Unplugged

I have an animal craving to fuck.

Not to have sex. Not to indulge in intercourse or copulation. Not to make love.

No.

To fuck.

What I ache for is raw, lustful, salacious. I yearn for release, to be unplugged, to writhe and to rut like a beast. And I need it now. Sooner than now.

Behind closed eyelids, I conjure images of an alluring wench, attired in body-hugging scarlet. A flash of ivory cleavage, devil’s horns concealed within her burnt sienna tresses. Leather boots that scarcely reach mid-point along her stockinged thighs, snaring the eye of unwary souls, leading them upwards, upwards, towards sin or salvation. Perhaps to both.

But I see her with the clarity of the damned. My eyes seek her out with purpose, and my hunger for flesh is reflected back by her amber gaze.

Seduction is neither required nor desired. This is about the satiating of appetite, the quenching of overwhelming thirst. Powerful. Visceral. Impossible to resist.

We’re on each other the moment the door slams shut, lips and tongues locked in a frenzied dance, hands moving feverishly for the fastenings of our clothes. My fingers find the zip on her back, sweep it downwards with singular assuredness. The red dress slips away from her shoulders, unveiling bountiful breasts sheathed in black lace. Her nipples tent the diaphanous material, and I bow my head, capture one hard peak between my lips, suckle on her frantically through her bra. She gasps, her busy hands wrenching at my belt, the fastenings of my trousers. She grasps my hard cock through my shorts, works the shaft with delirious guile. Its resistance makes her groan.

We half-fall towards the bed, hit the edge, her hand inside my shorts now, naked palm grasping naked cock, my own hands pushing the hem of her dress upwards, skimming across the tops of her taut thighs, seeking the warm, bare flesh that waits atop the nylon. The edge of the bed slipping away from us now, balance forsaken in a cacophony of lust and limbs, she drawing my cock into the open, my fingers evading the scant defences of her thong, finding their way between her already soaking lips. Half on the floor, sliding, twisting, she beneath me now, the floor beneath us both, and she’s forcing my trousers and my shorts down my thighs, drawing me forward by my cock, even as I’m pushing her dress out of the way, pulling her flimsy panties to one side, fighting the urge to tear them from her body, and suddenly my cockhead is engulfed within warm, wet silk, and she’s guiding and I’m thrusting, and then I’m in her, in her, all the way, to the hilt, my flesh embedded within hers, and she’s groaning and gasping and sighing, urging me on, fuck me fuck me fuck me, and I’m thrusting like a teenager, a frantic virgin, drunk on the sensations of her cunt, and then I’m biting my lip, hard enough to draw coppery blood, because it feels so good to be inside her, it would be so damned easy just to let go, to be finished before we’ve even started. So I milk the pain, let it distract me, bring me back down. A splash of control returns. My thrusts even out, slow, steady; long, flowing strokes that start by teasing her labia, and end with my cockhead kissing her womb. Her thighs come up around my waist, and she rocks into me, urging her mound up against me, flying now, crying out into my mouth as her orgasm flows over her, through her. And then she’s holding my hips, gripping my arse, nails raking my skin, sinking into my buttocks, as she implores me to fuck harder, faster, fuck me, fuck me, yesohyesohyesohyes, and she’s looking into my eyes, right into me, begging me not to pull out this time, to let her share my orgasm, to feel my cock pulsing inside her, feel every drop of my seed spurting against her most intimate flesh, and so I surrender, thrust into the very centre of her, spending myself in scolding jets as she cries out again and again…
 
 

Yes, I have an animal craving to fuck.

I ache for something that’s raw, lustful, salacious.

So are you the one who’ll help me become unplugged?