My Midnight Wrecking Ball

My head was still buzzing from the cheap wine and the long, stupid week. The kind of week that makes your shoulders sit somewhere up around your ears, all tension and static. I’d texted him an hour ago, a simple, “You up?” He’d replied just as simply, “On my way.” That was it. No preamble, no sweet nothings. We were past that. We’d carved out this unspoken thing, this arrangement of pure, unadulterated need. He was my secret, my stud, my personal earthquake, and I was his… well, I was his to wreck.

I was sprawled on my side in bed, the comforter kicked down to my ankles, wearing nothing but an old, thin t-shirt. The city lights bled through the blinds, painting the room in weak, orange stripes. I heard the key turn in the lock—I’d given him one for nights like this—and the soft thud of the door closing. My heart did its familiar, frantic tap dance against my ribs. I didn’t turn. I just listened to the sounds of him: the rustle of his jacket being shed, the soft footfalls on the hardwood floor, the quiet jingle of his belt buckle.

Then, the bed dipped behind me. The heat of his body was an immediate presence, a furnace at my back. He didn’t say a word. He never did. His hand, big and calloused, slid up my thigh, pushing my t-shirt up to my waist. His breath was warm on the nape of my neck. I could smell the night air on him, a hint of cold and his own clean, masculine scent. My body went pliant, already yielding, already begging for what was coming.

He shifted, and I felt it then—the thick, heavy press of his cock against the cleft of my ass. He was already hard, a steel rod nestled in the softness. He was so damn big, every single time it was a shock to my system. He used his tip to nudge my slickness, sliding it through my folds, gathering the wetness that was already pooling there for him. I let out a shaky sigh, my hips pushing back instinctively, a silent plea.

And then he was in.

No slow, teasing entrance. Just one smooth, relentless, deep push that stole the air from my lungs. He filled me in one go, a perfect, stretching, mind-blowing fit. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest into my back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough with sleep or lust, I couldn’t tell.

He spooned me tight, his chest plastered to my back, one arm snaking under my neck, his forearm becoming a pillow and a cage. His other hand came to rest on my hip, his grip firm, possessive. He hiked my top leg up, bending my knee, opening me up wider for him, changing the angle. And then he started to move.

This wasn’t gentle lovemaking. This was a claiming. He set a rhythm that was deep and hard and punishing from the very first stroke. Each thrust was a deliberate, powerful surge, burying him to the hilt inside me. I could feel the base of his shaft, the full, thick length of him, and with every inward push, his balls smacked firmly against my slick, swollen pussy lips. The sound was obscene, a wet, rhythmic slap that filled the quiet room, a stark counterpoint to my ragged breathing.

His hand on my hip moved, sliding up my stomach, over my t-shirt, and then his fingers were wrapping around my throat. Not choking, not really. Just holding. A dominant, steady pressure that reminded me who was in control, that pinned me in place even more effectively than his weight. It sent a jolt of pure, white-hot lightning straight to my core. My eyes rolled back, a broken moan tearing from my throat.

“Oh, god… right there,” I whimpered, my words slurred and desperate. I was completely gone, lost in the sensation, a slave to the piston-like rhythm of his hips. The world narrowed to this bed, to the heat of his body, to the exquisite friction of him moving inside me. I was just a vessel for his pleasure, a body being used and fucked into a state of blissful oblivion. My own hands scrambled for purchase, one tangling in the sheets, the other reaching back to claw at his thigh, his ass, anything to anchor myself.

He shifted his angle minutely, just a fraction, and suddenly, he was there. He was grinding right against that deep, tingly spot, the one that makes me see stars. A sharp, electric cry ripped from me. “Fuck! Don’t you stop! Don’t you fucking stop!” I was yelling now, my voice raw, cussing him out, begging him, all at once. “You feel so deep, you bastard! Right there, oh my god, right fucking there!”

The orgasm didn’t build; it detonated. It came on like a freight train, a tidal wave of sensation that obliterated every thought in my head. My whole body seized up, back arching violently against his chest. A scream, his name, tore from my lungs as my pussy clamped down on his dick in a series of violent, uncontrollable spasms. It was so intense, so powerful, that the force of my internal muscles actually pushed his thick cock out of me with a wet, sucking pop.

The sudden emptiness was a shock. For a second, I just lay there, panting, trembling, my body still vibrating with the aftershocks. And then a breathless, hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. The sheer absurdity, the intensity of it—I couldn’t help it. I was laughing and crying and my entire nervous system was short-circuiting.

He didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t pause to ask if I was okay. He just growled, a low, animal sound, and guided himself back inside my sopping, sensitive core with one firm push. I gasped, the sensation almost too much to bear, a sharp, sweet overload. He started fucking me again, through the climax, into the next one, his thrusts just as deep, just as relentless as before. He was pushing me over the edge again, and I was helpless to stop it. My screams turned into choked sobs, my body writhing not in protest, but in ecstasy. I was breathless, boneless, just a raw, exposed nerve being played by his cock.

I felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. His breath was hot and harsh in my ear. His grip on my throat tightened just a fraction. “Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, the words strained. That was all the warning I got. With a final, deep, grinding thrust that pressed his pelvis hard against my ass, he buried himself as deep as he could go and I felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding into me. A long, low groan vibrated through his entire body and into mine.

He stayed like that for a long moment, his body heavy on mine, his cock still throbbing inside me. Then, slowly, he softened and slipped out. He rolled onto his back, his breathing still ragged.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I was shaking, soaked in a mixture of our sweat, my pussy throbbing with a deep, satisfying ache. The room smelled of sex, of him, of me. A slow, stupid, utterly spent smile spread across my face. My pussy felt like it had been put through a wringer, pounded and stretched and used exactly how it was meant to be used. I was a complete mess. And I knew, without a doubt, that this was one I’d be playing back in my head for a long, long time.