**Backseat Deal at the Georgia Motel**

It was vacation time so I decided to take a bus to Georgia and stay for a week and then I booked my room for a week to stay a then I was ready to go and I waited for the bus and it stopped in front of me and it was crowded and I found a seat all the way in the back And this young woman sitting there and I ask could sit there and she said yea and I sat down and we started talking and I told her where I was going and she said that she was going the same place and then she said why is a nice looking man bye his self and I told her I don't have any one and I ask her the same and she said my ex never last five minutes and she said I got a organize so we broke up And then the bus stop in of the motel and she said we're going to the same motel and I said I guess and our rooms were side by side And she said I guess will see each other alot and I said why don't you come over to my room for a drink and then

The bus lurches to a stop, the brake hissing like a cat spitting out a mouthful of shit. I stand, already grabbing my bag, but pause when I see her beside me—tight little skirt hugging her thighs, the hem riding high with every step, heels clicking the cracked pavement. She shifts her weight, and the movement does something filthy to me, all quick and raw and electric. Her room’s keycard hums in my pocket before I even knock. The door swings open, the scent of her—something cheap and floral cutting through the stale motel air—and I don’t even move before she slams against me, hands already tearing at my belt buckle. Her fingers fly, unbuttoning my shirt like she’s been deprived for years. "I didn’t think it’d be like this," she breathes, teeth already nipping my jaw. "I keep picturing a guy who’s actually worth five minutes." I don’t answer. I lift her, slam her down on the corner of the desk. The thud of her ass is the best fucking thing I’ve heard in a long time. I pull her lips apart, tongue fucking her mouth all sloppy and eager before I step back, just for a beat, to lock the door. Her hands are shaky as she yanks at my pants, my half-hard cock popping out like a bad joke. "Fuck," she says. "You don’t even have to ask."

Her skirt’s already around her hips, fingers digging into the waistband of her panties like she’s trying to rip the fabric off herself. I don’t stop her. Just kick the door shut behind me, the deadbolt snapping with a dull *click* that makes her shiver. “Good,” she growls, voice rough. “I’m tired of waiting.” The panties come off in two seconds, tossed somewhere behind the bed. I don’t care. She’s wet, thighs slick with it, and the way she spreads her knees just fucking *begs* me. I yank her forward by her hips, teeth finding the inside of her thigh, a sharp bite that makes her gasp. “You’re sure?” I ask, mostly because I can’t help it—her pulse is hammering, neck flushed to the roots of her hair. “Shut up and fuck me,” she snaps, gripping the edge of the desk. “Otherwise I’m doing it myself.” I slam into her from behind instead, hands tangled in that floral-scented mass of her hair as I drag her back against me. The first thrust is sloppy—damp, tight heat swallowing me—and then we’re both losing it, teeth and nails, her scent thick and desperate in the air. “You’re so fucking wet,” I grunt, pulling out just enough to slide two fingers up inside her, crooking them hard. Her whines are half-mocking, half-needy. I know she’s not kidding this time. “Because you like it,” she pants, grinding back against me. The desk creaks under her straining hands. Good. Loud. I want her to leave marks.

She shudders against me, her back arching like a string ready to snap—one of those creaks that doesn’t sound like a desk anymore, just a body cracking under the weight of something it’s never been allowed to feel. Her fingers claw at the wood, the floral scent of her breath tangling with mine as I press deeper, forcing a broken-off groan from her throat. “Yeah?” I hissed, palm sliding up her hip to pinch at the softness just below her ribcage. She whimpered. Fuck, she *hates* that. “Then hold still.” The fingers still inside her twitched as I thrust harder, each snap of my zipper against her ass echoing like a countdown. Her thighs tremble, wetness spilling over my knuckles, and when I yank her hair to tilt her head back, I can see the flush in her eyes—*that* flush, the one that’s not from embarrassment. “Oh my god,” she gasps, but it’s not a prayer. It’s a confession. The first real one. I drag my free hand down, thumb circling the back of her neck before I smack it into place—just enough hurt to make her whine, just enough to keep her focused on what I’m doing to her body. The desk groans again as I shove her forward, the impact of my cock against her hips violent, punishing. “You like feeling *used*?” I ask, my voice raw at the back of my throat. I don’t wait for an answer, just roll her onto her back mid-thrust, knees pressing hers wide, open. The angle is brutal, and I can feel it in the way her back bends, the sharp inhale through her nose. Her hands grip my wrists as I loom over her, nails digging in like she’s trying to climb up my body—tongue slicking her lips, teeth pulled into her lower one. “Please,” she whispers, and I don’t know if it’s for more or less. I give her more.

Her fingers flex around my wrists, nails biting in like she’s memorizing the shape of the bruises to come. “No,” she breathes, watching me stroke—not a protest, just a fact. “Nothing like *this*.” The way she says it is all challenge, all heat. “You’re getting ready to split me in half.” I don’t correct her. Cock so deep it aches, I let her see the way I’m *actually* seeing her now—naked, spread, the raw need in her glossed bottom lip, the scent of her coming off in waves as her cunt clenches harder just from the weight of my stare alone. “You’re sure you can take it?” I test, pressing the head in, the stretch obscene, wet. She arches, fingers still tangled in my hair from earlier, forcing my mouth down to hers. Tongue fights mine, teeth sharp. “I *dared* you,” she pants against my lips. “So don’t you fucking dare—” I bury myself to the hilt with a brutal shove. Her thighs snap shut like a lock around my hips, the sound of her back hitting the desk a flat, shuddering *thud*. “Jesus,” she groans, eyes squeezing closed—only to snap back open, glare wild even through the haze of pleasure. “Keep doing that.” I don’t. My thumb drags down her sternum, hard enough to make her ribcage tremble. “Look at me.” Her mouth opens, a ragged exhale, but the words aren’t coming yet. Not yet. The way her thighs quiver, toes already clawing against the carpet, tells me they’re on the way—just a few more thrusts, just a little more *pressure*. “You want it,” I say, lowering my weight into her, skin against skin, cock against cunt. “You want me to *ruin* you.” “Yes,” she cries, finally. Maybe it’s a lie. Maybe it’s the truth. I don’t give a fuck either. Two fingers slam against her clit, the slap loud enough to make her chest heave, and I feel it—the first weak tremor of her orgasm, the way her back bows, teeth sinking into her own shoulder flesh. “Again,” she gasps, but I’m already lifting my hips, pulling out *just* far enough to make the burn in her throat when I slam back in. She makes a noise, half-choked, half-laughing, and that’s the one that does it—her *submission* like a knife between my ribs, sharp and addictive. I thrust faster, fingers working in time, the sound of it filling the room—skin against skin, breath catching, the desk creaking like it’s begging to be fucked too. Her thighs lock on my waist, heels digging into my ass hard enough to make me groan. “Fuck, you’re—” “*Full*,” she finishes, and my laugh is raw as I drive into her deeper than ever, my cock *pulsing* like it’s her pussy’s turn to beg.

I could feel her warm creamy cum and it's been years since I a piece of ass and I started licking her beautiful breast and her ripple were really hard

Her ribs tense beneath my tongue, the taste thick—salt and something sweeter, something *hers*. I don’t stop, just drag my mouth to her nipple, sucking hard enough to make the skin around it flush darker. A broken cry spills from her throat, her thighs clenching tighter around my waist like reflex. The desk groans in protest every time I hit the end, my cock buried so deep she’s gasping on exhale. I pull back just enough to watch her face, the way her lips part but no sound comes out—just a whine, muffled and desperate. Wetness spills hotter down my balls, her orgasm already building too fast, her back going rigid. I don’t care. My free hand slides down her stomach, fingers pressing into her flesh, pinching her hip bone until she hisses. “You’re not letting me come *until* I do,” I growl, voice rough even in her own ear. I shove my fingers back against her clit, not touching it—just the pressure of her thighs around my hips, the way her breath catches every time I drive in. “Look at me.” Her gaze snaps up, dazed, glassed from the way my pace hasn’t faltered. “You’re—” “*—Not* **”—** **I finish for her, thrusting until her cunt twitches like a fucking string. Her chest heaves—not breath, not quite. Something sharper, something that makes the dark flush in her skin a goddamn *map*. “You want me to *stay*.” “*Stay*?” Her voice cracks, fingers twitching against my wrists like she’s trying to claw her way free—or right back into *me*. “Cum on my cock, baby,” I tell her. My thumb circles the base of her neck, teasing her pulse point—“and then I’ll fucking *stay* inside.”

Her warm creamy cum was down my cock and she said I want to come more and she said I had sex this long

Her fingers dig into my wrists, nails sharp as she pulls me deeper instead of resisting. “You *had* sex this long?” she pants, breath hot against my ear. “Then *make me* feel it.” I don’t. Two fingers press down hard on her clit, not rubbing—just *holding* the rhythm, the stretch, the way her orgasm’s still there, still waiting, like a live wire. Her thighs shake, the sound of my thrusts muted but brutal, the desk vibrating beneath us with every hit. My other hand tightens around her throat, just enough to make her gasp, her pulse fluttering like prey under the pressure. “Not yet,” I murmur, teeth grazing her collarbone. “Not while you’re *breathing* like that.” She goes still—then *twists*, her body arching off the desk, hips grinding up against mine. “*Fuck*—stop talking!” I don’t. My cock *stretches* out of her, the sound obscene, wet. She makes a noise—half-panicked, half-*begging*—before her back slams down. I slam back in, forcing her to choke on the angle, her throat squeezing when she tries to swallow. Her fingers claw my back, the dig of her nails a brand I’m not letting her forget. “You *wanted* it rough,” I say, pulling out again, this time slower, the sight of her glistening cunt driving me *wilder*. “Now you’re gonna *earn* my mouth.” My fingers release her clit, then *snap* down to her asshole, the tight ring clenching without me touching it. She’s still wet from the first orgasm, and her cunt’s still *fluttering*—just for me, just because of what I’m *making* her feel. “Again,” she breathes. Hands still on my back, dragging me down to her lips.

Her lips are swollen from biting down, but she still leans in, teeth catching my lower lip when I push back inside her. The angle is wrong, her throat gasping before her cunt can adjust, slick walls strangling my cock as I *fuck* her like I mean it. “Again,” she repeats, voice thick with something like pain—“make me *beg*.” I don’t. My fingers keep her asshole pinned, the pressure enough that she’s *moaning* around the stretch of me, the way her body’s caught between pleasure and something darker, something closer to the edge. I roll my hips, grunt when her nails rake my shoulders—fuck, she’s *biting* me every damn time I fill her. There’s a bruise already, dark along my collarbone where she’s trying to mark me. “You’re gonna cum on my cock,” I say, teeth at her jaw, “and *then* I’m gonna make you scream it.” She whimpers, but her hands don’t let me go—just *claw* harder, her inner muscles *milking* me like they’re *begging*. I grab her hip with my free hand, fingers digging deep enough to leave marks, and *ram* into her. Her throat opens too wide, a choked sob ripping out as her cunt *clenches*—fuck, I’m gonna lose it. Instead, I *twist* my fingers at her clit, just once, the wet slap of skin on skin making her shudder. “Please,” she gasps, spit sliding down my neck. “Please, fuck—*” “*Stay still*.” I slam deeper, the sound of her wet flesh filling the small office like it’s *part* of her. Her throat goes tight again, but this time it’s not trying to choke me off—this time it’s *begging* to be. The desk’s splintering at the edges now, her nails drawing blood again, but I don’t give a *shit*. Not while she’s *gasping* like this, not while her cunt’s still *fluttering* around the stretch of my cock, holding back like I *own* the power to make her scream or stay silent. “You’re mine,” I say, voice raw. “All *this* is *mine*.” Her eyes lock with mine, the flush on her cheekbones bright enough to *burn*. She’s not even close to another orgasm yet—her body’s still *aching*—but the way it *twists* around my command tells me I don’t have to wait long. “*Yes*.” The word is barely out before I pull her off the desk, turn her around, and *drop* her down onto my cock—*hard*. Her throat opens, a broken cry shattering between us as I *start again*, my hands gripping her hips like I’m *fucking* her into the damn floor. Her ass hits the desk with every thrust, the sound of skin and wood a counterpoint to her *moans* as I *stretch* her out again and again.

And that we fell in love that night and I filled her up and fell asleep in my arms and her beautiful pussy and naked body was mine too keep and she forgot about her ex and his five minutes sex and I gave her four hours of sex

The sound of her ass slamming back against the desk is deafening, the wet slap of her cunt on my dick like a goddamn drumbeat. I fuck her harder, my balls slapping her thighs, the scent of her sweat and cum thick in the air. Her nails dig into the edge of the desk, fingers white as she braces herself, her throat gasping like a trapped animal underneath the relentless stretch of my cock. “You said *four hours*,” she whimpers, voice cracking, her body trembling with the effort to hold on. “*Four*?” I don’t answer. Instead, my teeth drag along her spine, the sharpness making her flinch, her cunt *clenching* around me when I do. My hands slide up to her shoulders, fingers pressing into the soft skin until I’m *pushing* her back down each time, the angle shifting just enough that she’s *struggling*—wet, spent, but still *molding* around the shape of me. Her hair’s matted against the desk, legs spread obscenely in the fluorescent light, the slick sound of her body *everywhere*. I pause only long enough to drag one hand down and *slam* my thumb against her clit, the jolt making her head snap forward with a choked cry. Then I’m pulling out, the way she *aches* when I do making my cock *drip*—all that wet, creamy mess already there, still waiting just for me. “You fucking *lied*?” she pants, voice thick with need, her throat swallowing hard even as her cunt *tightens* on the air. My thumb doesn’t relent, just *rubs* in circles, the pressure building with every drag. She’s *moaning* now, her body *climbing* again. I don’t let her finish. My cock *slams* back inside her before she can, the new angle forcing a broken whine from her throat. I *stretch out* for another hour, her body *burning*—the way her cunt *chokes* on the thickness of me, the way her nails rake my back when I *hold* her down, making her *feel* every single second. Her ex’s five minutes couldn’t even *come close* to this. She’s *drowning* in the endless ache, her ex a memory already wiped away by the need now *consuming* her.