Not My Type - Sex Stories

Not My Type

... held onto me as I slammed her against the wall.

I’d never known lust like it. There was making love, there was sex, and there was this: raw and primal fucking. Two people expressing what it meant to be human and damn the consequences.

My hands gravitated to her bum cheeks, dug in and hauled her hips to mine. She groaned in my ear, “Take my arse if you want. It's yours.”

My cock swelled in her pussy at the prospect of something new and forbidden. I swung my grip closer to the crease, slid a pair of fingers down either side of my disappearing shaft and swabbed loaded wetness up over her puckered hole. “This arse?”

“Mmmhmm. Right there. You ever done that?”

“No.”

I pounded a few more strokes until she shoved me away and my raging prick hung between us like it belonged nowhere and everywhere. Zoë turned, leaned against the wall, spat on her fingers and massaged them over her arsehole. “You’ll fucking love it.”

Mesmerised by the curvature of her rear and the way it formed a near perfect diamond above her thigh gap, distended pussy lips nestled within, I stood as she sank one then two digits into her tightest hole. She hauled them free and lifted them up behind her to my mouth. “Suck. Soak them.” My involuntary moan wrapped around her fingers, sampling the thrilling musk until she tugged them clear with a pop.

Her grip dropped to my shaft, encased it and guided me forward one step. “Spit,” she commanded. Almost on autopilot, I reached for her cheeks, held ...

... them, separated them and spat. It missed, splattering the inner edge of one globe, and I scooped the bubbles into the cleft, massaged, held her apart and spat again. Bullseye. At her insistence, she drew the head of my cock to the slippery entrance and pressed it to the ring of muscle.

I could sense her gaze burning into my scalp but couldn’t pull focus from the sight of my shaft disappearing into her dark crevice. She groaned with each centimetre that was swallowed until I met more resistance and she paused. “Ready?”

My eyes drifted to hers, dark pools of desire and need. The question was clearly rhetorical. A wiggle of her hips preceded pressure and a deep sigh, which I thought was her but ended up being from me. Jesus, it was tight.

We both gasped as our hips touched and she reached back to stroke my chest through the red polo shirt. “You like?”

It was an odd moment of tenderness given what went before, but after I absent-mindedly nodded, still reeling from the sheer decadence and thrill of being buried in her arse, she switched back to slut mode and begged me to fuck her. Hard.

Using the wall as leverage, she shoved back against me as I gripped her cheeks and picked up the pace. Each time I reached the halfway exit point, she sighed and reversed into me so I sank deep again. The sensation of plugging her tight butt rippled through my body with each thrust, and within a dozen or so strokes, she was once again chanting for it harder.

I delivered. Swatted her ...