He Knows How to Use His Nympho, Chapter 2

I couldn’t stop thinking about the stranger’s cock in my mouth. When I woke up the next morning, in bed with my husband, I wondered if I had dreamed it. The memory of his cum, though, was too vivid. I knew I had done it — I had let a stranger fuck my mouth in the bathroom of a bar. I also knew I was going back for whatever else might happen.

At work, I was distracted all day. I had to masturbate in the ladies room three times. My boss commented that I looked a little dazed. I was. All I could think about was fucking.

I had been like this before I was married. I would fuck any man who had an animal look in his eyes. I would usually end up fucking all his friends, too — male or female, one at a time, or in groups. Whoever wanted my pussy got it, as long as I knew they would make me feel dirty and used, but come back for more.

When a man knew he had total control over me, and used it, and pushed me to do things no good girl or nice girl would ever do — that was my drug. I was an addict, sometimes going on four “dates” a day. I loved every load of cum I took, no matter where, even if I hated the man giving it to me.

I wondered about the stranger in the bar… would I like him? I didn’t really care. He saw me for what I am, what I’d been hiding, and he took it because he knew I wanted him to. He treated me like absolute trash. At the end, though, he was kind of charming. Very few men in my life had ever managed that combination — treat me like a five-dollar crack whore, then hug me and smile at the end.

Most men just ignored me while they waited for me to dress and leave. That was fine with me. I wasn’t looking for love. I wanted my pussy banged, and I wanted cum. I wanted every kind of nasty fuck I could get. Some men (and women!) called again, and some didn’t. The ones who didn’t were the ones missing out. Those one-nighters were usually pretty lame. They never got to find out what I would really do.

The “fuck relationships” were the best. Some even lasted a year or two. I always kept things no-strings. Most of the men had wives or girlfriends, anyway. There is no shortage of men who will use a whore, regardless of what the other circumstances are in their lives.

I was betting I had found a good one, this time. Our first meeting had been perfect — fast and frantic. He made me orgasm several times. He was disgusting and fearless; pissing right down my throat, fucking my face like a pussy and calling me “good girl.” The effects of my “drug” were flooding my brain and body already.

My husband works second shift. I had sometimes thought this was a dangerous arrangement, leaving me too much free time when I didn’t have to account for my whereabouts. Now that I was back in addict mode, though, I thought it was the most perfect arrangement possible. My husband never questioned me about the times we spent apart.

After work, I went to the bar. I was absolutely sweating sex chemicals. My mind was focused on only one thing: cock.

He was in the same place he’d been the night before. When he saw me, he half-smiled and nodded. He was congratulating himself on being right. He tilted his head to indicate the bar stool next to him, and I walked over and sat down.

“Want a drink, Ms. No Name?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He didn’t ask me what I wanted. He ordered me a double Stoli on the rocks. The bartender served me, and I was almost trembling as I took my first sip. He exhaled in what seemed like surpressed laughter.

“Drink up,” he said, throwing cash on the bar. “We won’t be here long.”

We didn’t talk until I was done, then he told me to follow him. We went out of the bar and he led me around to the back parking lot. As we rounded the corner where the dumpsters stood, he pushed me into the brick wall. He pressed his pants against me. I could feel his bulge.

“Show me your tits,” he said.

“Not here,” I protested.

“Now.”

I started to unbutton my shirt, but he grabbed the fabric around my waist and yanked it up over my bra. He pulled my bra up toward my chin, and my tits hung free. He kept one hand on my shoulder so I was pinned to the wall, and stepped back as far as he could. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t touch them. He just looked.

“Put your shirt back on,” he said. I did. He shoved his hand between my legs. “You’re already wet, you whore.” He used the same low growl he’d used the night before. I held my breath.

He clenched his hand around my upper arm, and forcefully led me to his car. He opened the door and nearly threw me into the passenger seat. He got in the driver’s side, and started the engine.

When we were finally on the road, he told me to unzip my pants. “Finger yourself,” he said. I did.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” It was less a question than a statement of fact. I whispered yes.

“What? I didn’t hear you,” he said. I said it louder. My heart was pounding, and I was starting to orgasm on my hand.

“Tell me,” he said. “Don’t be shy. You’re a whore. You know that. Don’t even pretend.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I responded.

“Tell me again.”

“I want you to fuck me.” I was so close. I could feel my muscles start to contract.

He knew it. “Tell me, whore. Tell me you’re coming.”

“Oh, god…” I was panting. “I’m coming.” The explosion started.

“Louder.”

I nearly screamed it. He took his right hand off the steering wheel and pressed it on top of mine, hard into my pussy. I sustained the orgasm for a long time.

When I started to de-escalate, he pulled my hand out of my pants and shoved it to my mouth. “Clean yourself off, you disgusting cunt.” I licked my fingers clean while he watched. He looked at me like a wolf about to snap the neck of its prey. “Zip up and get out.” I realized we were stopped in a driveway.

He got out and walked to the front door. He unlocked it, and led me inside. He didn’t say a word. He pushed me face down over the arm of the sofa in his living room. He pinned my head into the seat cushion with one hand, and somehow managed to drop my pants around my ankles with the other. He picked my ass up further, with both hands on my hips.

My ass was in the air, and I heard his zipper go down. He parted my pussy and I felt the tip of his cock enter me. With one hand on my shoulder and the other on my hip, he thrust violently, deeply inside me.

“You live for cock,” he said. “You were made to fuck. You know it. I can fuck you any way I want, can’t I?”

I felt the next orgasm beginning. “Yes,” I said.

“You like my cock, don’t you? You’re going to come.” He laughed roughly. “Tell me.”

“I’m coming.” I was.

He began banging me like he wanted to split me in half. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it.” My pussy was clenching around him and I was gasping for air.

“What do you like?”

“I like to get fucked!” Again, I almost screamed it. He was pounding me.

“Bitch, don’t you ever come without telling me. Every time, you hear me?” His words were angry snarls through his clenched teeth. “Yeah, I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you, you piece of fuck-trash.” He kept banging me through five orgasms. My pussy was a sloppy mess.

He pulled out of my pussy. “You’re going to take it in the ass. You love it, don’t you?”

I could feel the head, wet from my pussy, start to press against my ass hole. “Yes.”

“Yes what? Tell me.”

“Yes, I want you to fuck my ass.” I felt his warm spit dribbling down my crack. He smeared it with his hand, then pressed his cock inside me a little further. I braced myself. Even though I couldn’t begin to count how many times I’ve had a cock in my ass, it can really hurt at first if it’s too forceful. I always got over it.

He surprised me, though. He leaned over me
and was very gently advancing himself into me. “I don’t want it to hurt,” he said. He almost whispered it.

“It doesn’t,” I said. It felt good. He slid a bit further inside.

“Can you
take it all?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“I should’ve known,” he said. “No nice girl can take all of me, and you’re NOT a nice girl, are you? What are you?” He was thrusting now, and I was in heaven. He smacked my ass hard. “You’re not paying attention,” he said. “I asked you a question. What kind of girl are you? Answer me.”

“I’m bad,” I said.

“You don’t get away that easy. What are you? You know what you are. Tell me.”

“I’m a slut,” I said.

“More.”

“I’m filthy. I’m a cum-hole.” He was working my ass with perfect strength and rhythm.

“Oh, yeah…” he said. “Mmmmm…. that’s exactly what you are. You’re a fuck-toy that talks. You’re a walking blow-up doll…” He kept cramming my ass. “I’m never going to let you forget that. Don’t you ever play shy or innocent with me, you hear me?”

“Yes.”

He smacked my ass again, then again, really hard. I was going to feel it all night, I knew. He kept fucking and slapping me. This was no playful spanking. He started to moan.

He stopped slapping, then began to mutter. “Take it, whore. Yeah. You love it, you repulsive cunt. Your ass is swallowing my cock, just like your pussy and your mouth do.” He pulled out as he began to orgasm. He blew it all over my ass.

He stood behind me, still pinning me down. He was panting, and so was I. After a moment, he reached down and pulled up my pants. He pressed them into his cum, then stood me up. “Wear it,” he said. “It’s all you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. I could feel the mushy slime inside my panties. I turned to face him. He looked into my eyes, and I could see the animal retreat.

“I’ll take you back to your car,” he said.

I straightened up my clothes, and followed him out. On the drive back, we were silent. I knew I should be ashamed of myself, but that made my pleasure even stronger.When we arrived back at the bar, I opened the door to get out. I didn’t say anything. I felt his hand touch my arm as I turned. I looked back at him.

“Thursday,” he said. I knew what he meant. I nodded and got out. Damn. It was only Tuesday.