He slammed me against the wall the second the apartment door shut. His hand went straight for my cock through my jeans, squeezing hard like he already owned it. "Been waiting to wreck this all night," he growled, voice low and rough. I didn't even know his name, just that he'd bought me a drink, whispered filthy shit in my ear, and now here we were.
I dropped to my knees right there in the hallway. His belt came undone fast. I yanked his jeans down and his thick cock sprang out, heavy, veined, already leaking at the tip. I licked the head once, tasting salt, then opened wide and took him deep. He groaned and grabbed my hair, pushing until my nose pressed against his pubes. I gagged but kept sucking, spit running down my chin as he fucked my throat in short, brutal thrusts.
"Fuck yeah, choke on it," he said. I looked up at him while his dick stretched my mouth. My own cock throbbed untouched in my pants. He pulled out after a minute, strings of spit connecting us, then hauled me up and spun me around. My chest hit the wall. He ripped my jeans open, shoved them down just far enough, and spat on his fingers. One thick digit pushed straight into my ass. No warm-up. I hissed at the burn but pushed back against it.
"Want it raw?" he asked, already lining his cock up.
"Yeah. Fuck me raw."
He drove in with one hard shove. My hole stretched around him, burning and clenching. He didn't wait. He started pounding, hips slapping loud against my ass, balls swinging. Every thrust went deep, hitting that spot that made my legs shake. I reached down and jerked my own cock in time with his strokes, pre-cum slicking my fist.
He fucked like he hated me, grunting, calling me a cock-hungry slut, telling me how tight my ass felt milking him. Sweat dripped off him onto my back. I begged for more, pushing back to take every inch. He reached around and twisted my nipples hard, then wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed just enough to make my head spin while he railed me.
We moved to the couch. He bent me over the arm, one leg up on the cushion so he could get even deeper. His cock never left my hole. He just kept slamming in, the wet sound of his dick pounding my spit-slicked ass filling the room. I came first, shooting ropes across the couch cushion while he kept fucking through it, my ass spasming around him.
He lasted longer. Pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and shoved back in missionary style so he could watch my face. His thrusts turned short and savage. "Gonna fill this hole," he warned. I nodded, legs locked around his waist. He buried himself to the root and came with a long, low groan, hot pulses flooding my guts. I felt every spurt.
We stayed like that a minute, breathing hard, his cum leaking out around his softening cock. Then he pulled out slow, watching it drip. I reached down and scooped some up, sucked it off my fingers while he watched. His eyes darkened again.
"Round two in the shower," he said, already pulling me up. "I want that mouth clean before I fuck your throat again."
We never made it to the shower. He bent me over the kitchen counter instead, spread my cheeks, and licked his own load out of my hole before shoving his cock back in, still half-hard and slick with cum. This time he went slower but deeper, grinding, making me feel every inch as he worked another load into me. By the time we finally collapsed on the bed, both of us were wrecked, covered in sweat and cum, breathing like we'd run miles.
He didn't ask me to leave. I didn't offer. We just lay there, his hand resting on my ass, fingers idly tracing the mess he'd left behind. Morning would come eventually. For now, the only thing that mattered was how soon he'd be ready to fuck me again.
