Game of seduction

Friday dawned cold, with that wind that chills the skin and invites you to seek shelter in someone’s warmth. But from the early hours, I knew this night would be different. The messages we exchanged throughout the day left no room for doubt. You teased me with short, precise phrases:

“I’ve already picked out the panties you’re going to take off with your mouth tonight.”

I smiled to myself at work, just imagining the taste of your skin, the feeling of finally having you without barriers. My responses were no softer:

“Tonight I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop… and even then, I won’t stop.”

This verbal game kept us on edge all day. I counted the hours; you sent discreet photos: a wine glass in your hand, a part of your dress still on the hanger, your lips marked with lipstick. It wasn’t just any night; it was a preparation.

When we met before the event, the impact was immediate. You were beautiful, captivating, and that intoxicating perfume made me want to undress you right there. The first stolen kiss, still in the car, was wet, urgent, almost a warning: “tonight is ours.”

Inside the party, no one else mattered. People laughed, toasted, but for me, the world had been reduced to you. Our kisses were endless, full of tongue, of discreet bites. Your hand played with the nape of my neck while your waist, dancing close to mine, said what you hadn’t yet spoken in words.

The alcohol only loosened us up more. Between sips and laughter, you leaned against me, rubbed your body on mine, leaving me hard in front of everyone. And you seemed to enjoy knowing it, because with every mischievous grind, a smile appeared at the corner of your mouth, teasing me.

When the party ended, there was no room for conversation. I was intoxicated, not just from the alcohol, but from you. The walk to the car was a parade of lustful glances, of quick touches that only increased the tension.

In the passenger seat, you crossed your legs slowly, letting your dress ride up a little more. I drove with difficulty, one hand on the wheel and the other daring to slide up your warm thigh. You sighed, bit your lip, and at one point turned to me and whispered:

“If you want, I’ll get out right here and suck your cock in the middle of the street.”

I almost lost control of the car. At the red light, I couldn’t take it; I pulled your face to mine and kissed you hard, invading your mouth. You reciprocated by slipping your hand inside my pants, squeezing my hard cock, laughing softly at my reaction.

The drive home was a delicious hell. Every turn, every minute, was loaded with anticipation. You looked at me like someone who knows the power they hold, and I drove thinking only about how I would tear every piece of clothing from you the moment the door closed behind us.

The night hadn’t even begun.

The door barely closed behind us and there was no more room for subtlety. I pressed you against the wall, our mouths meeting in a desperate, hot kiss, full of bites. My hands ran up and down your body, feeling every curve, squeezing your ass under your dress.

You moaned softly, almost like a challenge, and guided my hands to your soaked panties. I felt the wetness through the fabric, and that alone made me lose my composure. I tore your clothes off in a hurry, letting your bra fall to the floor and your ripped panties to the side.

“You’re mine tonight,” I whispered in your ear, biting your lobe.

I threw you on the bed and, before anything else, dove between your legs. My tongue explored every detail, every fold, sucking your pleasure, while my hands held your thighs open by force. Your moans filled the room, a mix of pleasure and loss of control.

You arched your whole body, pulled my hair, and with a look full of lust said:

“I am your woman. Do whatever you want with me.”

Those words broke me. I stood up and pulled you on top of me. You mounted me without hesitation, sinking down hard, riding me like a starved slut. Your body slid on mine, the wet sound of your pussy slapping against my cock echoed along with your loud moans.

With every thrust you spat on my chest, cursed at me, smiled like a wanton woman.

“Hit me, damn it.”

I obeyed. My hands cracked against your ass and your face. Each slap drew out more moans, more force from your hips. You came like that, collapsing on me, but you didn’t stop. You kept riding as if you wanted to kill me with pleasure.

I turned you onto all fours, held your waist, and thrust into you with brutality. Your whole body trembled with every thrust, your screams echoed through the house, and you only begged for more.

“Don’t stop, break me, fuck me until I pass out!”

Sweat streamed down my face, your back gleamed with heat, and I saw no sign of tiredness. Only cum, only madness. You came again, writhing, but still fell on my cock with your mouth when I pulled out.

I turned on the light because I needed to see. I needed to commit to memory your mouth opening, your tongue sliding, your face red with lust and marked from the slaps. I pulled your hair, slapped your face, and you, with your mouth full, murmured between gags:

“I’m your whore. Cum on my face.”

That was the last straw. I held your head firmly and came hard, spurting on your face, on your breasts, spreading every drop over your body. You opened your mouth, licking your lips, smiling with satisfaction. A vision of a filthy bitch and, at the same time, my woman.

And, in the midst of the savagery, between slaps, spit, and moans, we still exchanged declarations. I said, “you are mine,” you answered, “I’m yours, always yours.” It was madness, it was raw lust, but it was also love, in the most insane and true way possible.

We fell exhausted onto the bed, bodies glued together, breathing heavily. The room smelled of sex, and yet there was tenderness. I ran my hand over your face, dirty with my cum, and you laughed softly, resting your head on my chest.

That cold Friday ended hot, marked in every detail. It wasn’t just a fuck. It was the perfect mix of passion, filth, and surrender.