Rain-Soaked Craving: My Raw Fuck with the TIG Hunk

Rain hammers the office windows. We’re stuck inside, me in my wheelchair, the guys cracking dirty jokes. ‘Bobonne needs her cock fix,’ one laughs. My cheeks burn, but my pussy twitches. His eyes lock on mine—intense, hungry. Something sparks. Others bail when the downpour eases. He lingers, offers to help with my chair. Heart pounds as he wheels me to the car, umbrella shielding us. Bodies brush. Boom—his lips crash into mine. Tongues tangle wild, feverish. My tits ache under his hands, nipples hard as rocks. We break apart, stunned, breathless. He stows my chair, slides into the passenger seat. Silent drive to my rundown block—fancy building amid tagged shit holes. Elevator ride: more kissing, hands roaming. Door shuts behind us. Her place is retro drab, crucifix over the bed eyeing us. I sip whisky-coke, heavy pours. Nerves jangle, smoke fills the air. I giggle, tense, chain-smoke. Tears hit at glass four. ‘I can’t… haven’t fucked in years.’ He soothes, orders Chinese—nems, shrimp balls. We laugh, eat, sip herbal tea. Spill my past: bike crash with ex, left me paralyzed, alone three years. Bedtime plea: ‘Stay. Just hold me.’ Slip under sheets in granny nightshirt, him in boxers. I snuggle close, his hard cock presses my thigh. Sleep claims us.

Morning light creeps in. I watch him sleep, hand on his hip. Beauty hits me—pure face, strong body. Press against him. ‘So glad you’re here.’ Gentle strokes start, tender like teens. Heat builds. I peel off my shirt—full tits, curvy hips, dead legs splayed. He devours with eyes, fingers, mouth. Lips trail my skin, teasing nipples. Down to my wet slit. Tongue dives in, lapping slow, building fire. I quiver, soak his face. No fellatio yet—trust first. He mounts missionary, cockhead nudges my dripping folds. Slides in gentle, deep. Eyes lock as he thrusts soft. Pleasure swells. ‘Harder, fuck me harder!’ I claw his back. He pounds savage, balls slapping. Pussy clamps his thick shaft. ‘Your cock’s destroying me! Fill my cunt!’ Orgasms rip me—waves crashing, squirting juices. He grunts, unloads hot cum deep inside, flooding me.

The Approach

Afterglow fades fast. Sweat cools, sheets tangle. He glances at the crucifix, smirks. No words. I feel the shift—stranger again. He dresses quick, kisses my forehead. ‘Gotta go.’ Door clicks shut. Silence echoes. Wheelchair waits by bed. Back to solo days, fingers in pussy dreaming of that raw fuck. Phone buzzes—work alert. Life resets. He’s gone, just a filthy memory throbbing between my thighs.