I paused at my door, tapping my cane onto the ground for confirmation. The small entrance rug was askew. My hand drifted to the light switch, innocently brushing against it like I was trying to maintain balance as I loosened the straps on my shoes. The lights were flipped up and turned on. I tried not to make it obvious I knew someone was here as I carefully arranged my coat, bag, and cane in their assigned places. With a subtle sniff, I caught my unannounced visitor’s bouquet drifting in the air.

His aftershave had a distinctive note of juniper, bergamot, and vanilla. There was a hint of garlic and onion, too. He often smelled of them, probably pretty indicative of his diet. And I caught the floating fragrance I was looking for, something fairly unique. A slight acrid chemical scent of what I think was heavy-duty cleaner.

Mr. Train. My nickname for him. Fuck if I knew what his real name was, and I didn’t want to know. The man was a creep, a pervert. Not the kind of person I would care to associate with outside of our very specifically defined relationship.

I did my best to quiet my face. To kill any giveaway smiles. I’ve been told I’m a terrible liar, but most people who’ve been blind all their lives are. My pussy had dampened, and I could feel the telltale heat of my arousal between my thighs radiating. So, he had finally decided to take this to the next level.

It’s about fucking time we had a proper date.

He was somewhere in my apartment. In a couple of hours, the traffic outside would die down. If the jittery prick hasn’t made his move by then, I will know exactly where he’s hiding. Only the sound of busy city traffic masked his breathing. I hoped he got to it soon; it was hard for me to contain my excitement, and I wanted to be surprised. Is it too much to want a little fucking vehemence with your violation?

Of course, a good girl should be pissing down their leg right now. I should be fearfully screaming for the neighbors. Or stepping back out and calling the police. I should be all like, “Oh no! Someone help the poor little blind girl! There’s a man hiding in her apartment, ready to pounce on her and wreck her holes!”

You know, if he ever fucking got on with it. I let out a big sigh. It’s been a stressful week, and I needed this. But Mr. Train’s an idealistic romantic. Likes playing the stalker and pretending I’m his little fucking victim. Hell, I certainly never stopped him before. But let him have his game. He just better fucking deliver when he finally decides to get at it.

I wonder if he thinks this dance is for my sake? Would it ruin it for us if I just told him to get out here and stuff my cunt? No clue, not like he’s ever said a word to me.

But let me take this back a bit, to when I met Mr. Train. You might understand better why I’m so damn fired up.

———————————————————

Surviving blind is all about routine and keeping everything in its place. I hated living with others; they always touch my things, and it really fucked with me. They are laid out exactly as I need them. It’s the only way I can function. I don’t even like sharing my space with pets. I’ve turned down service dogs more times than I can count. I like animals in short bursts, but taking one home to live with you is too much fucking work. Which, incidentally, is how I feel about guys.

Here’s the crux of the issue: I hated the men who asked me out. All fucking schmucks.

Let me make this crystal clear: I am not a woman who devalues myself as some of these tools believe I should. I have these nice little curves that feel really amazing to run your hands over. And apparently, they are pleasing to the eye. I can personally testify that my tits are a blast to squeeze and fondle. And a cute bob cut of red hair, which I’m told by many is actually a quite nice color! I take their word for it. Long story short, I feel pretty.

So what sort of men ask me out?

They tend to fall into two categories. The first was the ugly shits. You might think I can’t tell, that it doesn’t matter just because I can’t see. But there’s size, smell, the way they carry themselves, the off-putting wheezing when they breathe. And the halitosis; it’s just proof of an utter lack of personal grooming. Uck, no way. They see a cute blind woman and think they can find someone who won’t care that they are absolute no-effort lard asses. I’m blind, doesn’t mean I don’t have fucking standards. It’s offensive, really.

The second, and do I hate these fucks worst of all, are the assholes who think they are doing me a fucking saintly favor by asking me out. Oh, the god damned martyrs! They see me as some delicate little bird that they’ll valiantly agree to take to dinner. Like asking a cripple to the bar is some big charitable act. And I should be so very, very grateful. What twats.. Just thinking of it pisses me off. I shut those fucks right down anymore; they turn my stomach.

I’ve taken the matter of my sexual needs into my own hands. There’s this shitty bar on the first floor of my building. When the mood strikes, I find a guy there who has the decency to be showered and smell pleasant. Then, if they haven’t pissed me off after a few drinks, it’s back up to my place for a bit of muffin stuffin’. I give them their walking papers when I’m done with them. If I was a little lucky, they even got me off. Otherwise, I handle it myself and sleep like a sticky baby.

So anyway, I was pretty fucking happy with my quiet life of relative solitude. I’ve learned to love me, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Plus, I save a fortune on the electricity bill without ever turning on those lights. A pair of functioning eyeballs would fuck up my whole system.

Anyway, Mr. Train made himself known to me a few months ago. A real first-class freak, let me tell you. My weekday routine had been prodding along remarkably. Got up at the alarm. Showered. Naked breakfast, don’t have to worry about not knowing about crumbs or food stains that way.

I have sets of clothes approved by my acquaintances who never seem to steer me wrong. I liked heavy dresses and fluffy sweaters with skirts. Feels good against my skin. But you can imagine whatever you want me to be wearing. Not like I would know the difference.

I was on my way to work. Out the door and turn left. Pass two crosswalks. Hold my breath as I scamper by the fuckwit selling the worst-smelling hot dogs in the city from a cart at seven-thirty in the fucking morning. Then it’s seven slabs of cement to get to the train station. I don’t bother buying a pass. Here’s a handicap perk: No one wants to be the asshole to ticket the blind woman. So why bother? Then, it’s thirteen stops until the train lets me out by my office building. Normally, no one sat next to me, even when the train was full. They would see the red-tipped cane and my dead, pale eyes and move on. I never hide my white eyes with sunglasses for a reason; I like my space.

Still, I didn’t think much of it when Mr. Train sat next to me after the third stop. His smell was pleasant, and he didn’t try to make idle chatter, which I appreciated. But by the fifth stop, he had pressed himself closer. I stopped myself from telling him he’s such a fucking sexist stereotype. Didn’t need to pick any fights this early in the morning. If I took the time to tell every asshole they were an asshole, I would never get any work done.

So, then his hand touched my knee over the top of my dress. His fingertips brushed lightly at the sixth stop in a way that certainly wasn’t by accident. I could hear that he was looking at me by his ragged breathing. I felt my body tense, and the instinct to cry for help… oddly never came. A sudden wave of this giddy naughtiness washed over me. I was being touched by a stranger who didn’t stop for permission, and it was amazing. I had to imagine he must’ve been staring at my tits. I mean, how could he not?

At the seventh stop, his hand cupped my knee, squeezing and testing to see how I would react. I said nothing, waiting to see how far he would push it. At the eighth stop, his fingers started curling slowly, pulling up the hem until it was bunched under his palm. At the ninth, his now notably calloused hand was touching my bare skin. It was then that I realized my cunt was in an absolutely torrid state. Felt like my lap was radiating heat. All he was doing was gripping my knee, and I found myself getting angry. Not because of what he was doing, but because of what he wasn’t.

I leaned toward him, and in a low whisper, I growled, “Big man molesting the little blind girl is slowing down. What’s the matter? Butterflies in your tummy?” I felt his fingers twitch, followed by an outraged huff. So I spurred him on, “Stop being a fucking puss. Do it.”

Tenth stop, his fingers pressed against my soft flesh, squeezing and dragging up my inner thigh. Higher and higher. Eleventh. His hand brushed my wet panties. I found my fingernails digging into my purse as the lust began to overcome me. I realized I was panting. I spread my knees wide, welcoming him to indulge. It only lasted a few glorious seconds. Mr. Train roughly groped my pussy. I kept it bald and slick, liked the way the slippery mound felt when I was excited. So did Mr Train. He pushed the soaked cloth aside and plunged his fingertips into my folds. An unstoppable moan fell from my parted lips.

Think that rattled him. Scaredy-cat withdrew his wet digits and bolted.

He shot up, bounding toward the exit. There was a commotion as he pushed through the crowd near the door. People bitching him out for his rudeness. Heh, they had no idea. They had no concept of that man’s indignant vulgarity. The audacious twat left me un-fucking-believably randy and stewing in my own desperate juices. Had a weird giddy giggle as I imagined tracking him down by the scent of my pussy on his fingers.

“Um, excuse me. Miss?” Shit. An old woman interrupted my serene moment of contentment. Smelled of baby powder and a synthetic floral combination from expensive perfume and cheap shampoo. Just killed the mood.

“Yeah, what do you want?” I turned her direction, trying to mask the fact that I felt like I was beaming widely and in absolute heat.

“Sorry. It’s just… your clothes.” She was mortified. That’s when I realized Mr. Train had left my dress pushed up and my wet cunt must’ve been glistening in the early morning sun. I probably wasn’t convincing with my shock. I enjoyed the groping too much to lie well. I liked the way that creep roughly touched me. But had to placate the old broad. I went with the innocent blind girl bit. Gets you out of a lot of awkward situations.

I patted my bare leg and felt around, pretending to discover the state of my clothes like it was some big mystery. “Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven! What happened?” We were pulling into the thirteenth stop. I stood up and adjusted myself, patting down my dress before extending my cane and sweeping it along to look out for errant feet. “Thank you, imagine if I had left the train in that state!”

Ok, I was hamming it up. But the woman had fallen dead silent. And suddenly a thought occurred to me. Did she see what he did? Or more to the point, what I let him do? Ha! I felt no shame in that. In fact, I was buzzing. The audience made it all the better.

I hustled off the bus, chewing on my lip as I imagined Mr. Train pushing those fingers harder and longer as all the sighted fucks watched in silence. I liked that.

I turned to the left, counted the slaps of sidewalk till I knew I was in front of my office building. Maintaining perfectly lady-like composure, I took the elevator up the seventeen flights to the offices of ‘Soundz’, the music magazine I’m an editor for. I informed the secretary I had a busy morning and couldn’t be disturbed.

Locking my office door behind me, I sat down in my chair, lifted my skirt, and completed the fucking job Mr. Train had so crassly left unfinished.

————————

Mr. Train got bolder each time. The next day, I chose to stand near the exit. I smelled his musk immediately as he brushed past me. The chemical note was peculiar and rather easy to pick out of the crowd. He stopped behind me, staying close enough to ‘innocently’ bump his hard prick against my round butt whenever the train hit a bump.

On the twelfth stop, he treated me to strong hands gripping my ass, squeezing hard as he grunted in my ear. He ground his stiffy against my backside, hard enough that I lost my grip on the pole and stumbled to the ground. He made another hasty exit, leaving me turned on and with a bruised backside.

“Miss! Did that guy just…” Some low, manly voice full of outrage was coming toward me as I pulled myself to my feet.

Fuck, he probably was going to make a thing of this. “Nope. No, he didn’t.”

“Miss, I’m calling the police. You need to tell them what happened to you!” Great, Dudley Fucking Dooright was sticking his nose in my business.

I pressed against the exit door, hightailing it as the over-helpful shit called for me to stop. I darted to work, faster than I normally go. I was smacking shins with sweeps of my cane before me with little regard for anything except escape till I finally reached the elevator.

Fuck you, Mr. Train! Better get more careful, or you’re gonna get caught. Not that I didn’t appreciate the enthusiasm. A daytime public groping took some real balls. I liked making him that fucking horny. He couldn’t help himself, made me feel real fucking foxy.

Mr. Train started popping up in other places too. One morning, before I even got to the train, I was pulled by my hair into an alley. With a hand over my mouth and pressed against a filthy dumpster, he fingered fucked me to near climax. He pushed me right to the edge before pulling his fingers from my disappointed cunt and smearing my juices onto my tits. That actually pissed me off, being pushed so close and then nothing. “Only fingers again? Your cock don’t work?” That bit of cheek earned me my first slap.

I was pretty stunned. No one had ever treated me like this. Nothing but pity, pity, pity. But Mr. Train was a proper fucking bastard. It takes a real scumbag to slap a blind girl. He stomped off, leaving me with a bloody lip and my mind spinning. I couldn’t even bring myself to leave the alley; I was in a fucking haze of strangely horny bliss. I imagined him ripping my clothes off and mouth fucking me right there, leaving me drooling sperm. When I got to work, I had to tell everyone I slipped to explain my fat lip. Then I fucked myself with the handle of my cane as I dreamily thought of having to crawl naked from the alley for help.

Thursdays were my Chinese food night. He was learning my routine, the places I walked. Didn’t even smell him coming. Wind was in my face, so he must have been walking toward me. I was grabbed by the hair, and he jammed his tongue down my mouth. His scratchy stubble scraped against my face. “What, you think we’re dating now? You cocksucker.” Honestly, I was hoping he would hit me again. Close, he pinched and twisted my nipple so hard that it ached for days. I liked squeezing my tit throughout the day; the stinging bruise reminded me he would be back for more.

I was dry-humped, bitten, my tits were abused and slapped. And it was happening more and more often. He was obsessed, and honestly, so was I! I called him every dirty name I could and taunted him for more. But I was also learning from the subtle clues he left me. Like when he had his hand cupped over my mouth, I felt the cold metal band on his finger. I reached up, pretending to try and peel it off, but really just confirming my suspicion by feeling the ring had no stones or other decoration on it. A wedding band. Fuck, knowing the sleazeball was married was just perfect!

But all the flirting and foreplay were driving me batshit insane. It wasn’t just that he was leaving me a sopping mess after his little ‘sexual assaults’. It was knowing it could happen anywhere at any time. And there was no doubt in my mind he was building himself up, pushing his limits to take me completely.

And I figured tonight he’s finally going to do it. No counting down the stops of the train, no back alley molestations before he runs away. He was in my home. This was going to last until he was done.

I kept up the ruse. His scent was too damn overpowering; no way he just slipped away. So I kept up my routine to see when he would break. I made myself a simple and light meal of grilled cheese and canned tomato soup. I heard a funny noise while I was eating. An occasional wet squelch and a little panting.

He was masturbating. The asshole had it so bad for me that ‘secretly’ watching me eat was enough to make him rub one off. I turned on some music on my phone so I wouldn’t know where in my apartment he was jacking it. Go on, Mr. Train. Bust a nut now. But when you get around to feeding my cunt, you better make it last.

I could feel the weight of his hungry eyes. I had an urge to join him, to lift my skirt and rub my most-certainly swollen clit to get some relief from this long buildup. But after considering it, I opted for a different approach. I would force his hand by making this just as unbearable for him. A little break in my routine might be enough to drive him over the edge.

Like I said, normally I take my showers in the morning. But I had an audience, and I don’t think watching me listen to a podcast was going to be all that exciting. And honestly, I was worried he was turning into a chicken shit, that he was gonna squirt one in his hand and flake. I stood up, stretched my hands into the air, and yawned while making sure my curves were in full view. Innocently, I reached down and began unbuttoning my dress. Bottom to top, making sure that my tits were the last to escape their cloth prison.

In just my bra and panties, I walked to the bathroom and put my clothes in the basket. I didn’t close the door. I mean, I never did. I am always alone, and it’s not like I had anyone to be fucking modest around. Next I stripped my bra, placing it in a lingerie bag before putting it in the laundry. And lastly I turned toward the shower, bent over, and peeled my tacky panties from myself as I slipped them down my leg. I figured pointing my bald cunt in his direction would break him.

His breathing had gotten heavier, and the smell stronger. He was close, probably a few feet away. Seems like my temptation had gotten through to the dirty bastard. Innocently, I feigned missing the laundry basket, instead dropping the lust-soaked panties in the doorway as a little gift. Never say I’m not a generous fucking host.

I showered with the curtain open, something I normally don’t do. You know, splashing water is still a mess. I wondered if he clocked that was for him? Probably not. Bet the fucker thought he was a real Arsène Lupin. I made sure the water was extra hot and steamy, and let the nearly scalding water run down my body and wash the product from my hair. The steam made the air heavy, dulling his scent. Couldn’t tell where he might be now. Good.

Forgoing the luffa, I created a nice soapy lather with my hands. Sensuously rubbing my hands over my skin. Taking way too fucking long on my tits, cupping and squeezing them as I worked the lather into the girls. Bending over to wash my feet, I spread my legs wide. Practically putting up a sign that said, ‘Come Fuck the Bubbly Bitch in the Shower’. Still, I was left alone. The idea of him doing it here, stomping fully clothed and assaulting me as the waters washed over our sinful screwing was quite enticing.

But it was a no-go. I would have been impressed with his restraint if I wasn’t so fucking tired of it. Hell, I had turned myself on so much as I groped my slippery breasts that I almost lost control and masturbated in the shower. It was one of my favorite places to get off. I even had a suction cup dildo in the top drawer by the sink counter. I wondered if it would make him jealous if I used it?

I rinsed myself, deciding against self-pleasure. Only Mr. Train’s cock would satisfy. Wondering how much longer he would keep up this game. I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair, leaving my wet body uncovered and exposed as I walked to my bedroom. My foot brushed past where I dropped my panties. He took the bait. They were gone.

I considered my next move, wondering what sort of temptation I had left to offer. Maybe putting on something lacy and silky would do it. I mean, I assume they look good. The lace digging into my ass always made me feel real fucking adorable and sexy. Figured he couldn’t resist that.

My guard had dropped as I considered this, my senses still dulled from the hot steam wafting through the air. And Mr. Train mercifully attacked. An instinctive scream welled up in my gut as soon as his hairy arms wrapped around my neck and choked the scream into a muffled wheeze. I realized as soon as his prick pressed against my ass that he had already shed his clothes and was as naked as I was. I struggled in his arms, my wet body fighting against his restraint as I tried to slip and kick my way out. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I wanted him to fucking earn it.

The last thing I wanted was for him to go easy. This entire dance we had been playing was a promise of something rough and primal. And fuck, he was gonna give it to me. I reached back with my hand and grabbed him by the balls, squeezing hard as he painfully groaned, “You planning on using this fucking thing or are you just here for a cuddle?”

He responded by sinking his teeth into my shoulder. The pain shot down my arm and weakened my grip, and taking advantage of this, he snatched my wrist away from his junk and pushed me forward. His other hand slipped around my neck and squeezed. I felt the towel tumble off my wet hair as I was bent over the edge of my bed.

I squirmed underneath the heft of him. With his body on top of me, I finally got a good feel for his size. I knew he was strong before, but now I really was able to feel him out. Tall, thick, and muscular. Coarse hairs on his chest scraped against my back as he kept me pinned under him as he set his feet and jerked my body into position.

Leaning back, with his large hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pushing me flat onto the bed, I felt his cock slipping and fucking the wet gap between my thighs. “Shit, having trouble finding the hole? You blind too?!”

I thought it was pretty funny, but all my sass earned me was a slap on the back of the head. I spread my legs wide apart, trying to make it easier for him. But that’s when I realized he hadn’t made a mistake. He was lubricating.

I once got a boyfriend in college to try anal with me. Thought it might be a way to convince the boring bastard to give me something less docile. He always fucked like I was made of cracked porcelain. And the way he had screwed my ass made me wish I hadn’t even bothered. ‘Are you ok? Does that hurt?! Are you sure?’ Hell, the whole experience was so damned infuriating I never tried it again.

But Mr. Train… God, he gave me what I wanted. No, what I needed. I was so fucking tired of soft handling. Like they thought one good thrust would cause me to shatter. Mr. Train didn’t give a fuck. Mr. Train was here to fuck a sexy ass, and he wasn’t stopping for permission.

“AH!” I wasn’t ready for the first jab of his prick. My legs kicked up around his body as the pain surged through my nervous system. I felt the tingle in my fingertips as the head of his cock invaded my tight ring. It was a foreign sensation. It wasn’t like a cock in the cunt. This pinched, and there was something nasty about it. The scent of my own shit wafted into my nose. It was dirty. Disgusting. Humiliating. And I would have thanked him for it if I could speak.

Mr. Train was barbaric. It was painful, but not at all unpleasant. I couldn’t bring myself to sass him anymore; I didn’t have the air in my lungs. It was like he was fucking the breath from my body. The noises I made were alien to me, completely out of my control. Something between a squeal and a grunt. Probably more comparable to the sound of a dying pig than I would like to admit.

His wedding finger dug into my neck, and I wondered about his personal life for the first time. Was this how he treated her? Was I the first ‘victim’ he took? Would he make his wife suck him off when he got home so she could taste my ass? That thought turned me on, and I pushed my butt back into him with all the energy I could muster. And my only regret about that moment of pure brutal bliss is that I couldn’t make it last longer.

I mean, was there any way to have slowed him down? Probably not. My asshole contracted around his cock purely out of my control. I couldn’t have loosened up if I tried. I could feel him swelling thicker, stretching me wider, before his hand gripped my wet hair. He pulled hard, and my back arched. Cum exploded violently inside me, spilling out and rushing down my legs as he held me still. Impaled by his throbbing fuck stick. My poor, needy cunt scraping against my blanket.

He was moaning, emptying himself. Then he laughed. It was a good laugh. I wondered what was so funny. Probably the look on my face. I couldn’t begin to guess what I had been doing. He withdrew the cock, and I surprised myself with a scream. Something about the sudden emptiness gave me a cold feeling that I had never experienced. And I could feel the spasms of my anus, tightening and opening as more of his spunk leaked from me.

He finished cumming on my back. I gathered air back in my lungs. My fingers gripped the blanket. The dizzy fog began to lift. And he turned and began walking away.

“Hey fucker! I’m not done!” I furiously roared at him. “How dare you! How fucking dare you leave without making me cum! AFTER ALL THESE GAMES! AFTER ALL…” He was back on top of me. He rolled me to my back and cupped his hand over my mouth to silence me.

I wasn’t having it. Yelping, he pulled his fingers back, recoiling from my bite. My hand reached down and wrapped around his dick, making damn sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

I hissed, with the threat to wake everyone in the building still hanging on my voice. “I’m not your fucking wife. Does she put up with this? Does she let you just empty your balls and walk away? Or maybe she doesn’t let you fuck her at all? Maybe you’re a cucked piece of garbage dick to her! Who do you think is balls deep in her right now?”

There was pure rage in the way he growled. I had struck a nerve. I spread my legs wide, offering my unfucked pussy as I stirred up his anger.

“You couldn’t make her cum, could you? So she found someone who could. And that’s why you’re creeping around trains, molesting cripples like a pathetic pervert! I may be blind, but I see you! Too fucking cowardly to even give me your voice and deny it?”

He grabbed me by the sides, his hands digging into my ribs as he slid me back onto the bed. My mattress groaned under the girth of his frame. His knees pushed mine apart as he claimed the space between them.

I sat up, grabbed him by the hair. I could tell I stunned him. He wasn’t ready for me to be nearly climbing him as I pushed my lips close to his ear. “You wanna keep playing these games? You make me cum! Do it, or I call the cops. Tell them you broke in here and did this to me. I want mine! Now fucking get to it!”

He jammed that tacky, fresh-from-my-ass dick into my deprived pussy. Fucking me with savage, furious thrusts. The feet of my bed screeched as it slid with the force of each penetration. I dug my nails into his back, marking the fucker in a way I would leave for him to explain to his dainty little wife. I snarled orders as I concentrated on the much-needed sensation, “Better not cum without me. My turn! Fuck! Harder! Fuck me like you hate me!”

He roared as I drew blood from his back, but he was mine now. Baited by his need for my body, trapped by my lust. I jammed my bony feet into his ass like spurring a fucking horse. My body writhed to meet his. Using him like the fuck beast I needed him to be. He hissed as I rended more flesh and hair from his back, grabbing me by the wrists and pinning them next to my head. I could feel his skin under my blood-wet nails.

“More! More! Fuck! More!” I’d never been a screamer. Never lost control like I did then. But the pleasure couldn’t be stifled, couldn’t be made small. This was the fuck I'd needed for my entire life! My whole body grew hot. I could feel the sweat dripping down me. My ass still leaking and sore from Mr. Train’s butt fucking, his heavy panting accompanied the sensation of his filled and ready to burst balls smacking against my wrecked ass.

He spoke his first word to me, as I teetered on the edge of Elysium. “Bitch!” I adored the deep gravel in his voice. The low, breathless way he said it. And with such animosity! And as if he knew exactly what I wanted, I was treated to another good smack across the cheek and a sloppy, wet wad of phlegm spat onto my face. And, oh fuck, did that make me cum.

The orgasm crashed through my body like waves slamming the breaker in a storm. I could feel the pleasure ripping through me, my cunt clenched and spasmed around the fresh mess of sperm bubbling into my cauldron. He let go of my wrists, trying to pull back like when he finished in my ass. Not this time; I wrapped my body around his. Panting and undulating my hips and fucking myself against his softening, spent cock.

My body became shaky, and unable to cling any longer, I loosened my grip. Sensing my weakness, he leaned, pushed me back down, and pulled himself free from my cunt.

I never had an orgasm last this long, dipping my fingers into my cum-filled cunt and grinding myself hard as I worked to see how long I could extend the carnal ecstasy. My cheeks were more sore from grinning than his love taps, and between my moans, I made him an offer. “Hey, you dirty bastard. Come back anytime. But stop fucking with me before work. Keep it to subtle molestations in the mornings. You’re messing up my fucking day.”

He was still on the bed, sucking air and sweating over me. He grunted, something I assumed was ‘yes’ in the language of a deplorable pervert.

“And by the way, if I don’t get it good like this every two weeks, I’ll tell your wife all about the sick shit you’re into. You think I don’t know who she is?”

He went dead silent. He had stopped breathing. He believed me; I could sense it. Which was good because I was completely fucking bluffing. He tried to speak, “But…”

“Don’t fucking care. You get one word a visit, and you already used it.” I was floating again, absolutely fucked beyond being reasonable or accommodating. My climax had faded, and I was too tired to keep pleasuring myself. I went limp, cum oozing from my holes. And for the first time in my life, I was truly satisfied. “Now get out of here, and turn off all the fucking lights. You think I’m made of money?”

To my surprise, he kissed me. At first, I was angry, but it was honestly a pretty nice finish. And I guess I had been pretty hard on the sick fuck, so I kissed him back. My big ol’ philanderer was quite a softy deep down. I giggled to myself as I heard the sound of my new plaything exiting through the door. I was sure I wouldn’t have to wait long for another unexpected date.