Ryan wanted more of her. He kept thrusting, driven by her cries, with no intention of stopping. The stall filled with their labored breathing and moans.
He pulled out, and Linda felt his orgasm spill inside her. Then his voice, commanding: "Hold the toilet and turn around."
She obeyed instantly, bracing herself. He gripped her hips and slid into her from behind, letting her take him deep. He thrust, and Linda lost herself to it. Pleasure coursed through her, her breasts bounced with each powerful thrust every movement sending shivers of pleasures in her body.
Ryan felt his climax peak again. His warm cum spilled inside her, and she took it, craving more of the heat filling her. But he wasn't done. He kept moving, chasing his own edge, until finally they both stilled, sated, though neither would ever be truly satisfied.
A slow smile curled on Linda's lips. Ryan sank onto the closed toilet lid, adjusting his shirt with a casual air. She touched herself lightly, still wanting more, and their eyes met. He looked at her with a raw hunger that made her cheeks flush. Slowly, she pulled up her panties, buttoning her clothes as he watched.
Linda was happy. Satisfied. Ryan sank onto the closed toilet lid, adjusting his shirt. Linda touched her pussy she wanted more, She pulled her panties up. He watched her fasten her buttons.
She's loose, he thought. a dark satisfaction settling in him. And I like that about her. He'd fucked her more than ten times now.
Linda felt his cum slick between her thighs as she straightened her clothes. Ryan dug his wallet from his trousers and counted out cash.
"Here," he said, handing her eight hundred dollars. His eyes glittered with nonchalance, accustomed to her satisfying him.
She took it and counted it right in front of him. Then she smiled.
Ryan stood. "I enjoyed your service. Superb, as always." His eyes were brooding. Linda's expression stayed brazen, her boldness held steady as she smiled back. "I'm glad you did." she said and his hand brushed her breasts lightly.
He gave a slow nod. "I'd better be going". Looking at her like a possession he could always claim, he turned and left.
Linda watched him go, then remembered the mess between her legs. She needed to wash up. Tucking the money into her bra, she felt a restless hunger linger—unsatisfied by the sex or the cash which she counted once agian,this was her lifestyle. Getting fucked, her hand slid beneath her pants, fingers exploring her entrance. Waves of pleasure rippled through her as she stroked herself, the sensation intense and addictive. She pressed back against the wall, moaning softly, lost in the moment.
This was her life being fucked by people but also taking pleasure on her own terms. Complicated, yes, but this was fun. After a while, she stepped from the stall to wash her hands, cleansing the evidence of the cum she had on her.
Linda Jude was just an ordinary woman, living alone in a rented apartment. She loved sex—had been with many men, for money and for pleasure alike.
The sun rose, casting golden light across the bustling city.
Silas stepped into the bookstore. Julia was at the counter. Further back, near the shelves, Elsa was arranging stacks of books. Silas scouting, stopping beside a shelf to see what he wanted to read.
That afternoon, in a lavish modern house
Catelyn sat at her vanity, brushing her long, lustrous dirty blonde hair. She studied her reflection — her curls had been straightened, falling past her shoulders now.
She thought of Silas. It had been a while. A year now, if she remembered right. Since their breakup.
Reaching for her phone on the dressing table, she dialed his number.
Silas set the bag on the table. He'd just gotten home when his phone rang. Fishing it from his pocket, he saw Catelyn's name on the screen. He walked toward the open curtains as he answered.
"Hi, Silas. It's been a while," Catelyn said, her tone neutral.
"Yeah, it has," he thought. "How have you been?"
"Good. And you?"
"Good," Silas said, stopping by the window.
"That's good to hear. What are you doing?"
"I just got back from the bookstore."
"You're reading books?" she asked, setting the phone on speaker and turning the volume all the way up.
"Yeah, I suppose."
"That's a way to kill time," Catelyn said, picking up her brush and combing her hair as she watched herself in the mirror.
"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Skin routine. Hair care's part of it, I guess. I was bored, so I figured I'd do it," Catelyn said.
"Same here," Silas replied.
Catelyn chuckled at that.
"I tried the recipes from the baking class we took," Silas said. He was grasping for something interesting to say, even though the breakup still sat awkwardly between them.
"How'd it go?" she asked, curious.
"A little better."
"When you say 'a little better,' does that mean you didn't burn the kitchen down?"
"I tried," he said.
Catelyn laughed again. She knew Silas was terrible at baking — they'd done it together all the time. Hearing her laugh, he smiled. He was bad at it, but her reaction made the breakup feel less heavy.
"Well, you're trying. Keep it up."
"Yeah."
"It's progress," she said.
"I think so."
"Though you have to keep practicing."
"When I have the time."
"Okay," she answered.
Catelyn knew Silas was a good person. She didn't want to think about the breakup. Ending things had been her choice it was all in the past.
"We used to bake croissants with fillings in them. They tasted delicious," she said.
"I did find it interesting…" Silas could remember it — the two of them in the kitchen. She was good at baking. Really good. He remembered Catelyn pulling the tray from the oven with an oven mitt, setting it on the counter. She'd been in a tank top and jean shorts, walking over to him with a cookie in her hand.
She'd wanted him to try the ones they'd baked, though she'd made most of them herself. Silas couldn't get the batter right. He'd been trying to mix it, but it was a mess in his hands.
"Here, I'll do it," Catelyn had said. He wasn't working the butter into the dough properly.
"I thought I was doing it right."
"You are, but you're not working it in with your hands," she said, taking the bowl from him.
He peeled off the plastic gloves and watched. The blonde with fair skin worked the butter into the flour like an expert. He wanted to kiss her—her lips, her face—but pushed the thought away. She took over, and he just stood there, watching her.