FabGuys.com forum: Date Night

By *dhesi OP Man
3 weeks ago

Canning Town

It was that time again.

John lived in London. I didn’t. That simple fact meant we only got these rare windows when his work brought him up to the Midlands. No late-night trains back south, no wife waiting at home, just a hotel room and whatever time we could steal. Whenever he texted to say he was coming north, everything else in my week suddenly felt secondary.

This time the message came on a Wednesday evening.

*Midlands this weekend. Arriving Friday afternoon. Dinner Friday night? Then the rest of the night is ours.*

I didn’t think twice. I replied yes before I’d even finished reading.

The weeks that followed were slow and restless. I thought about him constantly—about the last time, about how heavy and thick his cock had felt in my mouth, how he’d left me messy and aching and still wanting more. I’d lie in bed at night with my hand between my legs, replaying every detail until I came, then start all over again. The memory of how slutty he’d made me feel never really left.

He sent links a few days later. Not for the restaurant, but for what he wanted underneath. A black lace set—sheer bra that barely contained anything, matching thong, suspender belt, stockings. Explicit. Deliberate. Seeing that he’d been thinking about dressing me the same way I’d been thinking about him made the waiting almost unbearable.

I bought everything. And I started training.

Every evening after work I slid a butt plug into my arse and wore it around the house. Cooking, answering emails, watching television—anything to get used to the stretch. I was determined that this time I would take him properly. I’d send him photos of the plug seated deep inside me, cheeks spread, and he’d send back videos of himself stroking that thick cock until he came. The exchange kept us both wound tight.

By the time Friday arrived I was ready in every way that mattered.

We’d planned dinner first. Somewhere ordinary, public, the kind of place where no one would look twice. I couldn’t walk in wearing anything openly sexy for him, so I dressed carefully over the lingerie: plain chinos and a simple t-shirt. Nothing that would draw attention. Underneath, though, was the full set he’d chosen—black lace bra, thong, suspenders, stockings. And the plug. I kept it in the entire time I got ready, feeling the constant pressure as a private reminder of what the night was really for.

I met him in the hotel lobby just after seven. He looked exactly as I remembered: sharp, composed, the same quiet hunger in his eyes that only ever showed when we had a night free of anyone else. We walked to the restaurant together like any other couple having a civilised dinner. No one looking at us would have known what I was wearing under the chinos and t-shirt, or how wet I already was, or how many times I’d come thinking about his cock in the weeks leading up to this.

But we both knew.

Dinner was just the beginning

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By *uckmehardMan
3 weeks ago

dudley

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By *addy lover 2025Man
3 weeks ago

Shoreham

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By *dhesi OP Man
3 weeks ago

Canning Town

We walked to the restaurant together like any other couple having a civilised dinner. No one looking at us would have known what I was wearing under the chinos and t-shirt, or how wet I already was, or how many times I’d come thinking about his cock in the weeks leading up to this.

But we both knew.

Dinner was just the beginning.

We ordered food, but more importantly we ordered wine. The first bottle went down easily. The second followed without much discussion. By the time the third arrived I was properly tipsy—warm, loose, and very aware of how much I wanted him. Still, we kept it calm. We ate, we talked, we stayed on the right side of the table like two people simply catching up.

The conversation stayed general at first. Work. Life. The usual safe topics. Then it drifted, the way it always did once the wine had softened the edges. We talked about the last time we’d met—what we’d done, what we’d liked, what we’d wanted more of. He was more experienced than me and I asked him outright what else he’d like me to do with him.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Fuck you,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear it. “Properly.”

I felt the heat rise in my face and between my legs at the same time. In my head I already knew the surprise I was saving for later. I hadn’t put the plug in yet. I was going to insert it for him when we got back to the hotel—let him watch, or discover it, however the night went. The thought of it made me shift in my seat.

I needed a moment.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Once the door was locked I pulled my t-shirt up, the black lace of the bra clinging tightly around my big boobs, and took several photos. Close, deliberate, the kind that left nothing to the imagination. I sent them without a caption and walked back out.

John was looking at his phone when I returned to the table. The smirk on his face told me he’d opened them. He set the phone face-down and met my eyes, that same quiet hunger sharper now.

We finished the rest of the wine like nothing had happened.

By the time we left the restaurant I was properly flushed and restless. We caught an Uber back to the hotel. The second the doors closed and the darkness of the cab settled around us I reached across, laid my hand over the front of his trousers, and squeezed. Hard. Just like the elevator all over again. I felt him thicken under my palm almost immediately. He didn’t say a word—just covered my hand with his own and pushed down harder, forcing my fingers to grip him tighter as the city lights slid past the windows.

Neither of us spoke for the rest of the ride.

When the car stopped we got out fast, walked straight through the lobby without lingering, and hit the call button for the lift. The moment the doors slid shut and we were alone, everything snapped.

We turned on each other at the same time.

His mouth was on mine before the lift even started moving—sloppy, urgent kisses, his tongue pushing deep into my throat like he’d been holding back all night. One of his hands locked hard around my ass, fingers digging in through the chinos, pulling me against him so I could feel exactly how hard he already was. I kissed him back just as messily, tasting wine and heat, my own hands fisting in his shirt as the floors ticked past.

We didn’t stop until the lift chimed and the doors opened on his floor.

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By *dhesi OP Man
3 weeks ago

Canning Town

We didn’t stop until the lift chimed and the doors opened on his floor.

We stumbled into the room in a tangle of hands and mouths. There was no patience this time. I was already pulling at his shirt, yanking it up and over his head while he dragged my t-shirt off and threw it aside. Buttons, zips, fabric—everything came away in a rush. His trousers hit the floor. My chinos followed. Within moments he was standing there in just his boxers and I was left in the slutty black lingerie he’d chosen for me: sheer bra, thong, suspenders, stockings.

He didn’t give me time to catch my breath.

John pushed me hard against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other already tugging the cups of the bra down so my tits spilled free. He lowered his mouth and started sucking—greedy, focused, taking as much of me as he could. He knew exactly how sensitive they were. Teeth grazed, then bit down just enough to make me gasp, before he soothed the sting with long, wet pulls of his tongue. Every time I arched or whimpered he only sucked harder.

He broke away often, but never for long—crushing his mouth against mine in messy, open kisses, or dragging his lips down the side of my neck while his fingers kept working my nipples, twisting and pulling so the pleasure never fully stopped. The dual assault left me dizzy, pressed between the cold wall and the heat of his body, already soaked and aching for more.

I could feel how hard he was through the thin fabric of his boxers, the thick length of him grinding against my hip every time he shifted. My hands slid down his back and under the waistband, palms spreading over the tight muscle of his arse, pulling him harder against me. He groaned into my mouth at the contact, then broke the kiss only long enough to sink his teeth into the soft underside of one breast before latching on again, sucking deep and rhythmic while his fingers kept rolling and tugging the other nipple.

Every pull sent another sharp pulse straight between my legs. I was breathing in short, broken gasps, head tipped back against the wall, the black lace of the bra still half-hanging off me. He worked my tits like he had all night to ruin me with just his mouth—biting, licking, sucking—until both nipples were swollen and shiny and almost too sensitive to touch. Even then he didn’t stop. He just switched sides again, giving the other the same relentless attention, occasionally lifting his head to claim another messy kiss or to drag his tongue up the column of my throat while his hands stayed busy.

I was trembling. Properly trembling. The wine, the weeks of waiting, the feel of him finally on me—it all crashed together. My thighs pressed together instinctively, the thong already wet through, and still he kept going, mouth and fingers never leaving my chest for more than a second.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at me, his lips were wet and his eyes dark.

“Bed,” he said, voice rough. “Now.”

I almost let him pull me straight there. The urgency in his eyes, the way his cock strained against his boxers, the lingering ache in my nipples—everything in me wanted to go. But I made myself resist.

“No,” I said, breath still uneven. “Not yet.”

He frowned, half-frustrated, half-curious. I leaned in, kissed him once more, then asked quietly for a bit of lube. I knew he’d be packing. He always was. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it—just reached into his bag and handed me a small bottle. I took it, then crouched quickly by the discarded pile of clothes, rummaging through my chinos until my fingers closed around the small, discreet shape I’d hidden there earlier. I kept it cupped in my palm, out of sight, and slipped past him toward the bathroom.

“Two minutes,” I promised over my shoulder.

Inside, I locked the door and leaned back against it for a second, heart still racing. Then I set the lube on the counter, peeled the thong aside, and slowly worked the butt plug into myself. The stretch was familiar now after all the nights of training, but doing it here—knowing he was waiting on the other side of the door, hard and impatient—made it feel completely different. I took my time, easing it in inch by inch until the base sat flush, the full pressure settling deep inside me.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment: black lace still half-hanging off my tits, stockings and suspenders in place, the secret plug hidden and ready.

Then I unlocked the door and stepped back out.

John was still standing where I’d left him, boxers tented, eyes locked on me the second I appeared. He took in the sight—bra still half-pulled down, tits bare and marked from his mouth, the rest of the black lace still in place—and the look on his face darkened.

“That didn’t take long,” he said, voice low.

I didn’t answer with words. I walked straight up to him, took his hand, and guided it around to my ass. His fingers brushed the base of the plug almost immediately. He froze for half a second, then a slow, filthy smile spread across his face as he pressed against it, feeling how deeply it was seated.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’ve been planning this.”

“All week,” I said.

He walked me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sat down hard. John didn’t give me a chance to settle. He hooked his hands under my thighs, pushed me further up the bed, and climbed on after me, kneeling between my legs. The black lace of the thong was still tangled around one ankle; the rest of me was bare except for the stockings, suspenders, and the plug still buried deep.

He looked down at me for a long moment—tits marked from his mouth, thighs open, the base of the plug visible—and then he reached for it.

“You’ve been training for this,” he said, voice rough with approval. “Good.”

He didn’t pull the plug out. Instead he stayed right there between my legs and started playing with it. Slow twists at first, turning it inside me so I felt every ridge drag against the sensitive walls. Then short, deliberate tugs—just enough to stretch the rim before he pushed it back in deeper. Each movement pulled a soft, helpless moan out of me.

John watched my face the whole time, eyes dark with satisfaction. He varied the rhythm deliberately: long, lazy circles that made me squirm, then sharper pushes that forced another moan from my throat. When I tried to close my legs he simply held them open with one hand and kept working the plug with the other, teasing me until I was panting and pushing back against his fingers, chasing more of the stretch.

“Listen to you,” he murmured, giving the base another firm twist. “So noisy already.”

He leaned down and kissed me while he continued the slow, relentless play—tongue in my mouth, plug moving inside me in perfect, maddening time. Every pull and push drew another moan, louder now, the sound muffled against his lips. He seemed in no hurry to take it further. He just kept teasing, working the plug in and out with precise control, building the ache until I was trembling and dripping onto the sheets beneath us.

I had to fight the urge to just submit and let him keep teasing me. Instead I pushed John down onto the bed, climbing up his body until I was straddling him. I kissed him hard—deep, messy, claiming—while his hands stayed locked on my ass, fingers still playing with the base of the plug, twisting and pressing it deeper even as I took control.

I didn’t stay at his mouth for long.

Slowly I kissed my way down his chest, over his stomach, feeling his muscles tighten under my lips. When I reached his boxers I pulled them down just enough to free that thick cock I’d been craving for weeks. It sprang up heavy and already leaking. I wrapped my fingers around the base, gave it one slow stroke, then leaned in and took him into my mouth.

The taste of his precum hit my tongue immediately—salty, familiar, addictive. I didn’t hesitate the way I had last time. No nervous little bitch tonight. I was a devious slut and this cock was mine for the taking. I pushed down, taking as much of him as I could, lips stretching around the thick shaft, tongue working along the underside while I hollowed my cheeks and sucked. Every time I came up for air I went straight back down, trying to get him deeper, spit already slicking my chin as I worked him with open hunger.

John’s hands never left my ass. Even while I sucked him he kept playing with the plug—pushing, twisting, tugging—sending constant sparks of pressure through me that only made me moan around his cock and take him further.

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By *ature boyMan
3 weeks ago

Erdington

Mmm very nice

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By *ar98kMan
2 weeks ago

guildford

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By *dhesi OP Man
2 weeks ago

Canning Town

I kept working his cock like I owned it, taking him as deep as I could, spit running down his shaft and over my fingers. Every time I moaned around him the vibration made his hips twitch. John answered by gripping the base of the plug harder, twisting it in slow, filthy circles while I sucked, forcing another wet sound out of me that only made me take him deeper.

After a few minutes I pulled off with a slick pop, strings of spit still connecting my lips to the head of his cock. I climbed back up his body and kissed him hard, open-mouthed and messy, letting him taste himself on my tongue. He groaned into the kiss, one hand still buried between my cheeks, playing with the plug without mercy.

Then he flipped us.

Suddenly I was on my back and John was between my legs again, but this time he didn’t go straight for the plug. He yanked the cups of my bra the rest of the way down, buried his face in my tits and started sucking like he was starving. Hard, wet pulls, teeth grazing, tongue lashing over the swollen nipples he’d already marked earlier. I arched off the bed, one hand fisting in his hair, the other reaching down to stroke his cock while he feasted on me.

“Fuck—yes, suck them,” I panted, pushing my chest up into his mouth. “They’re yours.”

He switched sides greedily, never leaving one nipple for more than a few seconds before returning to the other, all while his free hand kept working the plug—pulling it halfway out, pushing it back in, grinding it against the sensitive spots that made my thighs shake. I was dripping, the sheets under my ass already soaked.

I couldn’t stay passive. I pushed at his shoulders until he understood, then we shifted into a messy sixty-nine. I ended up on top again, straddling his face, my dripping cunt and plugged ass right above his mouth while I leaned forward and took his cock back between my lips.

The second his tongue touched me I moaned around his shaft. He licked around the base of the plug first, wet and filthy, tracing the stretched rim, then sucked at the skin just above it before pushing the plug deeper with his tongue and fingers working together. At the same time I was trying to deep-throat him, gagging wetly, spit pouring down his balls as I bobbed my head like the slut I’d decided to be tonight.

We stayed like that for a long time—mutual, greedy, loud. Every time he twisted the plug or sucked harder on the rim I rewarded him by taking his cock deeper, moaning and drooling all over it. Every time I hollowed my cheeks and sucked him hard he answered by burying his face deeper between my cheeks, tongue and fingers playing with the plug until I was grinding down onto his mouth, chasing the pressure.

Occasionally I’d lift off his cock just long enough to look back over my shoulder and watch him work—his face shiny with my wetness, eyes locked on my ass, tongue busy. Then I’d turn again, kiss him upside-down and messy, sharing the taste of both of us, before going straight back to sucking him like I needed it to breathe.

My tits hung down against his stomach the whole time. Whenever I came up for air he’d reach up, grab them, squeeze and pull at the nipples while I stroked his cock against my lips and tongue. The dual assault—plug being played with, tits being manhandled, cock stretching my throat—kept me right on the edge, moaning and dripping onto his face without shame.

I stayed on top of him in that messy sixty-nine, hips rolling, grinding my plugged ass down onto his face while I worked his cock with both hands and mouth. Spit ran freely down his shaft and over his balls; I used it to stroke him in tight, wet twists every time I came up for air, then sank back down and tried to swallow more of him. The thick head pushed against the back of my throat again and again. I gagged wetly, eyes watering, and still pushed further, determined to take every inch I could.

John answered by getting even filthier with the plug. He gripped the base between two fingers and fucked it in and out of me in short, steady thrusts while his tongue licked and sucked around the stretched rim. The dual sensation—being filled and licked at the same time—made me moan constantly around his cock, the vibrations making his hips jerk up into my mouth. Every time I moaned louder he twisted the plug harder, or pushed it deeper, or licked right over the place where my body stretched around it, until I was shaking and dripping straight onto his tongue.

I pulled off his cock with a long, wet string of spit still connecting us and looked back over my shoulder, voice already wrecked.

“Keep playing with it,” I told him, rolling my hips. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t. He kept working the plug while I turned around completely, straddling his chest so my tits hung right in his face. I fed one swollen nipple into his mouth and he latched on immediately—sucking hard, teeth grazing, tongue flicking—while his other hand never left my ass. I stroked his cock against my stomach and between my tits, letting the wet head drag over my skin, then leaned down and kissed him, messy and open, sharing the taste of my own cunt and his precum.

We kept switching positions without ever really stopping. One minute I was on my back with my legs spread wide, John between them, sucking my tits while he twisted and tugged the plug in long, teasing pulls that made me cry out. The next I was on all fours above him again, mouth full of cock, ass in his face so he could keep licking and playing. Every time he sucked particularly hard on a nipple or gave the plug an especially deep push I rewarded him by taking him deeper, gagging, drooling, treating his cock like it belonged in my throat.

My jaw was already aching. My nipples were dark and oversensitive from constant attention. The plug felt enormous now, every movement sending sparks up my spine. I was soaked from my cunt all the way down my thighs, and still we kept going—kissing, sucking, licking, moaning, hands and mouths never idle.

I pulled off him once more, panting, and crawled up to kiss him properly. Our tongues met in a slow, filthy slide while his fingers kept a steady rhythm on the plug, pushing and twisting in time with the kiss. I could feel how hard he still was, the thick length of him trapped between our bodies, leaking against my stomach.

“You’re such a fucking slut for this,” he murmured against my lips, giving the plug another firm turn.

“Only for you,” I answered, already sliding back down his body to take him into my mouth again.

We stayed locked in that greedy cycle—my mouth on his cock, his mouth on my tits or my ass, the plug constantly moving inside me—building the heat higher and higher.

I sank back down onto his cock, taking him deep, but my whole world had narrowed to the plug.

It felt massive now. Every time John twisted the base the ridges dragged slowly along my inner walls, a thick, unyielding stretch that made my toes curl. When he pushed it deeper the pressure bloomed low and heavy, filling me so completely that I had to pause with his cock on my tongue just to breathe through it. The widest part sat right against the tightest ring of muscle, constantly reminding me how open I already was. Each small movement sent a dull, electric ache radiating outward—up my spine, into my cunt, even into the base of my stomach.

He pulled it halfway out in one long, deliberate motion. The sudden emptiness made me whimper around his shaft, the rim of my ass fluttering and clenching on nothing for a split second before he forced the plug back in, seating it fully again. The stretch returned all at once—burning, intense, perfect. My thighs trembled. Spit ran down his cock unchecked because I couldn’t focus on anything except the way the plug occupied me.

John seemed to know exactly how it felt. He varied the rhythm just to ruin me: slow, grinding circles that made the plug roll against every sensitive spot inside, then short, sharp thrusts that punched little punched-out moans straight from my throat onto his cock. Every time the base kissed my stretched rim I felt a fresh wave of pressure, deep and inescapable. It was impossible to ignore. Impossible to get used to. The constant fullness kept me dripping, my cunt clenching around nothing while my ass stayed packed and claimed.

I tried to keep sucking him properly—bobbing, twisting my hand, taking him into my throat—but the sensations kept stealing my concentration. A particularly deep push made my eyes roll and my jaw go slack, his cock slipping from my lips as I gasped. He only used the moment to tug the plug again, stretching me open visibly before letting it sink back in. The drag of it leaving and returning was almost too much; my hole clenched hard around the neck of the plug, trying to keep it, and the resulting pressure made me moan brokenly against his thigh.

“Feel that?” he murmured, voice thick, giving the base another firm twist. “Every ridge. Every inch.”

I could only nod, forehead pressed to his hip, while he kept playing. The plug felt hotter now, as if my body had warmed the silicone until it was part of me. Every heartbeat seemed to pulse around it. Every breath shifted it the smallest amount. And every deliberate movement of John’s fingers turned those small shifts into waves of intense, dirty pleasure that kept me shaking and soaked and completely lost in how full I was.

Then his fingers finally stopped twisting and settled firmly around the base of the plug. He held it there for a second, letting me feel the full, heavy stretch one last time, then began to pull.

The first movement was slow. The widest part dragged against the tight ring of muscle, stretching me open wider than it had going in. A thick, burning pressure bloomed as the silicone forced my rim to yield. I felt every ridge, every gradual increase in girth, the way my body clung to it even as it left. A long, helpless moan spilled out of me around his cock; my thighs trembled and my hole fluttered, trying to keep the plug inside even while it was being taken away.

He didn’t rush. He drew it out inch by inch, watching the way my ass stretched around the thickest section, the shiny, lube-slick silicone emerging slowly. The stretch peaked—intense, almost too much—then suddenly eased as the widest part finally slipped free. My rim closed behind it with a soft, wet sound, still open and twitching, the sudden emptiness shocking after so long being packed full.

The plug came free completely. Cool air touched the oversensitive skin. I felt emptied, gaping for a moment, the ghost of the thick shape still pulsing inside me. A thin trail of lube followed it out, running down over my cunt. My hole clenched repeatedly on nothing, aching from the loss, still shaped around the memory of the plug.

John held the glistening toy up for a second so I could see how wet it was, then set it aside. His fingers returned immediately.

Two slick fingers pressed against my still-open rim, circling once, then pushing in. The stretch was different from the plug—thinner, more precise, but still intense after being packed for so long. My hole yielded easily at first, the muscle soft and slick from the toy, and both fingers slid inside in one smooth motion until his knuckles rested against me.

I gasped around his cock, the sudden new fullness making my back arch. His fingers were hot, flexible, already curling and exploring. He twisted them slowly, scissoring just enough to feel how open I still was, then pushed deeper, the tips dragging over every sensitive spot the plug had woken up. The pressure was sharper, more targeted; each small movement sent tight sparks of pleasure straight through me.

He added a third finger without warning. The extra width forced another low, broken moan out of me. My rim stretched around the three digits, burning faintly, then settling into a deep, occupied ache. John fucked them in and out in steady strokes—wet, filthy sounds filling the room as lube and my own wetness coated his hand. Every inward thrust pressed against the same places the plug had stretched, but now with the added freedom of his fingers spreading and curling, searching for the angles that made my thighs shake.

I tried to keep sucking him, but the sensations kept stealing my focus. My mouth went slack around his cock every time he pushed particularly deep or spread his fingers inside me. The stretch was constant now, three thick fingers claiming the space the plug had left, turning the emptiness into a new, deliberate fullness that made me push back onto his hand like the slut I was.

He kept the rhythm steady—deep, thorough, relentless—working me open even further while I drooled over his cock and moaned for more. Every thrust of his hand pushed another wet, broken sound out of my throat and straight onto his shaft. I was drooling freely now, spit running down his length and over my fingers as I stroked what I couldn’t fit in my mouth. The stretch in my ass was constant—hot, occupied, slightly burning each time he scissored his fingers wider—but the burn only made me push back harder, chasing more of it.

He pulled his fingers almost all the way out, leaving just the tips inside so I could feel my rim flutter around them, then drove them back in to the knuckles in one smooth, filthy stroke. The sudden fullness made my eyes roll. I moaned loudly around his cock, the vibration drawing a low groan from him. His free hand came up to grab one of my tits, squeezing hard, thumb dragging over the swollen nipple while he kept fingering my ass without mercy.

We stayed locked in that greedy rhythm. I bobbed on his cock, taking him as deep as I could, gagging wetly whenever his fingers found a particularly sensitive angle. He answered by fucking me harder with his hand—three thick fingers plunging in and out, the wet sound of it loud and shameless. Every time I came up for air he pulled me into a messy kiss, tongues sliding together, sharing the taste of precum and spit, before I sank back down and swallowed him again.

My hole felt completely claimed. Soft, open, and greedy for every stroke. When he twisted his wrist and pressed against the front wall the pressure radiated straight through to my cunt, making it clench and drip even more. I was soaked down to my thighs, the sheets under us already ruined. Still I kept sucking, kept moaning, kept pushing my ass back onto his fingers like I needed them to stay buried.

John added a fourth finger slowly, carefully, watching my face as the extra width forced my rim to stretch wider still. The burn returned sharper this time. I whimpered around his cock, thighs trembling, but I didn’t pull away. I breathed through it, forced myself to relax, and took the thicker stretch with a long, shuddering moan. Once all four were inside he held them there, letting me feel how full I was, then began to move again—deeper, slower, more deliberate—working me open even further while I worshipped his cock with my mouth.

The dual sensation was overwhelming: thick cock stretching my lips and throat, four fingers stretching my ass, both of them moving, both of them owning me. I was shaking, drooling, completely lost in how slutty and open I felt.

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By *dhesi OP Man
3 days ago

Canning Town

[Removed by poster at 29/10/26 18:03:34]

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By *dhesi OP Man
3 days ago

Canning Town

John slowly withdrew his four fingers. The sudden emptiness made me whimper around his cock, my hole clenching hard on nothing, still soft and open from the long stretch. He didn’t leave me empty for more than a few seconds.

He shifted us so I was on my hands and knees in the centre of the bed, ass raised, the black stockings and suspenders still framing everything. I looked back over my shoulder and watched him coat that thick cock with more lube, stroking himself slowly while he stared at how ready I was. The head looked enormous against my stretched, glistening rim.

He lined up and pressed forward.

The first inch forced a long, broken moan out of me. Even after the plug and the fingers, the real thing was thicker, hotter, more unyielding. My rim burned as it stretched around the broad head, the pressure intense and immediate. John held still once the tip was inside, one hand firm on my hip, the other stroking the small of my back, giving me time to adjust. I could feel every pulse of his cock as my body struggled to accept him.

“Breathe for me,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve got you.”

I did. Slow, deep breaths while he pushed deeper in steady increments. Inch after thick inch slid into me, stretching me wider than anything before. The burn bloomed into a deep, overwhelming fullness. By the time he bottomed out—balls pressed tight against me, every last inch buried—I was shaking, forehead dropped to the mattress, moaning continuously.

He stayed still for a moment, letting me feel how completely I was filled. Then he started to move.

Short, careful thrusts at first, pulling out only a little before pushing back in, teaching my ass to take him. The wet sound of it filled the room. Each stroke dragged over the sensitive walls the plug and fingers had already woken up, turning the stretch into raw, dirty pleasure. I pushed back to meet him, greedy for more, and he answered by giving me longer, deeper strokes until he was properly fucking me.

The rhythm built. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise as he drove into me, the thick length of him claiming every inch on every thrust. I was loud—moaning, gasping, cursing into the sheets—as he fucked my ass with steady, powerful strokes. Every time he bottomed out the impact sent a shock through my whole body. My tits swung beneath me; he reached under and grabbed them, squeezing and pulling at the nipples while he kept pounding into me.

“Look at you,” he growled, never slowing. “Taking my cock in your ass like a proper slut.”

I could only moan in answer, pushing back harder, wanting him deeper, thicker, more. He gave it to me—fucking me harder, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy. One hand left my hip to reach under and rub my clit in tight, fast circles that matched his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming: his cock stretching and filling my ass, his fingers working my clit, the constant pressure and friction driving me closer and closer.

I came hard, crying out as my whole body clenched around him. My ass tightened rhythmically on his cock, milking him, and the intensity only made him fuck me harder through it. He didn’t stop. He kept driving into me, using my still-spasming hole, chasing his own release while I shook and moaned and dripped onto the sheets.

When he finally came it was deep and heavy. He buried himself to the hilt and held there, cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside me, filling my ass with thick, hot spurts. I felt every throb, every extra stretch as he pumped me full. He stayed locked against me until the last pulse faded, then slowly pulled out, leaving me open, used, and leaking onto the bed.

I collapsed forward, trembling, thoroughly fucked and still craving more

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