Today’s medical progress report
is that the hormone pills are doing their thing and I’ve finally
stopped bleeding. Or, as D put it, “Hmm, so you’re back in the land of
the fucking, are you?”
Well, we’ve certainly tested his theory
extensively over the last 24 hours. Up against the wall in the shower;
on my hands and knees on the bedroom floor; bent over the kitchen
table; on the sofa during Match of the Day and in the disabled toilets
at Waterloo Station. Have you been to Waterloo Station? It’s enormous.
By the time you’ve walked from one end of the concourse to the other
you should actually be in Belgium. There’s absolutely no way I was
going to make it that far in my currently febrile state without
stopping half way for some cock.
D made me undress completely,
watching me strip off each layer until I was down to my knickers, which
he peeled off himself, watching them unstick themselves damply from the
folds of my pussy. He balled them up, inhaled their scent and then
slowly pressed them between my lips, prodding each fold of material
inside until only a frill of black lace stuck out from between my lips,
fluttering lightly as I breathed.
Then he sat me down on the
toilet lid, my bum pulled towards him, my legs up in the air and hooked
around the disabled rails on each side, my shoulders and neck propped
against the cold cistern behind me. I wriggled awkwardly in this
uncomfortable position and he gave my thigh a stinging slap.
With
a rough thrust, he slammed his cock in my cunt, my whole body jerking
as I grunted, muffled by my knickers. He set off briskly, pounding me
hard and fast, his hands cupping my tits as they bounced, then
squeezing them, pinching my nipples as he leaned in over me, thrusting
until our bodies slapped together, my cunt squelching wetly, my thighs
slick with juice.
I tipped my head back, laying it against the
top of the cistern. In this position, each thrust from D’s cock bumped
the top of my head against the wall, banged the back of my neck into
the edge of the cistern. But I didn’t move, didn’t want to move, didn’t
want to lose the throbbing in my head that echoed the racing of my
heart and the pounding blood in my veins and in my clit. My eyes
unfocused as I gazed at the fizzing strip lighting overhead and I
listened to the dim, distorted noises of the station concourse in the
distance.
D hunched over me, sliding his arms around me, half
lifting me, burying his face between my tits as he suddenly hammered
faster, gasping as his cock twitched and spat spunk into me. He let go,
dropping me clumsily back down, I grabbed hold of the rails to keep
from falling as he sprayed my belly and tits with hot gobs of spunk,
squeezing the last drops onto my clit.
He slumped back, sitting
on his heels, gazing at me in silence for a moment before his face
split into a grin and he began to shake with laughter. “You dirty,
dirty girl!” He bent and lapped his spunk from my clit, kissing and
tonguing it while I squirmed and moaned softly.
Standing
before the mirror, wiping dried-on spunk off my tummy with crumpled up
paper towels, I listened to D behind me, having a piss. He stood
pressed against my back , his arms around my waist to wash his hands,
soaping my tits clean and then dabbing at them with more paper towels
until I started giggling and batting him away.
He slipped out
first while I got dressed and when I finally emerged, a bit
light-headed, I was pleased to see him holding an entire box of Krispy
Kreme donuts, which quite frankly I think I earned.