Isabelle #3
Fuck, that's hot. Even the guys I've fucked on vacation before haven't been this unhinged.
Guys in New York tend to fuck me like I'm made of glass, like my daddy might burst through the door and beat them if they handle his precious Montague daughter a little too roughly.
This man doesn't fucking care. He runs his hand through my hair, knots it up in his fingers, thrusting his cock into the back of my throat.
When I choke a little, he croons to me under his breath, pulling out a bit so I can catch mine.
"You're taking it so well, pretty girl. Your lips look so good wrapped around it. I can't wait to see what it looks like filling up that pussy."
God. His mouth is filthy, and his cock is huge, and he's exactly what I needed.
I hollow my mouth around him, sucking for all I'm worth, running my tongue over every vein in his shaft and back up to the swollen, velvety head.
Suddenly, I want to give this man the best head I've ever achieved in my entire life, and from the look on his face and the tension in his jaw, I'm succeeding.
He taps the side of my chin, pulling back a little. "Easy, tiger. I'm gonna come if you keep that up—"
I pop his cock out of my mouth just long enough to look up at him, licking my lips as I do, and say: "What, can you only get it up once tonight?"
And then I go right back down, sucking him over my tongue and into my throat like there's a medal at the end of this for me.
He half-laughs, half-groans, that same sound that makes me think he doesn't laugh often, and relaxes a little, pushing himself deeper as he reaches for the champagne again.
This time, he barely tilts it, trickling it down his shaft.
When I slide back so that he's coated in it when I take him deep again.
It spills onto the floor, gets on my hands and my chin, but I don't care.
I'm covered in sweat and champagne, and I feel more alive and reckless than I ever have in my entire life.
The bottle hits the cart with a heavy thud, and his hands grip my head on both sides, his hips suddenly jerking faster. "Oh, Christ," he growls. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna fill that pretty fucking mouth—"
The first hot spurt shoots into my throat as I feel his cock stiffen and throb, and he thrusts, fucking my face suddenly as he comes more than I remember any man ever coming before.
Jet after jet of thick hot cum, in my throat and on my tongue, filling my mouth as I swallow as fast as I can.
I try to get it all, but some spills out of my mouth, and he makes a rough, lustful noise deep in his throat as he catches it with his thumb, pushing it back into my mouth where his cock still rests.
I run my tongue over him, and he lets out a breathless sound, finally slipping free. He grabs the whiskey bottle and staggers backward, finally landing on the bed, still dressed, his half-hard cock loose against his thigh.
"Fuck," he groans. "Christ, I'd tell you that was the best head of my life, but you'd get a big one of your own."
A smile spreads across my lips, and I lick them pointedly as I get to my feet, a bit unsteady.
Part of me thinks he should have been a gentleman and helped me up, but we're both drunk, and he just came so hard he looked like he was about to fall down.
"It was the best head of your life," I tell him, slurring a little, and he grins at me.
"Take that dress off, sweetheart, and come here. And bring the champagne bottle with you."
I grab the bottle in one hand, reaching up for the zipper of the dress with the other. I yank it down, feeling something split as I do, but I don't care. I want it off, and I know he does, too, from the look on his face.
I kick off my heels as I peel the dress off, leaving me in nothing but my thong. His eyes widen when he sees my bare breasts, and the expression on his face sends a rush of heat through me.
"Get over here," he murmurs, "and sit on my face."
He doesn't have to ask me twice. The moment I make it to the bed, I climb onto it with him, and I feel him grab the side of my thong and pull it down. Just before I swing my leg over to sit on his face as requested, I see him shove my thong into the pocket of his pants.
"Hey—" Before I can say anything else, he grabs my hips and pulls me down onto his mouth. Instantly, my mind goes blank.
No one has ever eaten me out like this man.
His tongue is fucking magic. My toes curl against the sheets as he slides it over me, delving between my folds, up to my clit, back down to push his tongue into me before doing it all over again.
I'm shaking all over by the time he finally focuses entirely on my clit, and apparently, he doesn't need to breathe, because not once does he ever try to lift me off his mouth to get more space.
In fact, when the pleasure becomes too much, and I start to roll my hips, grinding down onto his tongue shamelessly, he moans like he's the one getting pleasured.
One of his hands stays gripping my hip while the other reaches down, and I realize with a rush of arousal that he's stroking himself while he eats me. His tongue lashes around my clit, his lips sucking at the swollen flesh, and I realize that I'm going to come again.
Three times in one night. How many times is he…
My world shatters. My back arches, and I grind so heavily against his face that I'm worried I'm going to break his nose.
He doesn't seem to care. He lets go of his cock and grabs both of my hips, holding me against his mouth as he licks me through it, never letting up until my whole body goes boneless and I roll off of him onto my back on the bed.
He pushes himself up, unbuttons his shirt a little clumsily, and sheds all of his clothing before prowling toward me with a look on his face that says I have seconds before the massive cock jutting out in front of him is inside of me.
I barely have a chance to take in how fucking gorgeous he is before he reaches out and flips me over onto my stomach.
But god, he's fucking perfect. Every inch of him is chiseled muscle, from his shoulders and arms to his broad chest and carved abs, the muscles at his hips a deep V that my mouth waters just thinking about running my tongue over it.
His cock looks even better with the rest of him naked.
Ink swirls all over his chest and arms, and I wonder if there's more on his back.
That line of thinking is abruptly cut off when he grabs me, and yanks me to the edge of the bed, and slings one arm under my hips to drag my ass up into the air.
I hear the ripping of foil and realize dimly I didn't even think about condoms. Thank fuck he's responsible even while drunk, I think—and then I feel the thick, blunt head of his cock at my entrance.
He doesn't go slow. He lines himself up and thrusts, sliding all the way into me, and my high-pitched yelp mingles with the low, deep groan of satisfaction that he lets out.
His hand squeezes my hip. "No need for that," he murmurs.
"You're taking my cock just fine, pretty girl. You look so pretty wrapped around it."
Heat rushes through me, and I arch my back, thrusting back onto him.
I don't know why, but I'm determined to be the best fuck this man has ever had.
I want him to fucking remember me, and he doesn't even know my name.
He might leave without ever knowing it, and I don't care. I just want him to remember this.
I know I'm going to.
He fucks like a god. His cock plunges into me again and again, his hips rolling in a way that seems to push his tip up against the perfect spot inside of me every time.
The room is filled with the slapping of flesh and the thick scent of sex and his cologne and my perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and heat.
He grabs the champagne bottle from the nightstand where I set it and pours some of it down my back, thrusting hard as he bends down and licks it off my spine.
Then he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me up onto my knees while he keeps fucking me, handing me the bottle.
"Finish it off, sweetheart," he purrs in my ear, all the while sinking that thick cock into me without ever stopping.
When I obey, lifting the neck of it to my lips, he waits until I've swallowed almost all of it before yanking it away and setting it down, turning my mouth back toward his to kiss me as he licks the last of the champagne out of my mouth.
And I realize, as his tongue tangles with mine and his cock relentlessly thrusts into me, that he's going to make me come just from fucking him. As the orgasm hits, as his hips slap against my ass again, burying all of that thick length into me, I start to spasm around him.
It's so fucking good. I cry out, moaning, the sound swallowed by his kiss and mingling with his groan as he fucks me harder, shuddering as he buries himself into me once more, and I feel him throbbing.
A moment later, he pulls out, rolling off of me onto the bed.
I hear the wet sound of him removing the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket next to the bed, still breathing hard.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Goddamn, that was—"
"The best sex of your life?" I purr, rolling toward him and running a finger down his sweaty pecs. "I want to do it again."
"Christ," he groans. "You're going to kill me."
"That's the way all men want to go, right?" I roll off the bed, swaying toward the bar cart, and grab the bottle of whiskey. I can feel his eyes on me as I go, and he groans again.
"I definitely haven't done a good enough job if you're still walking like that." He pushes himself up on his elbows as I approach with the whiskey, and I slap his hand away when he reaches for it.