Page 111 of S is for SEX

SIENNA

November 9th, 2014

Reading a book on how to cook may assist with the preparation of dinner, and reading a book about landscape architecture might provide ideas on the development of a great looking flower garden, but no amount of MC Romance novels could have prepared me for being fucked by Vince.

A book hadn’t been written yet to accurately describe how he was making me feel.

“Who’s fuckin you?” he bellowed.

“Vince!” I shouted as he shoved his cock into me once again.

With each powerful stroke, I felt like I was being impaled. Not only was I well out of practice at having sex, but his dick was thick, long, and far beyond what I could describe as hard. As he held himself deep inside of me and ground his hips against my ass, his balls began to massage my clit.

I’m never going to make it. The head of his dick feels like it’s pounding against the bottom of my heart. I’m going to die right here and collapse on the couch, death by a cock induced heart attack.

“And whose big fat cock is in that sweet little pussy of yours?” he asked as the palm of his hand came down sharply against my ass.

I gripped the cushion of the couch in my hand and squeezed it tightly as I opened my eyes and glanced over my shoulder.

We had been fucking for longer than I cared to guess, and my legs were weak and felt like rubber. Much to my surprise, he hadn’t reached orgasm, and I wondered just how much longer he could make it.

He widened his eyes and raised his hand. As it hovered above my ass, I grinned and waited. My tingling clit provided all of the mental support I needed to stay right where I was for as long as he would allow me to.

“Whose?” he growled.

I blinked my eyes and silently studied his muscular torso. He was covered in sweat and every muscle was tensed. I was truly in heaven, and Vince was my big dicked biker angel. After a few seconds of eye contact, his face washed with faux anger and his hand came down.

Smack!

I winced in pain as his hand slapped against my butt cheek. I truly loved being fucked doggie style, but not being able to watch him was sheer torture.

“Say it!” he shouted.

I turned, lowered my head into the edge of the couch and bit into the cushion.

“Vince’s,” I said through my teeth.

“God damned right it is,” he grunted as he began to fuck me again.

The sound of our sweaty flesh colliding was music to my ears. Something I had yearned to hear for almost six months, and now was quite sure I would never be able to live without, it provided me a reminder of just who was in charge.

And it was time he took charge and ended this escapade before he killed me.

“Fuck me, Vince!” I screamed into the fabric of the pillow.

His pace increased, pounding his hips into my ass and slowly driving the couch an inch or two across the floor with each thrust of his hips. The smell of his sweat, cologne, and the sweet scent of sex filled my nostrils, bringing me closer to orgasm, and undoubtedly closer to collapsing.

“Fuck me, Vince!” I shouted again, the sound muffled by the pillow my head was buried into.

As he continued forcing himself deep into me, I felt a slight tug against my hair. As I wondered if he was going to actually pull it, he began to. My one true weakness, at least that I was aware of, was having my hair pulled. If a man knew how to do it, and do it right, it was about as pleasurable as anything…

Oh dear God. Ding, Ding. Ding.

It was immediately obvious Vince knew how to do it right.

My back arched and my neck craned as he filled me with dick and continued to push the couch toward the wall.

“No, fuck me!” I wailed.

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