Member-only story
I Fucked Too Much and I Still Miss Those Moments
There Are Men Who Really Leave Their Mark
It’s been almost two years since he touched me, but my body still remembers every inch of his hands.
I still wake up wet after dreaming about him penetrating me with that brutal force that left me breathless.
I still feel the ghost of his cock inside me when I masturbate alone in bed, desperately trying to recreate that feeling of being completely filled, completely dominated, completely his.
We fucked for months with an intensity I never thought was possible. It wasn’t just sex — it was a mutual obsession, a physical need so visceral that sometimes we could barely wait to get home.
I remember times when he grabbed me in the kitchen, pressed me against the counter and fucked me right there, with our pants just pulled down enough for him to penetrate me.
The sound of my wet pussy receiving him echoed through the house, mixed with my moans and his grunts of pleasure.
He knew exactly how to touch me to drive me crazy.
He knew the exact spot on my neck that made me melt, knew how to bite my nipples to make me arch against him, knew how to use his fingers on my clit while he fucked me to make me scream his name.
