As soon as the tip pushed past her lips, Sofiya let out a moan. She was just as warm and tight as the first time they’d ever fucked. She felt like home, this was where he belonged. Judging from the look in her eyes, she agreed.
Together, they moved in unison, their hips moving back and forth. They moved like well-oiled gears in a machine. They were both two very broken individuals, one being the result of an overbearing and wealthy father and the other being the result of a terrible foreign war. Yet despite it all, they were perfect.
“Fuck me.” Sofiya gasped as he changed the angle of his hips.
Charlie learned a long time ago that Sofiya’s moans were far better than any music. If he were given the choice of only ever hearing one thing, it’d be her moans. Unlike back at the bar, nothing was fake about her now. The wild look in her eyes, the blush spreading across her pale skin, the tightening around his dick, it was all real.
“You okay?” He whispered after a particularly loud moan.
“Fuck me harder, idiot.” She hissed back.
With a fond smile, he shook his head and pulled his hips back before snapping back into her. He watched with amused eyes as she reached down and pulled her dress down to reveal her breasts struggling against her bra. She gave him a smirk and reached behind herself, undoing the strap, and tossing it off to the side. Now her breasts were free to bounce as much as they wanted, doing so with each thrust.
The wet slap of skin between them was loud, much louder than their combined panting. Then Charlie heard something else. He looked over and found the failed bull with tears running down his face. His wife followed his gaze and chuckled, she was always the cruel one out of the two of them.
Before he could say something, she reached up and pulled him down, putting her forehead against his and saying, “Keep going, I’m close.”
Seeing how he wasn’t an idiot, he kept thrusting. He knew better than to deny her an orgasm when she was close, that’d be opening a whole new realm of pain. He watched her face scrunch up with each slap of skin, her cheeks growing increasingly pink.
Then with one last thrust, the flood gates burst. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled with all her might as a loud and unfiltered moan filled the bedroom. It was hard for Charlie not to cum right then and there, the way her juices drenched him and her pussy squeezed was just too much.
“Yes!” She cried out when he tried to thrust against her. She wrapped her legs around him, keeping him close.
“Sofiya.” He whined against her throat.
He felt a hand seize the back of his head and a breath bounce off his ear as she whispered, “Inside me. Do it inside.”
How she knew he was close to cumming, he wasn’t sure. She always did have a special talent in reading his body, she knew his next move before he ever did it. He tried not to groan as he started thrusting again, his dick pushed through her like butter and it felt too good, he was seeing stars.
The slap of skin was joined by squelching this time. He started picking up the pace, chasing his own orgasm. He knew she could take it, hell, she craved sex like this. Sure, she liked slow and sensual sex but she loved rough and passionate more. She liked legs wrapped around hips, mouths molding together hungrily, and bed boards slamming against the wall.
With a groan, Charlie slammed into her for the last time. He felt himself pouring out of his tip and into her, her pussy swallowing down each drop. He could feel the satisfaction in her muscles as she squeezed him tight, keen on getting every drop out of him no matter what. She kept her arms wrapped around his neck and thrusted with her own hips, coaxing out the last of his load.
They both let out tired sighs as they collapsed onto the bed. He was spent, she’d drained everything out of him. It felt like she’d taken his soul but to be fair, it always felt like that when they fucked. Whether she swallowed his cum or took it while he was buried in her, it didn’t matter.
With a groan, he pulled out of her. He watched as a stream of white gushed out of her and onto the bed sheets below. She meanwhile wiped the sweat off her forehead and closed her eyes.
“Honey, what do I do about him?” He asked, remembering the stranger.
“Whatever you want.” She said dreamily.
He climbed out of bed and got dressed, something she watched with interested eyes. He smiled at her before grabbing the pistol and a pair of scissors from a nearby drawer.
That night, a broken man returned home, mentally emasculated, and forever changed.