HER & HIM | ROUGH SEX | TABOO

I JUST WANT DICK

That’s right, you read that title exactly how I mean it.

I just want dick. A penis. I want a penis because I want to fuck.

Who am I? Is it important? Right-o then. I’m a woman. I’m in my early thirties. And I want to fuck a penis.

Why am I telling you this? Because I’m sick and tired of people telling me this is crude talk. I’m no longer interested in hearing that ladies don’t speak like that. As if there is anything wrong with me saying what I want and need. I’ll tell you if I’m hungry and I’ll tell you if I’m horny. And either it’s some lasagne or a penis. No difference. 

What am I going to do about it? Well, it’s not as easy for a woman. Right? Men will go out,  parade about like a peacock (and fun fact: only the males have that plumage), then they’ll „pull some bird“ and boast to their mates about it the next day.

Women? Instantly labelled slags when we dress a tad more provocatively or make clear our intentions not to court or marry but simply fuck.

But let me tell you about my more pressing problem right now (besides my inane urge to fuck). When I’m not masturbating furiously in my shabby little hotel room fantasising about fucking, I’m the boss of an entire animation team in Crete. And that also makes me the boss of an incredibly fuckable young man. And he fancies me. And the sexual tension is off the radar. 

But (and he has a great butt), I’m not allowed to fuck him. Yep, that’s right. I am his boss and there is to be no hanky-panky with my subordinates.

Now the thing is, I could go out in the evenings and find myself some other random guy but I’ve become a bit fixated with the thrill of the unattainable. Perhaps that’s what makes it so attractive. I don’t think he’ll even be any good. 

He looks like he would be incredibly selfish, inexperienced and dull. 

But I could teach him. I love taking men by the hand (and penis) and showing them what I like. There’s nothing wrong with that. I know my body best and hell can I show them which buttons like pressing.

The young man in question is called Georgios. Greek, shorter than me, trained abs (normally not my style but I’ll make an exception), rather poetic but in a rugged way and the dick I have decided I want.

Now, here’s my plan: after work I’m going to take him to the dark beach and fuck him. 

That’s it. That’s the plan. It’s a good plan, right? No one will see us, we both don’t need to talk about it the next day, nobody gets in trouble and I get the dick I’ve been pining for.

It’s a stormy day on the island. There is constant whistling of our very own Pamela, in her red swimsuit, shooing the bloody tourists back to the shore as they venture into the too choppy waters. The sky hangs like droopy, grey eyelids. You can taste the saltwater in the air, the wind slapping you in the face with every breath. I’m lying on a sun-bed, without my uniform, watching him on the jet ski. Pamela whistles for people to move out of the way as he cruises forwards and jumps off with an urgency normally reserved for drowning people. Does he know I’m watching him? 

Last night I heard gossiping behind the curtains of the late-night show. Apparently, my Georgios (see how I am taking ownership already?) has been banging one of the French girls in the hotel. Is he a bit of a Casanova? 

Momentarily my slag-ish exterior deceives me and crumbles to reveal my insecurities, my hurting inner child. Rapidly I remind myself of my mission: I just want to fuck. Like a scratch that needs to be itched. I watch him, all tan and muscles. Yummy. I’ll suck him off first and then I’ll let him fuck me hard. On the sun lounger, soggy style in the sand, standing against the umbrella… 

As long as he is pounding me, I don’t care which position. It needs to be angry, raw, primal. 

This is the beginning of my foreplay. These fantasies in my head are better than any clit sucking or finger fucking. This is how my gash becomes moist. Closing my eyes I envisage him between my legs, my shorts discarded in the sand, his dick long and thin, thrashing in and out of me. And then I fall asleep, my juices sticky in my underpants.

Getting ready for the evening I slather myself in my best coconut oil. Greasy. Oiled up. Even though I know the sand will stick to me everywhere, but that’s half the thrill! Sliding my hands over my inner thighs I can already taste his skin. His cum. Ooh: where will I let him cum? I haven’t pondered over this yet. I’m already desperate to be fucked. 

Standing in the shared bathroom I rub my clit, my pussy shouting for attention. Wailing for dick. But I can’t cum. I need dick. 

My brain is telling my pussy it won’t work otherwise. And maybe I won’t cum at all. Fuck it. As long as he fucks me so hard that I can’t stand the next day and when our eyes meet during the day (all secrets and teasing) we’ll both know that he pounded my pussy, twisted my nipples and choked me on a sun lounger, in the sand and so on and so forth.

Arriving at the animation briefing for the evening I’m surprised and a little shocked that he isn’t there. But I mustn’t ask anyone, too obvious. The remainder of the evening I spend distracted from work (who cares anyway, most of the guests are drunk and almost blind from the cheap alcohol). Where the fuck is he? I’m losing control. Seriously unimpressed. Will I have to find another dick? It’s all geared up to his.

It is past one in the morning as I lock up and hoist my bag over my shoulder. And then, all of a sudden, I feel my bag snatched out of my hand and I am being turned around, slammed against the door and there’s a hand around my neck and one over my mouth. Fuck. What the fuck? Terrified and shivering I stare into the eyes of my oppressor. 

It’s him. It’s Georgios. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And fuck yes. My body moves fast from shock into utter arousal. Physical arousal at its finest. He thrusts his hand forcefully down my pants, his hand still around my throat. Who knew he had this in him? I underestimated him. His fingers are long and strong. Instantly into my pussy. It’s awkward and a tad uncomfortable with my trousers still on but we both accept it for what it is. 

„Unlock the door,“ he huskily rasps at me.

Am I obeying? I think as I instantly unlock the door. Wasn’t I going to fuck him?

Once inside it happens fast. Our clothes are ripped off (I think he’s actually ripped the clasp of my bra off). We are in between animation outfits (including giant raccoon heads), hula hoops, water guns and pillows. It’s as uncomfortable as the beach to be fair. He’s kissing me now, just as rough as I had hoped for. It’s a little too many teeth but I don’t mind, his fingers are in me, out of me, on my clit. 

It feels naughty, dangerous and frisky. 

Our colleagues could still catch us. We could be seen through the windows. 

I want the kissing to stop. My lips hurt. This is not a teaching moment; I’m happy not to kiss. Remember what I’m here for: dick.

I scan the room for locations, where we can do what. I’m a sucker for planning and control. But before I come to any conclusion, he’s pushing me to the floor. I am pleasantly surprised yet again. My eyes trail down a spattering of hair all over his chest, his chiselled abs (not as terrible as I thought, it’s just my own body hang-ups that keep me hesitant of the Michelangelo types) and straight to his dick. Yes. Fuck yes this was what I was hoping for. Slightly curved, long and thin like his fingers. 

Taking him in my hands I spit on him and start rubbing, fast. Is it a quickie I want? No, I don’t want much foreplay because the fucking is what I’m after. He can feel it. Our communication is limited. He hardly speaks my language, I hardly speak his. But we don’t need words. He’s already glistening with pre-cum.

Within seconds he’s retrieved a condom and pulled it over. Normally, this is the part where I get into position, my position, the position I want to fuck in. But it all goes so fast that it’s him making the decisions, choosing the position. He’s moved behind me and pushed me on all fours. Doggy it is. He doesn’t enter me fully straight away. The tip of his dick pulses at the entrance of my pussy. 

His hands grab the sides of my butt cheeks and with his thumbs almost in my pussy on both sides he spreads me apart. The view must be glorious. Slowly he edges in further. 

His dick is almost fully in when I feel a sharp slap on my butt cheek. FUCK!

He’s really so much more than I expected! Phew, Georgios! Slowly and smoothly he slides in and out. „Faster!“ I tell him. He doesn’t understand. I push my gash onto him. She’s a little dry. Hm. Rubbing my clit I dip my fingers in beside his cock. Spit on my fingers, back in. There we go. Pushing back into him harder and faster he gets the idea. Holding onto my hips he pounds me. His thighs slapping my butt. 

We keep our groans to a minimum. The possibility of getting caught is an incredible turn-on. As he leans over me, wrapping his arm around my waist I momentarily wonder if he’s getting lovey-dovey on me. But as he lifts my upper body up against his, my back arching to keep his cock inside, he grabs my throat again. We stay this way for a second until his cock slips out. Keen to seize the opportunity he lifts me and turns me around. Hoisting me up onto the arts and crafts table he lays me down. The table is cold and hard beneath me as his hot dick once more slides into me. He is properly giving it his all now. 

I am in awe. 

Bam. Bam. Slap. Bam. 
Over and over. 

I grab my tits and tweak my nipples, he rubs my clit with the tip of his dick as he pulls out. Our black bushes melt together. Again we bang here a while longer. I’m getting to my limit. I want to cum or switch roles, take control. 

Lifting my upper body I move so his dick is too far from my pussy to pound anymore.

“Finish?” he asks, a little too innocently for my liking. Before I can say anything he’s pulled me back down and turned me on my stomach. 

Oof. I’m a dirty little thing.

Got it: I’m going to cum. But I can’t reach my clit! Scooching down further off the table I squeeze my hand between my thighs. Nope. This doesn’t work. He lifts me back into doggy. Pencil shavings and sand dig into my knees. Irrelevant.

He pounds. We groan. He mumbles something in greek. I rub my clit furiously. It smells of sex, coconut, beach and sun cream. Just before he’s about to cum, he grabs my tit. 

Tweak. Twist. Pinch. 
He cums, shuddering. 

I keep rubbing. He’s done. He stays inside me, little thrusts. His thumb cheekily grazes my butt hole. He grabs my butt cheeks. 

His rough indulgence trembles through my body. 

But I don’t cum. 

I quiver in anticipation.

Because as we both get dressed, ready to pretend it never happened, I catch myself almost admiring him and quite possibly – oh fuck – having feelings for him. 

Fuck.