Steamy Dreams (Erotica Collections)

I’m bent over the hood of Deputy Ethan’s cruiser, t**s flattened against the warm metal with my sundress flipped up to my waist. No panties, never been one to wear them. Ethan’s got one fist in my hair and the other bruising my hip while he slams into me so hard I feel my cunt loosing its grasp around him. “f**k, Kaylee,” he grunts, “you’re gonna get me fired with this p***y of yours ” I laugh into the hood, pushing my back to take every inch of that c**k. “Then hurry up and fill this p***y with your lewd sperm, baby. Clock’s ticking.” He doesn’t hurry,he likes to watch his thick c**k disappear into my shaved little p***y, likes to see how I stretch around him as he slams into me. Nineteen years old and I still grip him like a virgin, even after half the county’s had a turn. I feel him swell, feel him grunts as he tries to pull out but I squeeze my p***y around him, “Inside, Ethan. You know the rules.” He slams his c**k into me burying himself deep and explodes, flooding me so hot I swear I can taste it in the back of my throat. When he pulls out it gushes down my thighs in thick ropes and stream down to my legs. I straighten up, let my dress fall and lick a stray drop off my lip. “You’re welcome.” He offers me a ride but I declined it, I like the walk back home after a hot f**k. I want every one to see me as I walk back home and know I was just f****d, raw if I might add.. Barefoot and sticky, I start the stroll home, c*m cooling on my skin, and the flashbacks of his c**k in me spreading heat all over my body as my p***y glistens. I wasn’t always this way, I promise. At 16, behind the church, purity ring still on my finger while Tyler Pruitt fumbles with my blouse. I do it for him, drop to my knees in the gravel, and suck him dry while the choir sings “How Great Thou Art” thirty feet away. I swallow, smile, and ask if his friends are any less pathetic. At 17, prom night, three lettermen and a bottle of Fireball in the backseat of a pickup. I take them all, my mouth, p***y, ass, until the windows fog get so thick with us the stars disappear. On monday, my locker says KAYLEE “MADE IN THE SHADE” PARKER in permanent marker. I trace the letters with my finger like it’s my new favorite Bible verse, I loved it. At 18, the night I turn legal. Rusty’s back door, cowboy boots and nothing else, dancing on the pool table while men stuff twenties between my legs and into my mouth. Closing time, five fresh tally marks carved above the urinal, RIVERBEND w***e written underneath. I run my fingers over the grooves and come right there against the sink. Now the wall’s at eighty-nine and climbing. Mrs. Henderson’s porch light snaps on. “Kaylee Mae, you oughta be ashamed!” I lift my dress, show her my bouncing titties and a wink. “Tell your dead husband his ghost still f***s better than half this town.” The light goes off and I smirk, I keep walking. Her husband wasnt a good f**k anyway. Half a block later Deputy Xander roles by, his eyes hungry as they swarm all over me. Ethan must’ve radioed him. Two minutes later I’m bent over his tailgate, skirt up, taking him balls-deep in the mess Xander left. They like to take turns f*****g me while the other’s c*m was still rolling down my thighs. Alvarez is thicker though, he stretches me until my vision gets blur, until I’m moaning loud enough to wake half the neighborhood. When he comes he pulls out and paints my lower back, hot stripes sliding down the crack of my ass to mix with everything else. He hands me a bandana. I blow my nose in it and toss it back. “Souvenir, baby.” He turns me over and strips me completely, playing with my t**s as he sucks them and slapping my p***y while at it before he lets me go. When he was satisfied with the red mark in me, he ordered me to leave and I put my clothes on and began my walk back home. The evidence of two cops on my thighs. Mama’s still at the Waffle House, so the trailer’s dark. I strip in the bathroom, stand naked under the fluorescent bulb and study the damage. My mascara smeared, lips bitten, thighs glazed with marks. Between my legs I’m swollen, gaping, a slow river still leaking down my legs. I spread wider, watch it drip, and grin at my reflection. God, I look like every preacher’s worst nightmare and every husband’s favorite fantasy. My Phone buzzes, Ethan: you make it home safe? I snap a mirror pic, legs open, c*m shining everywhere, caption it define safe 🍑💦 and hit send. Then I open Snapchat, scoop two fingers through the mess, suck them clean for the camera, and post it to my story with the location tagged Riverbend, GA and the words who’s buying breakfast? By the time I slide between the sheets the sun’s creeping through the blinds, painting gold stripes across my sticky skin. Somewhere church bells are getting ready to ring. Somewhere a husband’s about to open my Snap at the red light and total his truck. I smile into my pillow, p***y throbbing like it’s got its own heartbeat, thighs glued together with last night’s sins. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Rusty’s has karaoke, half-price wings, and a fresh Sharpie waiting behind the bar. I’m just getting started, I am a w***e and a needy one.