Asheville After Dark Pt. 03

I was on my knees in Riverside Cemetery, gagging on a stranger's cock.

The night had started at Smokey's After Dark. I had the night off, so I got dolled up--miniskirt, lacy thong, skimpy one-sleeve top that left my stomach bare. I just wanted a drink alone. Then he walked up to my table.

Tall. Muscular. Rugged. That kind of raw, masculine presence that sent butterflies to my stomach. A chiseled jaw, dark wavy hair, the kind of face that belonged in war movies. He asked if he could buy me a drink. I let him.

We made small talk over cocktails, my head buzzing, skin warm. I caught his eyes dropping down my body, hovering over my stomach, lingering on my smooth legs. A brush of his fingers against my knee, nothing more than a whisper of contact. And my cock stirred, the soft warmth of desire curling low in my belly.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he asked.

I knew what he meant. I wanted it too.

We took a meandering route through downtown, cutting through Montford, through the park, and through a hole in the fence. Into the dark recesses of the cemetery.

My head swam, dizzy with alcohol, with desire.

We paused near a lonely grave and made eye contact, desires unspoken, yet known, hanging between us.

His eyes were brown. Darkened with a wanton hunger.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. Please," I said.

"You like it rough?"

"I do. As rough as you can give it."

Without another word, he unbuckled his pants and freed his cock. He yanked my head down hard, pressing his cock to my eager lips. His cock was huge. I wrapped my lips around it, and he began using my mouth without hesitation. I stretched my jaw to its limits to accommodate his invading manhood, doing my best to run my tongue around his shaft. My throat clenched around him, my body fighting the intrusion, despite how much I wanted it. But he didn't stop. His grip twisted in my hair, forcing me lower, until my nose pressed against his stomach, until I had nothing left to breathe but the heat of his skin.

"Not done yet," he growled. "You don't stop until I say."

My jaw ached, lips stretched wide, spit pooling at the corners of my mouth as he held me in place, his grip in my hair cruel and unrelenting. Every thrust forced a gag from my throat, my body jerking in protest. But he didn't slow down. My vision blurred, black spots creeping at the edges. I couldn't breathe. I didn't care.

I whimpered like the helpless slut I was, but it didn't matter. He wasn't listening. He used me like I wasn't even a person. Just a mouth to fuck, a hole to fill. My fingers dug into his thighs, my nails pressing hard, leaving crescent-shaped indents in his skin. A final thrust sent my nose flush against his stomach, my throat spasming helplessly around him. He groaned, enjoying my struggle.

"Don't you fucking move," he grunted, hand firm on the back of my head, holding me down, watching me struggle.

My hands clawed at his thighs, my body jerking involuntarily, desperate for air. He only sighed, savoring my panic, before finally yanking me off him.

I collapsed forward, gasping, drool spilling from my lips.

He didn't let me recover. He grabbed me by the hair, hauled me up, and shoved me forward face first into a headstone.

"Bend over, slut."

I barely caught myself, palms scraping against the rough stone. He forced my legs apart with his knee, pressing in close, yanking my skirt up and my panties down.

That's when I felt his spit hit my hole. A wave of terror and elation rippled through me. He was so big. He would tear me open. Spit would serve as a fleeting lubricant. Almost worthless. Yet I still wanted him.

Then he covered my mouth and drove inside me.

A ragged scream tore from my throat, my asshole spasming around the sudden, brutal stretch. No warning. No prep. Just raw, unrelenting force. The pain was instant, sharp and burning, my insides tearing to accommodate him. Too dry, too rough. I clawed at the stone, fingers slipping, struggling to brace myself as my knees nearly buckled.

"Fuck, yeah," he grunted. "You're a tight little hole."

I shook, fingers slipping on the stone as he slammed deeper. Every thrust was a punishment, shoving me hard against the cold slab, grinding me into it with the weight of his body.

I wanted to push away, to escape the tearing pain lancing through me. But there was nowhere to go. I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be anywhere else. His grip crushed my hips, keeping me in place, forcing me to take it.

"You're nothing but a sissy faggot fucktoy," he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. "You like this, don't you? You were for this."

I whimpered and nodded. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, my entire body trembling. He laughed. Each thrust pushed deeper, sharper, splitting me open from the inside out. My knees went weak, barely holding me up, but he didn't care. The headstone dug into my ribs, the rough surface scraping against my skin with every brutal stroke.

His rhythm faltered. His grip tightened.

"Oh, fuck."

He buried himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he came inside me.

I felt each spasm, each spurt, the heat of his cum seeping into my bowels, filling me, making me his, whether I wanted to be or not.

He exhaled a slow, satisfied breath, still inside me, still holding me down. Then, with a grunt, he pulled out.

I gasped at the sudden emptiness.

The slick, filthy mix of cum and spit he left behind dripped from my gaping asshole down my thighs. My hole throbbed, wrecked, the ache deep and punishing, yet somehow satisfying at the same time. I had served my purpose.

But he wasn't done.

"I've got a little more cum for you, sissy. Open up."

I did. I stuck my tongue out just as he stroked himself once, twice, then emptied his balls onto my face.

Thick, hot ropes of cum splattered across my tongue, my cheeks, my lips, dripping down my chin. I shuddered, the sheer filth of it making my stomach drop to my dirty knees. I couldn't even wipe it away. He held my jaw tight, rubbing his cock all over my face, smearing cum and spit, all over it, leaving me a ruined mess.

"Fuck, you look good like that," he muttered, voice low, satisfied.

"Now you're going to clean me off."

A rough hand grabbed my jaw and forced my head up.

"Open."

I hesitated. A second too long.

He slapped me.

"Do it."

I obeyed.

His cock was still slick with spit, with his cum, with the taste of my own asshole. I took him into my mouth without hesitation, without thought. The taste coated my tongue. My jaw throbbed, my throat raw, but I sucked him clean, swallowed everything. He let me work, fingers weaving lazily through my hair, like he had already forgotten I was a person.

When he was done, he tucked himself back into his pants, zipped up, and stepped back, looking down at me.

On my knees. Ruined. Leaking. Degraded.

His breath came out slow, satisfied.

"Good slut."

He patted my head. "You've proven that you're a perfect sissy whore. A good little faggot. Now you're going to cum for me."

I realized that my own cock had been erect, standing at attention the whole time. I slipped out of my skirt and panties and laid down in the grass, prostrate and vulnerable before him. Not even bothering to wipe his cum off my face, wanting to savor it, I spit in my hand and began stroking my cock. He tucked his own back in his pants and sat in the grass next to me. With a fond tenderness opposite of the man who had just ruined me, he caressed my hair and cum-slick face as I jerked off.

"You're such a good girl. So pretty covered in cum. You look perfect."

The words tumbled from his lips, soft, almost reverent.

The sweetness pushed me over the edge. My balls twitched, and I came hard, shooting hot cum all over my stomach. He exhaled sharply, smiled. He reached down and traced his fingers through the pooling fluid. Pressing his fingers to my lips, he bid me to taste my own ecstacy, to savor the taste as it mixed with the taste of him, of us.

"Come here."

His voice was softer now.

With those words, he pulled me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest and let my body melt into his. We sat there for another hour, holding one another. Letting the warmth of our bodies mingle. Letting the soft sounds of a summer night, of the city fill our ears.

"So," he said. "I had a fucking delightful time with you tonight. Wanna do this again?"

I could only laugh. "Yes. Maybe with more lube next time."