She walked into the bar like she owned every filthy thought in the room. Tight black dress, no bra, nipples already hard from the cool air. I bought her a drink and cut straight to it. "You ever hear the word smuts used as slang?" I asked, leaning close so my breath hit her ear.
She smirked, tongue tracing her lower lip. "Tell me what it means while you finger me under this table."
My hand slid up her thigh, found no panties, and two fingers sank straight into her wet cunt. "Smuts means the dirtiest kind of talk," I said, pumping slow and deep. "The kind that makes a pussy drip and a cock throb. The kind we're about to use all night."
She spread her legs wider. "Keep going."
I curled my fingers against her front wall and told her exactly how I was going to wreck her. "I'm going to bend you over the sink in the bathroom, pull this dress up, and fuck your smuts until you can't walk straight. Then I'm taking you home, tying your wrists, and eating that cunt until you beg. After that I'll shove my dick down your throat and make you swallow every drop while you call it smuts."
Her walls clenched around my fingers. She came right there, biting her fist, juices running down my hand. I pulled my fingers out, licked them clean, and dragged her to the bathroom.
Door locked, I spun her around, bent her over the sink, and yanked the dress up. Her ass was perfect. I slapped it hard, then lined up and drove my cock into her in one thrust. She was soaked. I fucked her raw and fast, the slap of skin loud, her moans echoing off the tiles.
"Talk to me," she gasped. "Use that slang."
"Look at this greedy smuts taking every inch," I growled, pounding harder. "Your cunt is pure smuts right now, sucking me in like it needs to be bred. I'm going to fill this smuts full and watch it leak down your thighs."
She pushed back, meeting every thrust. "More. Call me names."
"You're my filthy smuts slut," I said, reaching around to rub her clit. "Nothing but a wet hole begging for cock. Say it."
"I'm your smuts slut," she moaned. "Fuck my smuts harder."
I did. I grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and hammered until she came again, legs shaking. I didn't stop. I kept driving through her orgasm, chasing my own. When I was close I pulled out, spun her, and shoved her to her knees.
"Open that smuts mouth," I ordered. She did. I stroked twice and painted her tongue, lips, and chin with thick ropes. She swallowed what she could and licked the rest off her fingers.
We barely made it to my place. I tied her wrists to the headboard with my belt and buried my face between her legs. I licked and sucked her swollen smuts until she was dripping on the sheets and begging to come. When I finally let her, she screamed, thighs clamping around my head.
Then I flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and sank back into her from behind. Slow at first, then brutal. Every stroke I told her what her smuts was doing to me. "This tight hole is made for getting ruined. Look how it grips me. You're nothing but smuts tonight."
She came twice more before I unloaded deep inside her. I stayed buried, letting it leak around my cock, then pulled out and watched it drip.
We didn't sleep much. Every time she started to drift I woke her with my mouth on her smuts or my cock pushing back inside. By morning she was hoarse from moaning, covered in marks, and still asking for more dirty slang.
I gave it to her one last time in the shower, pressing her against the glass while I fucked her standing up. "This is what smuts means," I told her as I came again. "It means you leave here sore, used, and already thinking about the next time I wreck this cunt."
She smiled, cum running down her leg, and kissed me hard. "Teach me more words tomorrow."
