Falling for My Dirty Uncle

“Owen…I don’t know if you’ll fit,” I whimper with need.

He pauses for a moment as he grinds his massive, iron-hard man meat against my tight little slit.

“I’ll make it fit,” he says—and then he takes me.

It hurts. It does. But only for a fraction of a moment.

Then blissful pleasure blooms between my legs like I was made for taking his cock. Made to order for spreading my knees for a man like Owen…but there are no men like Owen.

There’s only him.

So maybe I was just made for him.

He goes slow, inch by fucking inch.

With every breath draw in, I count another inch deeper.

Every time I breathe out, he gives me a moment to realize how full having his cock inside my pussy makes me feel.

All it takes is that singular moment to make me want more.

“Owen,” I gasp as I feel something new building inside me. It’s like a drumroll played on a timpani, growing and growing to a crescendo that I’ve never experienced before.

He takes me in his arms like he’s shielding me from an explosion—but the explosion is happening within me.

“Aaah!” I cry out, digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades.

“That’s it, Mira. Come for me! Fucking give it to me. Give me everything, baby. I want it all.”

“More,” I manage to gasp. “F-fuck me harder, Owen.”

I sink my teeth into his shoulder blade and relish the way it makes him snarl and growl.

“More,” I say into his shoulder. “More!”

“You’re fucking insatiable, Mira.”

Owen slams the rest of his cock into my pussy, and I roll my head back like the holy spirit itself is entering my body. When I close my eyes, I can see fireworks behind my eyelids.

“You want more?”

“Yes!” I cry out, thrusting my hips up to meet his. “God, yes! Yes, Owen! YES!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Owen fucks me like some kind of bastard between a man and a machine. I wanted him to hurt me—and he does. In the most perfect of ways. He pulls my hair back, bites my neck, sucks each of my nipples into his mouth until I whimper, and squeezes my ass so hard I think I’ll be able to see marks of his fingertips bloom into little purple bruises.

He’s violent. He’s brutal. He’s forceful, and I’m lost in everything that he is.

But I wanted him to make love to me, too—and he gives me that as well. He gives it to me in soft little encouragements…

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come like that—so fucking beautiful—”

And he makes love to me in his kisses, his sighs. Those little moans that men never make, not even in the movies—the kind that promise whatever pleasure I’m feeling, he’s feeling it too.

We’re so much more than just two people fucking. So much more than whatever labels people might apply to us, or however perverse Carl and his fucking pearl-clutching want to make us sound.

This is just the two of us. Together. It’s lust and it’s fucking and it’s love and it’s passion, pure and raw, the kind that some people never get to experience in their entire lifetimes.