Free The Things That Make Me Give In by Charlotte Stein

can’t, I can’t. That’s not what this fantasy is about! It’s aboutgetting a cock shoved into me by a sexy stranger, a stranger that I’ve been perhaps teasing on purpose. In the hallway. On the stairs. Flashing too much of my tits. Bending over in front of him.
    That sort of nonsense that I’d never do in a million years. Except with my beefcake.
    He breaks character ever so slightly when he does shove into me. I feel him go unsteady against me and a weird throaty noise comes out of him. ‘Oh, my God,’ he chokes out – because I’m so wet and swollen. Tight around his cock, hugging it. At the best of times, he’s almost too big for me.
    Here’s where he’d usually ask if I’m OK. Or tell me exactly how it feels. But instead he burns out just two words: ‘Take it.’
    Really, there’s nothing I can say to that. I just sob into the pillow, twisted from the inside out, clenching desperately around his prick. I want to work myself back on him but that would spoil the agony of suspense and all this beautiful tension but, oh no wait, I don’t care. I need to come again so badly that I’m rubbing my tits against the mattress and trying to get my hands free and imagining nothing but him hunkered down over me with his dick lodged in my bare pussy –
    Jesus fucking Christ.
    Within the space of his first couple of forceful thrusts, I’m coming. I think I say the word ‘please’ about seven hundred times, and try to stretch myself off the bed. Out of the apartment. Into another universe. Clacky noises catch in my throat, noises that kind of sound like crying, and even though he keeps fucking at me – I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to – I can feel him slowly descending into concern.
    His pace slows a bit. Slows, but gets shakier and shakier.
    ‘Good show,’ I croak at him, and then he manages to rein himself in completely. He vibrates against my thighs, however. The hands that he lifts off my wrists and rests lightly on my ass are sweaty and trembling.
    ‘Are you OK?’ he asks, and then on the ends of a tremulous breath: ‘Jesus.’
    ‘Did you like that?’ I try, even though I know the answer is half no.
    He hesitates.
    ‘I liked . . . how you reacted.’
    ‘You want more, big boy?’
    ‘Yes. Yes.’
    ‘You want to fuck my bare pussy?’
    ‘Ohhh, Jeez, Lo, you’re deciding to talk like that now? You’re gonna make me go off.’
    ‘Isn’t that what you want, though? You deserve to, don’t you think?’
    ‘I . . . maybe.’
    He sounds a little guarded, a little deep with laughter. Tread softly, chief, you never know what you’re going to have to say ‘yes’ to next.
    ‘Only maybe? Maybe doesn’t cut it. I tell you what. I think you . . . shouldn’t come just yet. How about that?’
    He almost ruins everything. Almost.
    ‘You can’t be –’ blurts out of him before he can stop it. But then I hear him get control of himself. He swallows. He strains once, against me.
    ‘Yes,’ he says.
    I can’t say it’s always been one of my fantasies. But I do love it when he gets so worked up that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Secretly I think he loves being teased – he always comes so hard when I get him into a frenzy – but this is pushing his limits.
    ‘Take deep breaths,’ I say, as I make him soap my breasts and clean my pretty pussy. He looks sour when he’s at my tits, but he can’t stop himself gawking when he’s washing my bare folds.
    I see a hint of a wondering smile when he touches my pouting labia, even when he has to readjust his erection to stopit aching, to stop it being so uncomfortable. He presses down on it and rubs the heel of his palm over it and hums for me.
    By the time I get out of the tub, his cheeks are bright pink and he’s leaking through his boxer shorts.
    ‘I bet you really want to come,’ I say, and he groans and rolls his eyes.
    ‘You’re killing me.’
    I think it’s time for the other thing I had lined up for him