Woman, She Fucks When She Wants

Chapter 14

He looked at me, breathing fast, eyes like a kid's. While he laughed like an idiot, not quite getting what I wanted, I leaned against the cold wall, back arched just a bit, legs parting a little.

I just stayed there, quiet, looking at him with heavy eyes, waiting.

"Fuck me," I said low, blunt, to leave no doubt.

He took a few slow steps, closing the short distance between us. He put a cold hand on my waist, fingers shaking, and kissed me. His kiss was slow, full of tension, air coming out heavy through his nostrils, like each breath hurt with guilt.

I pressed against him, wrapping him in a hug that was more grinding than affection. He returned it by squeezing my ass hard, fingers digging into the flesh over my jeans. The grip made me smile inside—I felt lightly dominated, and I liked it.

I pulled away from the kiss, unzipped his pants with both hands, already dropping to my knees on the cold floor. His cock sprang out, medium-sized, thick at the base, brown skin stretched tight, veins bulging, pink head glistening with fluid dripping from the tip. It had a strong smell of dirty man, hot skin, a little salty.

I didn't even give time to look properly. I took it all in at once, my mouth filling with the thick heat, the head hitting the roof of my mouth. I sucked hard, tongue swirling around the glans, tasting the salty mix with sweat. He groaned low, hand going to my hair, tugging the ponytail lightly, not forcing.

I didn't move my head fast. I just sucked slow, letting him slide in my mouth, feeling every vein pulse on my tongue. Saliva dripped from the corners, wetting my chin. He trembled all over, thighs tense, breathing heavy.

"Fuck, Nicole…" came out hoarse, voice broken.

I didn't answer. I just kept going, mouth full, eyes closed, feeling the cock swell more in my mouth, hot skin stretched tight pulsing against my tongue. My pussy throbbed empty between my legs, begging to be filled. But I didn't want it yet. Not yet.

His arousal built slow, I felt it in every tremor of his thighs against my shoulders, in every breath that got shorter and heavier. He tried to control himself, but his hips pushed on their own, small movements that got more greedy. And there, on my knees on the cold floor, with my mouth stuffed with cock, I realized something new, clear as a flash: I was the one in charge.

It wasn't him using me. It was me allowing it. Me who asked. Me who opened my mouth and said "fuck me." He just accepted because I let him. And that—just that—already made my pussy soak in a way I'd never felt before. I wanted to laugh, laugh loud with that thick cock gagging my throat, because suddenly I got it: the power wasn't in his strength, or the thickness of his cock, or the dirty talk. It was in me. In me deciding I wanted it. In me deciding how much, when, how. All I had to do was want it, and it happened. Simple. Easy. And it was fucking good.

He lost the rest of his control. His big hands grabbed my head hard, fingers dug into my scalp, pulling the ponytail like reins. He started thrusting for real. Hard. Deep. Each stroke hit the back of my throat, made me gag, eyes watering, stomach contracting in spasms wanting to puke. He didn't stop. He made that hissing sound between his teeth, cursing low, voice hoarse and dirty:

"Slut… bitch… you love cock, don't you, whore?"

The words hit my ears like hot slaps. I loved it. Each syllable made me squeeze my thighs together, rubbing my swollen clit through the soaked panties. I wanted more. Harder. Rougher. Faster. More. More. More. More. More.

I didn't move my head. Didn't need to. I stayed still, mouth open, letting him fuck my throat however he wanted. Saliva dripped from the corners, splattered on my chin, soaked the old t-shirt, fell to the floor. My nose hit his groin with every deep thrust, the strong smell of sweat and man choking and exciting me at the same time. My pussy pulsed so hard it hurt, begging for something to clench.

But I still controlled it. Even gagging, even with tears streaming, even with my throat burning, I controlled it. Because I could stop anytime. I could spit him out, stand up, and walk away. Or let it continue. Or ask for more. The choice was mine. And knowing that made me even wetter, even hotter, even more in charge of myself.

He groaned loud now, no filter, the sound echoing through the floors and soon someone would check what the noise was. The cock swelled more in my mouth, pulsing hard on my tongue, veins throbbing against my lips. I felt him hitting the edge. But I didn't want it to end there. Not in my mouth.

I pulled him out suddenly, with a wet, obscene sound, spit on the floor, looked up with heavy eyes, mouth swollen and shining with saliva.

"Inside," I said hoarse, voice scratched from all the gagging. "Put it in me.

Now."

He didn't think. He yanked me up by the arm hard, lifted me like I weighed nothing, turned my body away from him. Unzipped my loose jeans with one hand, yanked them down with the panties to my knees in a rough pull. I leaned against the cold wall, ass up, legs spread as far as the jeans allowed, hands braced on the foggy mirror. I felt the head of his cock rubbing at my entrance, hot, slippery with saliva and pre-cum.

He slammed in all at once. Deep. No warning. The burn tore through me inside, mixed with pleasure so intense my eyes closed on their own. The thick cock stretched everything, hit bottom, filled every empty inch. He gripped my slim hips hard, fingers digging into the skin, and started thrusting fast, out of control, thighs slapping my ass with a dry, rhythmic sound.

I stayed still. Almost motionless. Just took it. Each thrust sent hot waves up my belly, to my small tits that swayed lightly under the t-shirt, to my arms that shook braced on the mirror. My pussy clenched around him on its own, too wet, the wet sound echoing in the small space. I didn't moan loud. Just breathed through my open mouth, eyes half-closed in the reflection: me, skinny, ordinary, messy hair, red face, swollen mouth, getting fucked like I was just a hole.

And it was perfect. Because I asked for it. Because I allowed it. Because I decided.

The pleasure rose like a tide without warning. My belly clenched suddenly, thighs trembled, pussy contracted hard around his cock, pulsing, milking. I came quiet, whole body locking for a second, then shaking in slow, deep waves that left me dizzy. He felt it, groaned hoarse, thrust even deeper, gripped my hips hard and came inside, hot jets filling everything, pulsing deep.

We stayed like that for seconds. Him panting on my back, me limp against the wall, feeling the hot cum drip slow down my thighs, mixed with my wetness.

I didn't move right away. Stayed leaning on the wall, breathing deep, feeling that good empty that always comes after—the body light, soft, satisfied for just a few minutes. I pulled up the panties slow, then the loose jeans, no rush, feeling the hot cum still dripping down my inner thighs, mixed with my wetness, sticky, leaving a damp, warm sensation with every small movement.

"Done?" I asked soft, voice hoarse, while fixing the waist of my pants and looking down at the old t-shirt all stuck to my chest, wet with drool and tears.

He was still panting, leaning on the other side, pants half-open, face red and sweaty.

"That was too fucking good… you're crazy."

I didn't answer. Just held out my hand, palm up.

"Grab my phone. If you want more, call me."

He fumbled his phone from his back pocket with shaky fingers, typed the number I said quick. Right then I heard sounds from above—footsteps in the hall, maybe someone coming down the stairs, muffled voices. My stomach twisted quick, nervous, but the risk just lit me up more inside.

"Bye," I said low, already turning away.

I walked down the hall, legs shaky, jeans rubbing the skin of my thighs. The elevator was there, doors open, like it was waiting for me. I stepped in, hit the floor button, and the doors closed slow.

In the mirror, my face looked messed up. Eyes red and puffy, like I'd cried for hours. Cheeks wet with tears I didn't even feel fall. T-shirt stuck, see-through in spots, dirty with drool, with man's cum, with everything that dripped from my mouth. Hair messy in the loose ponytail, strands stuck to my sweaty forehead. Pale skin redder on my cheeks and neck, light marks from his fingers.

And I laughed.

A low, crazy laugh that came scratched from my sore throat and rose to my chest. It wasn't happy laughter. It was the laugh of someone who just understood something: I looked like a total wreck, an ordinary girl who just got used in the stairwell like she was worth nothing, and still… I felt in control. Because I could.