7
916 Words
The world around me faded at the sharp sense of pain that shot through my bloodstream all the way to my brain.
I could sense the flesh of my v****a rudely giving way to his incalcitrant p***s. Clothes slipped away, as did the walls we’d built. His body against mine was warm as he grounded deep inside.
We moved like people who’d been holding back for far too long, every breath shared, every touch sent an electric shockwaves across my spine.
I want to push him off me but he held me and f****d me.
“f*****g take this d**k, you wanted it” he yelled at my stubborn p***y refusing to path ways.
It was as though the more I tried to push back for comfort, the more he pressed himself further and I was grateful that he knew what I wanted, to be a property of his desire and not the other way around.
He ran his hand along my waist, his voice low in my ear as he continued to pound me. “I tried to stop wanting you.”
“So did I,” I whispered. “But you’re… impossible.”
He chuckled, but it was short, almost like I had said something wrong as his strokes began to strike harder and even more painful. “She trusted us.”
“I know.”
We moved together, I tried to match his strokes at first so much force to his strokes that had me gasping for air and praying he doesn't split me in halves. There was so much rush, a frantic kind urgency— I wondered for a moment if that was just about the need, and emotion, and guilt that clung to us like sweat. I looked up at him, eyes meeting in the half-dark.
“Do you love her?” I asked, not sure why.
“Of course I do,” he said. “She’s my niece. I helped raise her. But what I feel for you… It’s different.”
“But she is not really your niece if she was adopted.” I moaned. “Its okay to admit you want to f**k your foster niece and her best friend”
I sounded like the devil?
Yes! I agree. I was not wrong for my assertions, the look of shock on his face did not stop him from pounding me.
“You are such a nasty piece of slut!” he growled as he lashed out on my p***y.
My hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure and shame collided inside me. “Promise me we won’t lie to her.”
He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my throat. “I won’t lie. But I won’t hurt her unless I have to.”
“You already have for f*****g me daddy.”
He stopped moving then, just holding me, forehead resting against mine. The silence buzzed with everything we weren’t saying.
“I keep thinking,” I said, “if she ever finds out—she’ll never speak to me again. I’ll lose her.”
“Or she would come around and we would have a slurpy threesom.” as I slowly began to move my hips beneath him.
“f**k you are the devil’s spawn” he said as he spread my legs wider and sunk his d**k inside my p***y again.
He gave ten sharps strokes at a stretch, my p***y quiffing as he f****d.
“So what happens after this?” I asked.
He kissed me again, deeper this time. “Let’s not talk about after.”
But we were already living in the after. Every moment we touched, every sigh, every breath, was writing a new truth between us. And burying another one beneath it.
He moved again, slow and deliberate, lips tracing the edge of my shoulder. My body arched into him, every nerve alight with both pleasure and panic.
“I’m coming!!!” he groaned as he f****d me harder, shredding me harder than ever.
In split seconds, I felt his warm sperm filling me up and his p***s pulsating inside me.
“I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d do this,” I whispered.
“You’re not that kind of woman.”
“Then what am I?”
His eyes searched mine. “You’re my personal slut. someone I’ve fallen for. Someone who makes me feel alive.”
I closed my eyes, the words sinking in like a knife and a balm all at once.
When it was over, we lay tangled in the sheets, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip. The guilt hadn’t left—it never would—but the warmth between us was real. I wondered what title I would use for the captions on my next blog post.
I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I lied.
“I know.” he responded.
“But I don’t want it to end.”
“Neither do I.”
And just like that, I knew we’d do it again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Whenever our desires outweighed the apprehension and judgement we passed on ourselves.
But for now, I would tell Olivia that my meeting with her uncle was an excellent one, even though it was more than excellent.
I would do this again. Over and Over. I’d be a slut for Charles Davenport.
- Writer
