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As his hips pounded into her, rhythmic and steady and strong, he watched her passive face intently and angled his thrusts to work the front wall of her pussy, trapping her gspot between her pelvic bones and his slick cock. Riding her hard, he pushed deeper and held himself up over her, his face only inches from hers.Her face remained unchanged, eyes locked on some spot in the middle distance, and her free hand was still. She gave him nothing, yielded nothing, the only indication of her body’s willingness the undeniable wetness between her thighs. That, and nothing more.

Fuck this, he thought. She was aloof, as if sex was a chore to be endured. He would have to fight for her attention or she would simply climax silently, waiting for him to spill into her, and then get up and shower as if nothing had happened. With the exception of a few wild, alcohol-fueled nights, nights that showed him the passion she held locked away inside, it was always like this with her, month after month after month.

Not today.

As he fucked her harder, he spoke her name. Nothing. He jabbed into her, deliberately hitting her cervix; still nothing. The anger rose inside him and for once, he didn’t stop it. How could she ignore him now, here, as if she was too good to allow the warm, wanting animal of her body the freedom it deserved?Infuriated and without forethought, he spat into her face, covering her nose, mouth, cheeks with his saliva. “Wake up, my little whore,” he hissed.

And suddenly, blinking, she did.


This delicious morsel of erotica is presented courtesy of the lovely @thebuckandthedoe – an even more delicious friend of the blog