A different kind of B.B.W (Smut)

You’re led out of the house by a tight fist grabbing hold of your hair. He orders you to get in the car, and while he’s fiddling with the back seats, he tells you to start masturbating.

You’re already wet, of course. You had been for hours. He has that effect on you.

It takes several minutes of driving before he pulls off the dusty road near some rusty metal shack. There are no other cars up here. You can hear the sounds of owls and things that go *buzz* in the night.

“What?” he asks as you glance around with concern.

“No, it’s….I guess that’s the sound of nature.” City girl that you are, not one for roughing it. Not this kind of rough, anyway.

“Get in the backseat,” he orders.

It’s not like you didn’t know this was coming. Hell, you’re the one who told him about the fantasy in the first place.

But this is real.

You spread a blanket across the back. He tells you to get on your back. You instinctively spread your legs. You are, after all, his whore.

He starts with his fingers.

He comments on the state of your cunt. “So wet. You are a whore,” he reminds you.

You nod. “Yes, Sir.”

One orgasm with his fingers on your clit, then another with penetration before he claims your cunt again with his cock. “My whore,” he clarifies.

“Your whore,” your words echo, clinging to the ends of each breath.

You know it’s coming. You bring your feet up to the ceiling. His eyes glow in the moonlight with a flash of excitement and desire.

He enters slowly, his hot flesh claiming its intended target made slick with the come dripping from your used up cunt.

“That’s it, my whore,” he whispers as his thrust intensifies.

You can only moan in response.

“My backseat, backdoor whore,” he adds.

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