the lip of the top step, pulling yourself back along the landing and closer into me, my cock going deeper into you. "Good," I growl, "let me dump my seed deep in your womb." You moan. I fuck. You receive. Our voices and the noise of our fucking bounce around the staircase.

We hear movement next door, through the wall. A chair moving? A door opening? We catch other's eyes. "Ms. de Rosa?" you say, in between breaths as I continue to take you. I turn my head, stare intently at the wall as if I can see through the 130-year-old plaster and into Ms. de Rosa's apartment, the old woman out of bed, investigating the noises she hears at 3 in the morning behind her living room wall.

"Maybe we should move this to the bed?" I say, still pumping.

"Mhmm," you reply, grabbing my neck and thrusting your hips back into me as we rock on the top of the landing, "Actually, do you have a kitchen table? Take me over that."

I pull out. My cock is soaked, dripping in a mix of you and my precum, it throbs with each pump of blood through it, seeking your pussy like a dog on a scent. I grab your hand, our fingers intertwined, and we ascend the remainder of the staircase. I push open the door on the second landing and lead you inside. We don't have time to admire the picture windows, the city lights outside them, down the hill off the main road. I lead you directly to my table -- it's dangerous here, the windows look out on to that main highway -- with a well-timed headlight in the window from a driver over the hill, a passerby might see us. I don't bother to draw the curtain. I push you down by your shoulder blades, your hands sprawl out along the table. I kick your feet out wide, grab your hips in my hands, and take you from behind.

The table sways, the old white pine floors creaking with each thrust of me into you, and thrust of you into the table, and of table into the floor. The cavernous apartment carries our moaning and our grunting. A siren wails, distant then piercing then receding, carrying some poor soul on their way to Baptist. You fuck, you breed, you live, you die. It's no distraction for me with you -- I grab your hands off the table and hold them behind your back. My hands holding you tight just above the elbow, thrusting deep into you, grunting with each rut, growling out crude remarks about you. "What a perfect cunt for breeding," I growl. "Breed me" you moan back, in a voice so sultry I have to concentrate to keep my own focus. "I hope the baby has your eyes," I say. "This is exactly what a woman should feel like," I growl in your ear, grabbing your hair in my hand and pulling at it, letting myself really feel the animal urges, "but you'll look even better with swollen tits and a large firm stomach." I let go of your hair, stand up straight, and spank you. The surprising sting makes you squeal, you follow it with a moan, and I do it again. Another thrust of my cock into your pussy, eager to breed you, and an accompanying spank, your ass beginning to blush red with each hit, my own primal urges growing watching you take me, asking me to breed you.

The lights are off, the only light coming in is provided by passing cars over the crest and down the hill or the street-lights below. I grab your hair, I pull you up. I turn you back around to me, my cock pressed against your pubic arch, soaking in you and my own precum, rubbing us against you. I kiss you hard, running my hands up and down your body, grabbing your ass, holding your hip, in that dark I walk you backwards, around the couch, past the tv, down the hall, to the left, into my bedroom. You run your hands through my hair, down my chest, you brush my hips, up my ribs, probing, feeling, exploring everywhere except my cock. As I navigate us through the dark, closer to the bed, I take your hand in mine and guide it to my cock. You grasp me, almost too hard. "Stroke it," I growl in your ear, "before I breed you with it."

Whatever reservations or hesitations you had about stroking my cock recede -- after all, this 3:30am fuck session isn't exactly your normal routine anyway -- and you start to rub your hand along my shaft. Almost as if you've done this many a time before, you pause to hold the tip in your palm, run your fingers along the shaft. I'm pulsating in your hand, and with each stroke of my cock, I release a primal guttural growl in your ear, the sound of pure pleasure, of a man receiving attention and giving nothing in return -- just raw stimulus. When I can't take it any longer, I toss you on the bed. You keep hold of my cock, continuing to stroke me, asking me to have you again. "Please breed me," you moan as I take your nipples in my mouth, biting them, pulling them, kissing them. "Keep stroking until I'm ready to mount you," I tell you, rubbing one tit with my open palm, sucking on the other.

Finally, you release my cock, and I push you over further on the bed. I climb up with you, turn you on your side. I grab one leg and hold it up, exposing your cunt. I slip in and rut violently into you. Your tits bouncing, your body rocking the bed on its legs, you grasp at the sheet. I lean down into you, pumping, and run my hand up to your neck. I squeeze your neck slightly, release. Squeeze, release. And I spank you as I go, on the bottom of your ass, the top of your thighs, next to where I'm fucking you, furiously, angerly. I grunt as I use you, "you want this, don't you?" I grunt, rutting rutting rutting into you. "yesss" you moan, your breath hot against my face pressing down next to yours. "You're such a slut, you need my cum." I growl. "With these tits and this ass and that pretty face, you knew I would have to take you. God, I can't wait to breed you. I can't wait to make you into a real, useful woman," I growl. The world is red, the blood thundering in my ears. All I hear is my own cock throbbing, your moans and pleas, and my boorish grunts.

I can feel it, with each vulgar crude remark I make to you, I get closer to cumming. Some primal beast given permission for a night, I pound into you like a young man fucking for the first time, humping away without regard for his partner, only concerned about his own satisfaction, a singular desire to experience the magnificent high and washing relief of cumming. "Emily, I'm going to cum in you" I growl in your ear, "please" you moan into the comforter, and I grunt and growl and push myself up off you.

I sit up, thrusting into you. I watch your ass -- beat red -- bounce against my cock. Your stomach and tits follow, you claw at the comforter, your eyes catch and hold mine and I grab your shin in one hand and press down on your hip in the other. "You bitch," I growl, "you fucking bitch in heat," I grunt, "you're going to make me cum." I thrust, I rut, and go go go into you and finally, watching you, eyes locked with yours, I let out a long primal growl and release.

My cum fills you. You can feel it, and it starts to drip out of you. It's hot, sticky, I haven't pulled out yet and you can already feel it leaking. I collapse on to you, slip out of you, press my cock, sticky with you and I, to the small of your back as I pull you close into me. I wrap my arm across your chest, kiss your neck, and squeeze your tit. "Fucking Christ, Emily," I say, "I needed that." With curiosity, you reach down between your legs, touch my cum. Rub it between your fingers, examine it. You get up to use the bathroom, and when you come back, the birds have begun to sing outside the window, though it's still dark. You roll back the comforter, climb into bed next to me, curl up in my arm.

"You're staying?" I say, genuinely surprised.

"It's four in the morning," you say, adjusting and settling in. "I'm tired. Tomorrow is Sunday, we can get some sleep and I'll leave when the sun comes up. Plus, with all the noise, the least I can do is get Ms. de Rosa her Sunday newspaper." I lay my head back on the pillow, tilt it so I come to rest on yours. I smell the cigarette smoke from the bar in your hair. It's mixed now with sweat and sex, and it's the last sensation I experience before we fall asleep.

# # #

The next morning the sun comes up early -- a hint through the north facing bedroom windows -- it's been four hours since we went to sleep but it feels like we only slept twenty minutes. I blink awake, find you doing the same. I take a chance and kiss you. In the light of day, you kiss me back. More gently, more slowly, we make out. You toss your legs over my waist and let me enter you again. I lean back against the pillow, kiss you, suck on your tits. We use my vibe from the bedside table, you use me like a fleshy dildo. I don't mind. "I thought this was a one-time thing," I say. "Just one for the road," you say, "Plus, if we have to buy Plan B, we might as well get our money's worth."

You collect your clothes from the bottom of the stairs and recombobulate yourself. Your Patagonia reeks of the bar. I love the smell. I make you a coffee, you call an uber. We share our venmos -- I owe you half the cost of Plan B. Money well spent. I walk you to the door, I kiss you goodbye, on the cheek. "If you need me, you know where to find me," I say. You laugh. As your uber arrives, you run down the steps, grab the newspaper, and sprint back up. You toss the paper in front of Ms. de Rosa's door, give me peck on the cheek, and run back to the uber. As I watch you drive away, Ms. de Rosa opens her door, looks me up and down, gives me a knowing wink. "Sounds like you had fun," she says. I blush, my face as red as your ass the night before. All my primal, agro, masculine bullshit washes away. I'm an awkward 30 year old in front of an octogenarian, embarrassed to have been caught having noisy sex. "Sorry, Ms. de Rosa," I say, and head back inside.

Worth it.