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By *dhesi OP Man
3 weeks ago
Canning Town |
Gaz kept fucking me with steady, deep strokes, the thick length of his cock sliding in and out of my freshly stretched pussy. The wet sounds filled the room—slick, filthy, and constant. Every time he bottomed out I felt that heavy pressure against my insides and let out another shameless moan.
He slowed right down, almost pulling all the way out so I could feel the stretch of the head at my rim, then slammed back in hard. The sudden change made me cry out. He did it again, and again, then gradually sped up until he was pounding me properly—hips snapping, balls slapping against my arse, the bed creaking under us. I was completely lost in it, legs spread wide, swimsuit still twisted around my waist, cock leaking steadily onto my stomach.
When the friction started to catch he reached for the lube, poured more over his cock and around my hole without ever pulling out. The fresh slickness let him slide even deeper. I grabbed the brown bottle from the sheets, held it under my nose and sniffed hard. The rush hit instantly—my head spun, my body went floaty and open, and every thrust suddenly felt twice as intense. I sniffed again, deeper this time, and the world narrowed to nothing but the thick cock stretching me open and the filthy, perfect feeling of being used.
I felt so fucking slutty. Lying there taking it, sniffing the bottle between gasps, moaning “Daddy” every time he drove into me. My hole was soft and greedy now, gripping him on every stroke like it didn’t want to let go. I kept thinking how far I’d come—from nervous student to this: legs spread, tits out, cock hard, getting properly fucked by an older man who called me his slut and meant it. The thought alone made me clench around him and moan louder.
Gaz’s breathing grew heavier. His thrusts turned deeper, more urgent, hips grinding hard against my arse each time he buried himself. I sniffed the bottle one more time and the high mixed with the relentless fucking until I felt completely unreal—open, owned, and desperate for him to fill me.
“Fuck—take it,” he growled.
He slammed in deep one last time and held there, cock pulsing hard as he came. Hot, thick spurts flooded my pussy, filling me up while I clung to him and moaned through it. I could feel every pulse, every rope of cum pumping into me. He stayed buried, breathing hard against my neck, still twitching inside me as the last of it emptied deep.
Gaz finally pulled out, slow and careful, and a thick trickle of his cum followed, leaking out of my used hole and down onto the sheets. We both collapsed onto the bed, completely spent. My arse felt properly battered—hot, stretched and throbbing from the hard fucking—but in the best possible way. Every little movement sent a dull, satisfying ache through me.
We lay there tangled together, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. I was in a complete sex coma, limbs heavy, brain foggy, still floating from the brown bottle and the pounding I’d just taken. My cock was still rock-hard against my stomach, neglected and leaking, but I barely had the energy to move.
Gaz wasn’t done with me yet.
He shifted closer, one strong hand wrapping around my cock while the other found my nipples. He started stroking me slowly at first, thumb smearing the precum over the head, while his fingers pinched and rolled my sensitive nipples—hard enough to make me gasp. The dual sensation cut straight through the haze. I moaned weakly, hips twitching as he worked me.
“Come on, slut,” he murmured against my ear, voice low and rough. “You’ve been such a good boy taking Daddy’s cock… now I want to feel you explode.”
His hand sped up on my shaft, tight and slick, while he kept abusing my nipples—pinching, tugging, twisting. The pleasure built fast and sharp. My battered hole clenched around nothing, still leaking his cum, and the combination of that leftover stretch, his fist pumping my cock and the constant sharp pulls on my nipples pushed me over the edge hard.
I cried out as I came, thick ropes of cum shooting up my chest and across my stomach. My whole body shook, arse clenching, nipples throbbing under his fingers while he kept stroking me through every pulse until I was empty and trembling.
When it finally stopped I slumped back against the pillows, completely wrecked, chest rising and falling, covered in both our cum. Gaz just held me, still gently playing with one of my sensitive nipples as the last aftershocks faded.
Eventually the high faded and the mess became impossible to ignore. We dragged ourselves out of bed and into the shower together, the warm water washing away sweat, cum and lube. Gaz was gentle as he cleaned me up, soaping my chest, my cock, then carefully washing between my cheeks where I was still sensitive and leaking a little of him. I returned the favour, running soapy hands over his body while we shared lazy, tired kisses under the spray.
Once we were clean and dry we pulled our clothes back on. Gaz packed the brown bottle and the lube back into his bag, then pulled me in for one last deep kiss by the front door.
“You were perfect,” he said quietly against my mouth. “Proper little slut for Daddy.”
I smiled, still floating a bit. “Come back soon?”
He smirked. “Count on it.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the flat quiet again except for the faint smell of sex still hanging in the air.
That afternoon was only the beginning.
Gaz and I met continuously throughout the next year—sometimes for quick, filthy sessions when my flatmate was out for a few hours, sometimes for longer nights when I had the place to myself. Each meet got dirtier, more comfortable, more intense. He knew exactly how to turn me into the cock-hungry little whore I secretly wanted to be, and I never got tired of giving him exactly what he wanted.
If anyone wants to hear more about the other meets we had, just say the word. |
