I couldnt stop shaking after he fucked me

We were simply hanging out—drinks, music, and flirting, as we normally did. I wore a dress that I knew would catch his eye. No bra. There are no panties. Just smooth fabric caressing against naked skin and the anticipation of how it would feel when he realised.

I noticed him staring several times. The kind of stare that lingers on my thighs for too long and then dips to my chest when he thinks I’m not looking. He never said anything, simply sipping his drink and smiled as if he knew something I didn’t.

I leaned closer him, lightly caressed his knee, and asked him questions in a lower tone of voice. I was not being subtle. And I did not want to be.

He jumped up and said, “Come with me.” His tone left no space for questions.

I silently followed him to the bedroom.

He turned and looked at me, as if he was waiting for me to pull back if necessary. I did not. I stepped forwards and kissed him. Hard.

He shoved me back onto the bed, as if he had been waiting all night to do so. My dress slid up over my hips, and the moment he realised I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, he hissed against my neck.

“Fuck. “Are you really ready for this?”

I nodded, already breathless. “I’ve been waiting all night.”

He did not squander time. His fingers went between my thighs, and I gasped—already moist and tightening around nothing.

“Dripping,” he mumbled. “You’re such a needy little thing.”

He undressed slowly, but when he finally pressed his cock against me, he didn’t ease in. One deep, thick thrust pulled me open, causing me to yell out.

I tried to hide my mouth, but he wouldn’t allow it. He seized my wrists and pinned them above my head, saying, “Don’t try to disguise how fantastic that feels. “I want to hear you.”

Then he fucked me.

Hard. Deep. Each thrust knocked the air out of me. He held my legs apart, wide and helpless, fingers clutching hard as he went inside me, like if he owned every inch. I could not think. Could not speak. Just moaned and whimpered as my body rocked beneath him.

“You feel that?” he demanded. “This pussy was made for me.”

I was soaking him. Each stroke produced a wet, disgusting sound, which just turned him on more.

My thighs trembled. My back arched. I was clenching around him, almost cumming, and couldn’t make a syllable.

“I—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“No.”

He slowed, grinding in deep, keeping me on edge.

“You don’t get to cum until I say.”

It was torture. I whimpered, begged, and attempted to grind my hips, but he kept me immobile.

“Please,” I gasped. I need it. “I can’t hold it.”

He simply smiled. “Good.”

He started again. Thrusts sharp and deep, hitting the exact region that made my entire body light up. My moans grew louder, desperate and dirty.

“You gonna be a good girl?” he enquired.

“Yes. Please. “I will do anything.”

“Then cum for me.”

So I did.

It hit me like a wave—hard, abrupt, and uncontrollable. My entire body shook. I shrieked his name, clenching around him and soaking the linens. My legs didn’t quit twitching. My vision blurred.

But he did not stop.

He grasped my hips and slammed me through the aftershocks, groaning as his cock twitched and spilt inside of me. Hot, thick, and deep. I could feel every pulse and drop.

He remained inside me, panting against my throat.

When he finally pulled out, his cum began leaking down my thighs.

“Look at the mess you made,” he exclaimed, raking two fingers through it. “I hope you know we’re not done.”

And I just lay there, ruined but smiling.

I sincerely hoped we weren’t.