Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I am now, I reply.
You’re making me so hard.
What would you do next?
I read over his last steamy message, imagining his mouth pressed against me, his tongue sliding up my folds to my clit, and then focusing there.
I’d suck on your clit and push my tongue against it, forcing you to feel every moment of the pressure, the pleasure. At the same time, I’d stroke my cock, getting myself ready to claim your virgin hole. The faster I licked you, the quicker I’d stroke, until I knew I had to drive all the way inside of you, push deep until my end is buried as far into your sopping slit as it’s possible to get. I’d fill up your virgin hole.
I gasp as I rub my pussy faster, my hand moving as if it’s got a will of its own.
I’m rubbing my pussy, I text. I’m rubbing it fast. I’m rubbing it for you.
I’d lie you on your back, naked, beautiful, perfect, and then climb atop you so you could feel my body pressing against yours. Then I’d fuck you deep and slow at first, but the passion would become too much to handle. I’d lose control. You’d turn me into an animal. I’d start fucking you hard, staring at those full tits, watching them bounce for me with each thrust. I’m so hard for you.
The lust is making me brave. With one hand busy in my shorts, my clit, and my hole aching, I struggle to send the text. Not just physically, not just because touching myself is making concentrating difficult. It’s the nerves, too, always clinging to me. I remember I’m supposed to be mad at him for telling Peter, but I can’t.
Can I see how hard I’m making you? I text.
I expect him to ask me the same question I asked him. Will I show this to anybody else? About thirty seconds later, an image appears. My hand pauses on my pussy as I stare at the image, trying to convince myself I’d be able to take this, take him.
He’s huge. Massive. Unbelievably big. I know this because he’s gripping his base in the photo, and he has big hands. His hand doesn’t even cover half of it. His cock is rock-solid, the tip glistening, veins pushing against his shaft.
I’m going to drive this cock into your body, claiming you. Fucking you hard. Fucking you so you never have to be nervous about your sexuality again. I’m so close, just thinking about you, but I don’t want to finish until you do.
I move my hand again, stroking my clit quicker, my hips shifting like when he stroked me. However, there’s a new aspect to it now that I can see how insanely big he is. In the fantasy, I can believe I’ll be able to handle his size. I’ll be able to handle it when he becomes completely captivated by lust.
I’m getting closer. Don’t stop, please.
His reply appears almost right away.
I’ll get addicted to your pussy instantly, addicted to your hole squeezing my shaft, knowing no other man has ever fucked you before, knowing this is the first time you’ve experienced pleasure like this. As I sense you getting closer to your finish—as your horny young hole pulses around my cock—I’d lean up so I can look at you as you climax. I know that’s when I’ll finish, too. I won’t be able to stop.
My hand goes into overdrive, and the orgasm explodes, a detonation that obliterates thinking. My vision gets blurry as I stare at the photo of his manhood, and in the most starry moments of euphoria, I know I can take it, take him and everything that comes after.
The life, the family, the love.
I just came, I reply.
Good. Send me a photo. I’m near the end. I want to see your tits.
He’s getting more commanding the hornier he becomes, and I like that. It means I don’t have to think and overthink and dread what will happen when the lust passes and we’re left with decisions to make.
Quickly taking off my shirt, I stand and arch my back, hoping to make my breasts perkier. I’m full-figured, so it’s probably a losing battle, but the thought of lust surging up Jax’s huge shaft is all the motivation I need.
Once I’ve sent the photo, a minute or so passes. Then a text arrives.
Jesus. Christ. I just exploded for you. I’ve never felt anything like that.
A smile spreads across my face, with memories of the teenage girl who never believed Jax could be attracted to me, but that was in the old days when I had a crush before I felt his lips against mine.
That was crazy, I reply.
Are you mad at me now the lust has passed?
I laugh. It’s not that his message is funny, exactly. It’s more the fiery feelings rushing around me, the aftershocks of the orgasm turning the world brighter, less anxious.