by David Cain


When I first slipped inside her, she bit her nails in me.

A bare twenty-two and naughty as sin, a sweet succulent blonde rushed to shimmy off her blue jeans in my bed. I bit my lip, smiling as I watched her white panties emerge, glad to discover Diana had gone half-past eager because I dared to make her wait. She fought her white socked foot in a crunch of denim and her big titties shook. I admired her full rounded dark nipples, tensing as she giggled at my lascivious glare. I drank a heady draught of her next revelations, as she let her lean thighs drift to reveal her pretty blonde pussy, so pink, so wet, and I anxiously kissed her pulsing excitement until Diana surrendered, forever mine.

Ferocious scratches, in wild ecstasies, crescent gouges, river wound welts. As I lustily screwed her pure beauty, manicured daggers raked my back, my arms, my neck, my legs. I fucked Diana harder as the pain by degrees mounted, dick digging deeper as the blood beads on my back. Spread wide for the pounding, her young cunt sucked all the whirlwinds we’d created, til I came, mad, in her face, baptized my lust for her delicate prettiness.

Brilliant in reasons, I could ask no more. Foolhardy in daring, she tested my mettle. Passion aflame, we gave dawn to the stars. The law came once, or twice, knock, knock, knock, to find us cavorting in negligible garments while our musical interludes cracked the mortar. Neighbors banged and pleaded, but our fucks forever rattled the ceiling, pounded the walls, broke through the floors. “Fuck so pretty, you and me.”

“What happened to you?” asked Joanne at work.

“Love,” I said, showing her the cruel traces on my arm.

“Do you like that?” Joanne asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah,” I confessed. “But I may die soon, exhausted.”

“What the hell,” counseled my friend. “Good fucks are hard to find.”

Diana never wore clothes, not often anyway, at my place. I stared for hours at her little blonde pussy, the gentle swells and faint pink shadows beneath her golden dross. She giggled and turned her naughty bottom toward me.

Her scratches were more than excesses. Jealous rages pounced silently from behind each wanton kisses. I never wanted to be captured, loving women with recklessness, but Diana proved both perfect and relentless. Before I surrendered to Diana, she marked my flesh savagely. I loved her fucking madness and never made her stop. Timid rivals retreated. The brave were vanquished, all the same.

And she stopped her loving brutality.

Soon we’ll have known ten years of constant fucking. I regret every day that we’ve missed. Sunday morning was one of our best, while last night even reached new heights. We create amazing sensations, cock to cunt, she and I.

I had her ass on Sunday morn, after licking her giddy, she pleaded me in. Diana comes so fast, so hard, so deliciously that way. Her pink melted pussy squirms at each rub. And we only got hotter from there.

Diana holds tight when I slip my prick in.

Tears me when we’re apart.


About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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