Addictive - Sex Stories

Addictive

... stroking it with my tongue every time he retreated from my throat. His strong hands held my head exactly where he wanted it as he used my mouth to his advantage until his face tensed as he thrust one more final time, his come filling my mouth as his hips jerked upwards. His guttural moan as he orgasmed was music to my ears. I swallowed quickly, preparing myself as his stomach tightened again and more of his spunk flooded my mouth before it made its way down my throat. He held onto me tight until the last drop had left him and then his hands finally relaxed in my hair. I slid my mouth down his cock, freeing it from the hot confines of my mouth as I leaned back against the door to catch my breath. In that moment, I wasn’t me anymore. I saw myself through his eyes, tousled hair, smudged makeup, barely a woman and yet so desperate to be one. I wondered if it was over, if he got his blowjob and it was time for me to go. I straightened up slowly, the door holding my weight. I found myself wondering how long it would take to open and whether I could endure the embarrassment. His mouth curved into a smile, the kind of smile that makes even the most respectable girl’s stomach flip. It made me feel wanted and cheap all at once. “The bedroom is through there,” he said, gesturing. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna get a shower.” The night lay before us, full of endless possibilities. I thought of the last time I’d had sex, the fumbling awkwardness, doing it simply for the sake of ...

... doing it, and I knew it wasn’t going to feel like that this time. And it didn’t. It was the kind of sex you want to go on forever. That pressure, the feel of his weight on top of you, the urgency, the helplessness, the mouths and fingers and tongues. I lost count of how many times I came, how many times he pulled me into a new position, his voice low and hoarse in my ear and the sounds he made. I forgot to be embarrassed, to be insecure, all I was aware of was how he was making me feel, how desperate I was to please him. I think it was the sex that kept us together. It was always the fucked-up kind, the sex you have when you want to kill each other, when the rage is red-hot and then the violent passion makes everything okay again. It was the only thing we had in common. Our lives went on and we never planned for any kind of future because I don’t think either of us believed we were going to last. We fought about stupid things, pointless things, and each fight got worse, until eventually we had the biggest one and then it was over. There was a day of calm. An unsettled feeling of unwanted freedom, knowing he was gone and the pain should be over. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t even remember what we’d argued about. It was unimportant and yet it had singlehandedly ruined the best eight months of my life. Because even though he was wrong in all the conventional ways, he made me feel incredible. It wasn’t just the sex. It was seeing him smile, seeing him let his guard down and talk, ...