The alley smelled like piss and wet concrete. It was past 2 a.m. and the main street had gone quiet except for the occasional car hissing by on wet asphalt.
She was drunk enough that her heels clicked unevenly, short black dress already riding high on her thighs. No panties—her choice, stupid and horny and reckless. She didn’t see him until he was already stepping out from the shadow of the dumpster.
Big. Hood up. Hands already moving.
“Fuck—sorry—” she started, but he didn’t let the word finish.
He grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked her head back so fast her mouth opened on instinct. His other hand shot between her legs, rough palm cupping her bare cunt like he was claiming property.
“Wet little slut walking around like this,” he growled low. “You’re begging for it.”
She gasped, tried to twist, but he just shoved two thick fingers inside her without warning. No warm-up. No asking. Just deep, curling, stretching her open while she whimpered against his grip.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He dragged her deeper into the alley, slammed her chest-first against the brick wall. Cold rough surface scraped her tits through the thin dress. He kicked her legs apart, yanked the fabric up over her ass.
“Look at this dripping bitch hole,” he muttered, smearing her own slick across her thighs. “You don’t even pretend anymore.”
She heard the zipper.
Felt the blunt head of his cock slap heavy against her clit once, twice—then he didn’t wait. One brutal thrust and he was buried balls-deep, stretching her so wide her knees buckled.
“Fuck—too big—” she choked out.
“Good.” He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Bitches don’t talk.”
He fucked her like he hated her.
Hard, punishing strokes that slapped wet skin against wet skin, loud enough anyone passing the alley mouth would know exactly what was happening. Each thrust shoved her higher up the wall until her toes barely scraped the ground. He kept one hand fisted in her hair, arching her back so deep she could barely breathe, the other bruising her hip while he pounded into her like he was trying to break something inside.
“Take it, you filthy cunt,” he snarled against her ear. “This is what you’re for.”
She came embarrassingly fast—shaking, clenching, sobbing into his palm while her pussy spasmed around him. He didn’t slow down. If anything he went harder, chasing his own finish like she was just a warm sleeve.
When he finally grunted and flooded her, he held himself deep, pulsing, letting every drop stay inside. Only then did he pull out slow, watching his cum leak down her trembling thighs.
He slapped her ass once—sharp, proprietorial.
“Walk home like that, slut. Let everyone see what kind of bitch you are.”
He zipped up, turned, and disappeared back into the dark like he’d never been there.
She stayed against the wall another minute, legs shaking, cum sliding down her inner thighs, dress still bunched around her waist.
Then—slowly—she pushed off the bricks and started walking.
Heels clicking again.
Wetter now.
Messier.
Still dripping.
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