Free Brawler by Scott Hildreth Page A

shoulder.
    Completely naked with the exception of his red and white boxing gloves, Ethan stood behind me wide-eyed and rock hard.
    “Just fuck me,” I demanded.
    He pounded his gloves together as if preparing to begin a fight.
    He lifted his bare foot and easily flipped the back of my skirt over my ass and onto the back side of my hips. His gloves squeezed my waist. With neither of us able to guide his throbbing cock into my wet and willing hole, it danced around between my legs for some time before finally landing perfectly centered between my pussy lips.
    Before we got started, I needed to make sure we were on the same page, sexually speaking. “I want it rough.”
    His cock still hovered in mid-air, tickling my pussy with each breath he took. He cleared his throat. “Rough?”
    “Rough as fuck,” I assured him.
    With one hard shove, he filled me with cock and forced the air from my lungs.
    I grunted like I’d been gut-punched.
    Holy fuck. That’s a lot of cock.
    “Are you alright?”
    I raised my right glove high in the air and waved it. “I’m good,” I lied.
    I felt like I was being fucked by an arm. I knew his cock was big, but I didn’t realize just how large it actually was. With it shoved balls-deep inside of me, I was quickly reminded that it had been a long time since I’d had sex. Furthermore, I had a newfound awareness that my ability to comparatively measure a cock based on memory alone wasn’t a strength I possessed.
    I bit into my bottom lip and mentally prepared for the sexual beating I’d been hoping for.
    Ethan didn’t disappoint.
    I felt like I was losing my virginity – again – and I loved it.
    Blazing a brand new path down a previously traveled road, he thrust his way deep into my memory bank. Leaving a permanent mental impression with each savage thrust, he pounded every inch of himself into me without reservation.
    Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
    We were just getting started, and absolutely nothing or no one prior to him mattered. Ethan had bought and paid for my pussy in the first few strokes, and with each additional thrust he was paying his rent well into the future.
    Two minutes into our sexual adventure, and he owned me.
    Owned. Me.
    His cock now fit me like a glove. His hips slapped against my ass with precision. I no longer felt like I was being ripped apart. I was only being fucked. And fucked good. It was the kind of sex that a girl thinks about for a lifetime. The one sexual adventure that all future sex would be compared to.
    Each stroke brought an entire mind full of sexual emotion, and it all seemed new to me. While I attempted to process just what it was I was feeling, he would withdraw himself, taking away all of the feelings I was trying desperately to identify. Immediately, he would shove me full once more, bringing another dose of sensual overload.
    He pounded himself into me deeply. The small living room smelled like sweat, sex, and testosterone.
    Whatever had happened to me in the past wasn’t sex. This? This was sex. This was what songs were written about, movies were produced in an effort to replicate, and books were written about in an attempt to explain.
    “Hit me,” I bellowed.
    “What?”
    “Hit me.”
    I wanted to talk dirty to him, explaining what I felt and what I wanted, but I couldn’t. He had fucked me into a reduced state of mental being, and I was no longer capable of reasoning. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be vocal during our sexual encounter, I was simply incapable of using my mind for much more than my feeble attempts to identify what I was feeling.
    “Where?” he asked.
    It took me a minute to realize just what he was asking me. Only after clearing my mind of the blissful thoughts that filled it did I remember that I’d all but demanded that he hit me.
    “Anywhere,” I responded.
    He playfully tapped the side of my head with the inside of his right glove. The smell of leather filled my nostrils. It reminded me of the gym, fighting, and