Marcus Deep

Diane sprawled across her unmade bed, the afternoon sun slicing through the blinds like lazy laser beams, casting stripes over her naked skin. Her body still hummed from the park escapade with Cory and Doug—those two idiots had fucked her senseless under the oaks, their hands everywhere, cocks pounding until she was a sweaty, satisfied mess. But that was yesterday, and now the high had crashed into a frustrating itch. She'd spent the morning rubbing her clit raw, fingers plunging into her soaked pussy, chasing orgasms that hit hard but left her empty. Toys didn't cut it either; the vibrator buzzed against her folds until she squirted on the sheets, yet the ache persisted. She needed the real thing—a thick, veiny cock stretching her mouth, filling her up in a way fingers never could.

Her phone lay beside her, screen glowing with her contacts list. Scrolling through the parade of hookups, her thumb paused on Marcus. The dance instructor. God, that man. They'd met months back at a packed bar, bodies grinding to the bass while he taught her how to move like she owned the room—hips swaying, ass popping just right. Those lessons had landed her more dick than she could count, guys mesmerized by her newfound sexy strut. Marcus himself? Built like a goddamn statue, dark skin gleaming under club lights, and that cock—long, thick, black as midnight, curving just enough to hit spots that made her eyes roll back. They'd fucked once at her place after a late-night session, his hands guiding her rhythm until she came screaming. No drama, just heat. Perfect for what she craved now: a quick suck, his load blasting down her throat and across her face. No strings, no bullshit.

She typed out the text, fingers flying: *Hey stud, remember me? Diane. Feeling frisky. Come over? Just need to taste you. Door's unlocked in 10.* Sent. Her heart kicked up, pussy clenching at the thought. Minutes ticked by as she waited, naked and impatient, one hand idly circling her nipple, the other dipping between her thighs to tease her slick lips. The doorbell buzzed—no knock, just the signal. She bolted up, pulse racing, and cracked the door.

Marcus stood there, all six-foot-three of him, wearing a tight black tee that hugged his broad chest and jeans that did nothing to hide the bulge. His grin was easy, knowing, like he'd been expecting this call. "Diane," he said, voice low and smooth, stepping inside without a word. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it—game on.

She didn't waste time with hellos. Her hands went straight for his belt, yanking it open with a metallic clink. "Fuck talking," she muttered, dropping to her knees on the hardwood floor just inside the entryway. The cool air hit her bare skin, making her nipples harden instantly. Marcus chuckled, deep and rumbling, as she tugged his jeans down, boxers following. His cock sprang free, heavy and half-hard already, the dark shaft thickening as it bobbed in front of her face. Jesus, it was even bigger than she remembered—nine inches easy, veins pulsing along the length, the head a glossy purple crown begging for her mouth.

Diane wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling the heat radiate into her palm. She leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside from balls to tip, savoring the musky taste of him. Marcus groaned, one hand settling lightly on her head, not pushing, just there. She opened wide, lips stretching around the head, sucking him in with a wet slurp. Her mouth filled fast, saliva pooling as she bobbed forward, taking more of that thick dick inch by inch. It was a workout—her jaw ached already, but the stretch felt so fucking good, like her throat was made for this.

She worked him like a pro, tongue swirling around the shaft while her hand pumped what she couldn't swallow yet. Marcus's hips rocked gently, feeding her more, his breath hitching. "Shit, Diane, you always know how to start things off." Memories flashed—dancing with him at Jimmy's, his body pressed close, whispering tips that made her feel like a goddess on the floor. That confidence had led to this, to her on her knees, worshipping his cock like it was the cure to her itch.

Deeper now. She relaxed her throat, pushing forward until the head bumped the back, gagging her just a little. Saliva dripped down her chin, onto her tits, making them slick. She pulled back, gasping, then dove again, faster, hungrier. Her free hand slipped between her legs, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles as she sucked. The vibration of her hum around his dick made Marcus curse under his breath, his fingers tightening in her hair.

That's when it happened. On the next thrust—hers, really, greedy and deep—the long shaft slipped past her gag reflex, lodging deep in her throat. It choked her, air cut off for a split second, her eyes watering as her body rebelled. But fuck, the sensation hit like lightning. Her pussy spasmed, untouched except for her frantic fingers, and she came—hard. Waves crashed through her, thighs quivering, juices soaking her hand as she moaned around his cock, the vibration pulling a growl from him. She'd never cum from just sucking dick before, never from that raw, choking fullness. It surprised her, left her dizzy, but she didn't stop. If anything, it made her suck harder, throat convulsing around him.

Marcus's control snapped. "Fuck, Diane—gonna—" His words cut off in a grunt, hips bucking as he erupted. The first spurt hit the back of her throat, hot and thick, salty cum flooding her mouth. She swallowed what she could, greedy for it, but he pulled back just enough for the next ropes to paint her lips, her cheeks, dripping down her chin onto her heaving chest. She milked him with her hand, squeezing out every drop, her face a sticky mess, tasting him everywhere.

Panting, she rose on shaky legs, cum still glistening on her skin. Marcus zipped up, smirking down at her. "That what you needed?" She nodded, wiping a streak from her lip and sucking it clean, then pulled him down for a kiss—messy, cum-smeared, her tongue pushing the remnants into his mouth. He kissed back, tasting himself, before stepping away.

"No promises," she said, voice husky, echoing their old vibe—no attachments, just fire. He nodded, slipping out the door with a wink. Gone as quick as he'd come.

Diane locked the door, leaning against it, her body buzzing. Cum cooled on her face, a naughty reminder. She padded to the bathroom, splashing water but not wiping it all away—let it linger. In her bedroom, she collapsed onto the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex thick in the air. What the hell had just happened? That choke, that unexpected orgasm—it was new, wild, like unlocking a door she didn't know was there. Her hand drifted down again, fingers sliding through her wet folds, circling her still-sensitive clit. She replayed it all: Marcus's cock stretching her lips, the gag, the flood of cum. Two fingers dipped inside, pumping slow, building that heat again.

As she touched herself, mind wandering to the park threesome—Cory's rough hands, Doug's eager thrusts—she realized this was just the start. Freedom tasted like cum and possibility. No more settling for mediocre fucks; she was diving headfirst into whatever adventures called. And damn, there were so many waiting.

But let's back up, because Diane's afternoon hadn't started with just horniness. It built slow, like a storm rolling in. After the park, she'd crashed hard, waking with sheets tangled around her legs, pussy throbbing from the memory of those two cocks tag-teaming her. Cory had been all brute force, slamming into her from behind while Doug fed her his dick, their grunts mixing with her moans under the rustling leaves. It was reckless, public, perfect. But solo play? It teased without satisfying. She'd tried everything: a shower where she fingered herself under the spray, water mixing with her slickness; then the bed, vibrator humming against her g-spot until she arched and squirted, soaking the mattress. Still, empty.

That's when the contacts scroll happened. Marcus's name jumped out, tied to those dance nights—intimate spins at Jimmy's, his body heat against hers, teaching her to loosen up, to own her curves. One lesson ended in her apartment, him bending her over the couch, that big black cock splitting her open until she saw stars. No romance, just raw need met. Ideal for today.

When he arrived, the air crackled. Diane's apartment was a mess of half-read books and discarded clothes, sunlight pooling on the floor like spilled honey. She answered the door nude, not giving a fuck—why bother? Marcus's eyes raked over her, dark and appreciative, before she dragged him in and dropped to her knees.

Sucking him was instinct. She started slow, lips teasing the head, tongue lapping at the slit where pre-cum beaded. His scent filled her nose—clean sweat, a hint of cologne. She took him deeper, cheeks hollowing, hand twisting at the base to match her rhythm. Marcus leaned against the wall, watching her with hooded eyes, his dancer's control keeping him steady even as she devoured him.

The choking moment? Pure accident, pure bliss. Pushing too far, too fast—his length hit her throat's depths, blocking air, her body seizing. But instead of pulling away, the pressure ignited something feral. Her pussy clenched, orgasm ripping through without warning, clit pulsing under her rubbing fingers. She gurgled around him, tears streaming, but rode the wave, sucking through it. Marcus's hands gripped her head, not forcing, just holding as he lost it.

Cum everywhere—throat, mouth, face. She savored it, the warmth, the salt, smearing it across her lips like gloss. The kiss afterward was filthy, his tongue claiming the mess, both of them tasting the evidence.

Alone now, post-quickie glow fading into fresh hunger, Diane's fingers worked faster. She pinched her nipple, imagining Marcus's mouth there, then plunged three fingers into her cunt, stretching herself like he had. The orgasm built quick, crashing over her in shudders, leaving her limp and grinning.

This was her now—unleashed, chasing highs without apology. Marcus was a spark; who'd be next? The thought made her wet all over again.

Diane's exploration didn't stop at the door. As she lay there, fingers still idly tracing her inner thighs, she let her mind wander deeper into the what-ifs. What if Marcus had stayed longer? Pinned her to the floor, that massive cock sliding into her pussy instead of her mouth? She shivered, dipping a finger back in, feeling the aftershocks. But no, this was perfect—quick, dirty, no entanglements. It left room for more.

She rolled onto her stomach, ass in the air, reaching back to rub her clit from behind. The position reminded her of the park, Cory taking her like that while Doug watched, stroking himself. Fuck, the freedom of it all. No judgments, just bodies colliding. Marcus's cum had dried in flaky spots on her cheek; she touched it, bringing it to her lips, sucking clean. The act was so depraved, so her.

Another climax bubbled up, slower this time, from the buildup of memories. Dancing with Marcus at the bar, his hands on her waist, guiding her grind. The semi-public tease at Jimmy's, where a quick grope under the table had her soaked. It all fed this new version of Diane—adventurous, insatiable.

She came again, muffling her cry into the pillow, body trembling. Satisfied, finally, she flopped back, staring at the ceiling fan whirring lazy circles. This was just the beginning. Parties, concerts, random texts—whatever called, she'd answer. And with each adventure, she'd claim more of that electric rush.

Wiping her hand on the sheet, Diane sat up, already scrolling contacts for the next thrill. Life was too short for anything less than mind-blowing.

But let's flesh out that blowjob, because it deserved every filthy detail. When Diane first gripped Marcus's cock, it was warm, velvety skin over steel-hard muscle. She pumped it slow, watching it swell to full mast, the head flaring like a mushroom cap. Her mouth watered—literally, drool slipping out as she engulfed him. She used her tongue like a weapon, pressing flat against the vein that ran the length, feeling it throb.

Bobbing, she set a rhythm: deep, shallow, twist. Her other hand cupped his balls, heavy and full, rolling them gently to coax the load she craved. Marcus's breathing grew ragged, his abs flexing under the shirt he hadn't bothered removing. "Diane, your mouth's fucking magic," he rasped, echoing their past fuck—her on top, riding him until the couch creaked.

The gag came mid-suck, her throat betraying her with a spasm. But that choke? It squeezed his dick like a vice, and her body's response was instant—pussy flooding, walls fluttering in orgasm. She pulled off gasping, strings of spit connecting her lips to his glistening shaft, then dove back, determined. The second deep throat was smoother, her body learning, but the edge of breathlessness kept her on fire.

When he came, it was a torrent. First pulse straight down, filling her mouth until she had to swallow or choke again—this time on cum. She gulped it, the thick slide coating her tongue, but he withdrew, jerking the rest onto her face. Hot jets across her forehead, cheeks, one landing in her open mouth like a pearl. It dripped to her chin, her neck, pooling between her tits. She rubbed it in, smearing like lotion, her skin tingling.

The kiss sealed it—his lips claiming hers, tongue delving for the shared taste. No romance, just raw acknowledgment of the act.

Post-departure, Diane's solo session turned marathon. She grabbed the vibrator from the nightstand, buzzing it against her clit while fingers fucked her pussy. Visions danced: Marcus's cock, Cory and Doug's double penetration, even that flirty dance with Marcus where she'd felt so alive. Orgasm three hit like a freight train, her squirt soaking her thighs, the bed.

Panting, she laughed to herself. Who knew choking on dick could be a kink? It opened doors—maybe next time, she'd explore deeper, rougher. But for now, contentment washed over her. She was free, horny, and ready for whatever came next. And in that freedom, she found her truest self—unapologetically sexual, endlessly curious.

As the sun dipped lower, casting golden hues across the room, Diane dressed in nothing but a robe, poured a glass of wine, and toasted to more adventures. The glass clinked against her teeth, and she smiled, already plotting. Life was a dance, and she was leading.