They found their relationship full of passion, yet it had no strings attached. There was a lot of attraction but no deep, romantic love. Sex kept them going through the frustrating world, but it was not lovemaking. It was just how they vented their anger.
He was nineteen. She was twenty-six. They both had a rough day at their respective places, in the same city away from their hometowns.
She received his text, “Get there at 8:00 at night. Capisce?”
They hardly needed a more elaborate form of messaging. She was thrilled and texted, “Yes, master.” It did not need to spell out that he wanted to be dominant. Wherever ‘there’ was, they would not be carrying their cellphones because they wanted absolute privacy.
He would not be missed at the dorm because he did not have a roommate. And her landlady would not miss her at her rented apartment, either.
He got ‘there’ first. He had had enough of those boring classes. He carelessly flung his backpack on the floor. He ripped off his clothes and threw them about, letting them lie carelessly on the floor.
She walked in looking disheveled, and her face looked like it had been washed with tears. Inwardly, he appreciated her talent at acting, but he had to show himself unmoved. She looked at him sitting in bed, staring at her hard.
He looked so youthful, and his body was so supple. He was sizzling hot in his grey socks and brown underwear, shorts that clung to him tightly. It was wet.
She got onto the bed on all fours, perfectly acting her part as a teary-eyed slave. She peeled off her clothes, and her deshabille was a sight to see.
He pointed to his underwear. “Lick, bitch! I have pissed it in to make your experience beautiful.”
She began sobbing.
“Lick!” he commanded in a sterner voice.
There were some sad sniffs. But he pointedly ignored them and closed his eyes as if in pleasure. He felt her tongue move on his piddle-drenched underwear and feel it on his hardened shaft. In a while, he let out an involuntary “Ahhhh!” as he urinated in his underwear again.
She stopped licking and attempted to crawl away. He snapped out of his pleasure-filled reverie and grabbed her by her hair. He pulled her head closer to his underwear, in which she saw movement.
“Lick, you worthless cunt! LICK!” his voice was angry and only a little less than a yell. She held back no more and burst into tears as she licked, washing his piddle-drenched underwear with her tears.
Every lick by her prompted the same movement as if his underwear caged a thirsty animal inside that was desperate to be freed. She licked so well that he was back to closing his eyes and moaning with pleasure again, unmoved by her sobs and sniffs.
He wanted every inch of his underwear licked, even the backside. And she complied. He had grabbed hold of her bra and her knickers a while earlier. And he smelled them deeply to fuel his lust.
The deed done, he grabbed her arms. She looked up, and his lips met hers in a lustful kiss. He pulled his underwear down as he kissed, set it aside, and picked up a metal rod beside him. He thrust it in her forward orifice, and she let out a loud moan.
He pulled her head down towards his shaft, which danced thirstily now that it was free from its wet cage.
He positioned her so that the rod would vertically support her, and his legs would be underneath hers. As she blew him and he moaned in loud exclamations of pleasure, he moved her legs up and down with his own.
Consequently, the inner walls of her orifice were taking the rod in and out. Because she could not moan, she had to settle for heavy breathing.
“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhh! Yes, bitch!” he moaned, unrestrained. He did not care that her tears fell on him down there.
He ordered her to stop before he could climax and again smooched her lustily. He smooched until his fluids had settled, but he was still hard. He turned her around and rammed his shaft into her rear, heaving himself, and kept the rod going in and out in her front orifice.
It was her turn to moan and his to grunt. Her moans were very loud, and she could hardly help it. “You’re a slutty one, all right,” he grunted as he kept heaving. He had to keep himself from biting her, so he resorted to rough kisses on her shoulders and back to vent his anger and lust.
His hands were fondling and pulling at her breasts, and she held on to his hands as she moaned. She had flooded twice by the time she had said anyone out of “Oh fucking god!”
“Yesss, master!”
“Ahh!” about fifty times.
Again just before he could climax, he pulled out. He also threw away the rod and slammed her onto the bed. He jumped onto her with a lustful grunt and began ramming her front orifice. Her moans were close to being yells, and his grunts were ferocious. But soon, he matched her moans.
“Ahh! Ahh!” he yelled as he reached very to the tipping point.
And soon, he was spent with a loud, cathartic moan. “Awh!”
He collapsed on her, and the room was full of the sounds of their heavy breaths with the periodic “Fuck!” whispered by him. It was exhausting. He managed to wear his underwear before moving no more and collapsed into a dreamless sleep beside her.
The next morning, she arose to a fetid air about her. She looked at the asleep figure beside her. Feigning repugnance, she went into the bathroom, returned with a mug full of cold water and sent the water flying at his face.
He was jolted awake, but it took time for his sleep to leave him fully. He dimly saw a woman wearing a dress as she spoke, “You slept in that fucking dunghill of underwear, you prick! Better scrub yourself well with soap today, and have it washed!”
He was fully awake and strode out of bed in a flash. He grabbed her waist and spoke into her ears in a menacing voice, “I’ll be smelling of carbolic soap the next time, bitch, but I would not be lovestruck.”
She freed herself from his grasp and spoke with equal menace, “I’ll be bossing around next time, get it? You’ll see.” With pretend fury, she stormed out of their secret place.
He watched her go and felt a tumescence in his underwear. “I’m looking forward to that!” he whispered with a devilish grin.
Next Part: They Went Wild – Part 2