She slammed the book shut and looked straight at me. "You keep asking what smut in books really is. I'll show you exactly what the fuck it means."
Her hand went straight to my cock, gripping it through my jeans like she owned it. No buildup, no teasing bullshit. She squeezed hard, feeling it twitch and swell under her fingers. "Smut isn't soft kisses and candlelight. It's this—me telling you I'm gonna ride your dick until you can't think straight."
I yanked her shirt over her head. Her tits spilled out, nipples already tight. I grabbed one, pinching and rolling it between my fingers until she hissed. "Keep talking," I said. "Tell me what smut is."
She dropped to her knees, unzipped me, and pulled my cock out. It sprang free, hard and leaking. Her tongue dragged up the shaft in one long, wet lick. "Smut is sucking cock like you need the cum," she said, then took the head into her mouth and sucked hard. Her cheeks hollowed. She bobbed fast, sloppy, spit running down my balls. No romance—just wet sounds and her throat working to take more.
I fucked her mouth, holding her head, pushing deeper until she gagged. She didn't pull back. She took it, eyes watering, drool coating my shaft. When I pulled out she gasped, strings of spit connecting her lips to my dick. "That's smut," she said. "Messy. Filthy. No fucking apologies."
She stood, shoved her jeans down, and bent over the table. Ass up, pussy already glistening. "Fuck me like the dirty stories do it. Hard. Now."
I slammed into her in one thrust. She was tight, hot, dripping. I gripped her hips and pounded, skin slapping loud. Every stroke bottomed out, her cunt clenching around me. She reached back and spread herself wider so I could see my cock stretching her open. "Deeper," she demanded. "Smut doesn't ask—it takes."
I reached around and rubbed her clit in rough circles. She shoved back against me, meeting every thrust. Her moans turned to curses. "Fuck, yes—wreck that pussy. That's what smut feels like. Raw and greedy."
I pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the table, and drove back in. Her legs wrapped around me. I leaned down and sucked a nipple hard, biting just enough to make her yelp. She clawed my back, nails digging in. "More. Smut is biting, scratching, coming so hard you see stars."
Her pussy started pulsing. She came with a shout, flooding around my cock, thighs shaking. I kept fucking her through it, chasing my own release. When I was close she pushed me back, dropped to her knees again, and jerked me off onto her tongue. Thick ropes hit her mouth, her chin, her tits. She swallowed what she could and licked the rest off her fingers.
She looked up, cum on her lips, and grinned. "Now you know what smut in books is. It's not pretty words. It's this—fucking like animals until you're spent and sticky."
I hauled her up and bent her over the table again. "Lesson isn't over." I slid back inside her cum-slick cunt and started pounding fresh. She laughed, low and dirty, then pushed back to take every inch.
We didn't stop until the table was slick and we both couldn't stand. That's smut—straight-up, no-filter fucking that leaves you wrecked and wanting the next round before you've even caught your breath.
