Todestrieb
"Can't you take a joke?" you warble with all the levity you can push out of your throat. His look of confusion is now verging on fear. But you can also see that he has become highly excited.
"Yes, in fact. I think it's funny that your pussy has a hazelnut aftertaste."
You break into hysterical laughter, falling on top of him. His bulging denim pushes up against you and you just cannot wait another second. He has begun tenderly nibbling on your ear, but you cover his mouth with one hand, undoing his belt with the other. None of that. None of that bullshit. You need filling. You're dying of thirst and he's tormenting you with little raindrops! You start pulling angrily at his pants and his boxers, scratching him carelessly as you finally have them around his ankles. With a flick of your wrist, they are on the floor. Your body spasming with infinite energy, you rip off your own shirt and bra, as he mirrors your movements. Then you are both naked, kneeling face to face at the bottom of your bed. He doesn't appear to be breathing. Your tears have dried.
"Now, Doctor," you begin, finding his darting eyes and holding them fast with your gaze, "You are going to fuck me as hard as you possibly can." With that, you grab him by the neck, pulling him down on top of you.
The air is his back. He is really here, that is really his weight, his breath, his dick. He is going to fuck you. In a matter of seconds, he will thrust himself into you. The moment when the shot has been fired, but the blood has not yet appeared just a few seconds. Three, two
"Ahh!" you gasp sharply. He hesitates for a moment, but you say nothing more, so he continues. The bed creaks a hesitant lullaby.
"Who taught you how to fuck? Lambchops?" you growl at him. He laughs out loud, but you dig your nails angrily into his shoulder blades. "I told you to fuck me hard!"
"Yes, Madam!" he accedes breathlessly, looking away as he focuses all of his energy into his efforts. The lullaby gives way to a stormy percussion as the bed is lifted clear off the ground, then sent crashing back down. You arch your back up so he can slam in even deeper. It begins to hurt. Looking above you, you see the blue balloon float further and further away. Your eye begins to tear up again and you arch your hips higher so it will hurt even more. It has to hurt too much to cry. All your attention, at that point where your flesh is turning red, burned and bruised and
"I'm gonna come," he moans into your ear, pulling out just in time to shoot his load right onto the large red burn on the front of your right thigh. The thick milky liquid is like an instant balm after all the friction and abuse. It feels so good, so unexpectedly, that you find your muscles suddenly contracting in an agonizing orgasm that twists you from side to side, your right leg shaking helplessly. When you open your eyes, he is looking down at you with a look of pure melancholy.
"Was that really what you wanted, Anna?" he asks breathlessly, too afraid to touch you.
"Precisely," you respond curtly. "Thank you. Now you can leave. I won't be back for quite some time I imagine because, you see, my mother died last night."
"What?!"
But you have already turned your back to him.
"Yes, in fact. I think it's funny that your pussy has a hazelnut aftertaste."
You break into hysterical laughter, falling on top of him. His bulging denim pushes up against you and you just cannot wait another second. He has begun tenderly nibbling on your ear, but you cover his mouth with one hand, undoing his belt with the other. None of that. None of that bullshit. You need filling. You're dying of thirst and he's tormenting you with little raindrops! You start pulling angrily at his pants and his boxers, scratching him carelessly as you finally have them around his ankles. With a flick of your wrist, they are on the floor. Your body spasming with infinite energy, you rip off your own shirt and bra, as he mirrors your movements. Then you are both naked, kneeling face to face at the bottom of your bed. He doesn't appear to be breathing. Your tears have dried.
"Now, Doctor," you begin, finding his darting eyes and holding them fast with your gaze, "You are going to fuck me as hard as you possibly can." With that, you grab him by the neck, pulling him down on top of you.
The air is his back. He is really here, that is really his weight, his breath, his dick. He is going to fuck you. In a matter of seconds, he will thrust himself into you. The moment when the shot has been fired, but the blood has not yet appeared just a few seconds. Three, two
"Ahh!" you gasp sharply. He hesitates for a moment, but you say nothing more, so he continues. The bed creaks a hesitant lullaby.
"Who taught you how to fuck? Lambchops?" you growl at him. He laughs out loud, but you dig your nails angrily into his shoulder blades. "I told you to fuck me hard!"
"Yes, Madam!" he accedes breathlessly, looking away as he focuses all of his energy into his efforts. The lullaby gives way to a stormy percussion as the bed is lifted clear off the ground, then sent crashing back down. You arch your back up so he can slam in even deeper. It begins to hurt. Looking above you, you see the blue balloon float further and further away. Your eye begins to tear up again and you arch your hips higher so it will hurt even more. It has to hurt too much to cry. All your attention, at that point where your flesh is turning red, burned and bruised and
"I'm gonna come," he moans into your ear, pulling out just in time to shoot his load right onto the large red burn on the front of your right thigh. The thick milky liquid is like an instant balm after all the friction and abuse. It feels so good, so unexpectedly, that you find your muscles suddenly contracting in an agonizing orgasm that twists you from side to side, your right leg shaking helplessly. When you open your eyes, he is looking down at you with a look of pure melancholy.
"Was that really what you wanted, Anna?" he asks breathlessly, too afraid to touch you.
"Precisely," you respond curtly. "Thank you. Now you can leave. I won't be back for quite some time I imagine because, you see, my mother died last night."
"What?!"
But you have already turned your back to him.