Raw First-Night Fuck: Hospital Hunk’s Recovery Bang

My phone buzzes nonstop in the car outside Marc’s apartment block. Ten days since the ER chaos—his bloody head, that cheeky grin under the lights, the ridiculous ass-baring gown. I laughed at his Girlz mag story, stitched him up, eyed his chart pic that didn’t match the goods. Emails flew after: my check-in, his invite. Anonyme on Rêvebébé, devouring his erotic tales, fingering myself to his words. Tonight, no screens. Real skin, first-night frenzy.

Heart hammers as I buzz the intercom. Door clicks. He’s there in sweats, bandage crooked, eyes hungry. No hello. I grab his neck, crush my lips to his—tongue deep, tasting coffee and want. His hands yank my jacket, fingers digging hips. ‘Fuck waiting,’ I growl, kicking the door shut. Stumble to the bedroom, ripping shirts. His chest bare, lean muscle from whatever he does. My bra snaps free, small tits bounce. He groans, palms them rough.

The Spark Ignites

Bed hits back. I shove him down, straddle, grind my wet panties on his bulge. Phone vibrates forgotten on the floor—texts from shifts, who cares? Peel off my jeans, his sweats. Cock springs hard, thick, veined. ‘Suck it, Doc,’ he rasps. I do, sloppy deepthroat, gagging sweet, balls tight. Saliva drips, his hips buck. ‘God, your mouth…’ Pull off, climb up. His stubble scrapes thighs as he dives in—tongue lashes clit, fingers curl inside, hitting spot. I buck, moan loud, perfume mixes with pussy scent, headboard thumps wall.

Explosive Release

Can’t wait. Guide his cock, sink down—stretch burns good, fill me raw. Ride hard, tits jiggle, sweat slicks skin. ‘Fuck me like you mean it,’ I hiss. He flips me, pins wrists, slams deep. Balls slap ass, wet smacks echo. ‘Your cunt’s gripping tight, Corinne—milking me.’ Dirty words fuel fire. Legs wrap, nails rake back. Build fast—orgasm crashes, walls pulse, scream rips out. He grunts, thrusts erratic, floods me hot.

Panting slows, bodies slick, cum leaks thighs. He chuckles, ‘Scale of 1-10?’ I smirk, ‘8. Convalescent bonus—next time 10.’ Slide off, grab clothes. Quick wipe, dress fast. His eyes plead stay, but nah—this is the rush, click to cum to ghost. Kiss forehead over bandage. ‘Heal up, Marc.’ Door clicks shut. Phone buzzes again—next shift. Back to stranger, craving the next ping.