I would wait for you, sometimes for days. I never texted you…

I would wait for you, sometimes for days. I never texted you because it made me feel needy and I needed you so much. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t take the rejection if you would have ignored my messages. So I waited for you to text me. 

“Hey,” your first text would always say. But just the word “hey” from you was enough to make my pussy wet and swollen. Just that one word gave me hope that the reason you were texting was because you were horny and you wanted to fuck. 

“Hey,” I responded back. There was no way for you to know just how horny I was at that moment, or how I was already touching myself in anticipation. 

“Wanna fuck?” you would follow up. Of course I did! It didn’t matter what I was doing. I was always free for you. I would drop anything and everything I was doing just to get to your big, fat cock. 

“YES!” I replied. “I’m at home. Come over?” 

“Be there in ten,” you would say. You didn’t live far away, but that ten minutes between the time you texted me and the time you arrived seemed like hours. I rubbed my pussy as I sat on my couch, looking out the window for your truck. When I saw you I would move away from the window. I didn’t want you to see just how eager I really was to get you inside of me. I waited for you to ring the bell before I opened it, already naked for you. 

We rarely made it far from the front door. You usually fucked me in my living room on my couch where people walking or driving by could see us if they were looking. You would strip your clothes to the floor and grab me by the neck. Your hands pinched my nipples and smacked my face. You pushed me to my knees for your blow job. I always spoiled you with the best blow job I could possibly give, licking and sucking your nuts for you first, then sucking down your whole cock all the way down my throat. 

“I love the way you suck my dick,” you would say. “It’s so smooth!” I knew I could easily make you cum with my mouth, but I wanted something more from you. You knew what I loved best, which is why you bent me over the couch, shoved your cock into my asshole and hate fucked the shit out of me. You called me a bitch, a slut, a whore. You head stomped me and told me I was worthless except for my holes. You used my asshole hard, making me cum from the brutality of it. I would cum hard, so hard that I would cry at times. The way you fucked me tore me open, but it also made me cum harder than I ever dreamed possible. I would cry, gasping for air as I came, knowing that you were the only one that could ever make me feel this good and this bad all at once, knowing I would always be waiting for you to text me again for another fuck. 

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