The church smelled like old wood and lilies when I spotted her. Black lace dress hugging her pale tits, fishnets torn at the knees from kneeling at the casket, heavy eyeliner streaked from crying.
Her name was Raven. She was twenty-three, just buried her aunt, and she looked like she wanted to get wrecked.
I caught her outside by the cars. “You need a ride?” I asked. She didn’t smile, just nodded once and climbed into my truck. No small talk. Her hand went straight to my thigh while I drove.
“Pull over,” she said when we hit the empty back road. I killed the engine. She climbed into my lap, yanked her dress up, and ground her bare cunt against my zipper. “I need to feel something that isn’t dead,” she muttered. Her lipstick was black. I kissed her hard and tasted metal.
I shoved two fingers into her right there in the driver’s seat. She was already soaked, hot and tight, clenching around my knuckles while she rocked her hips. “Fuck me,” she hissed. “Don’t be gentle.” I pulled my cock out, thick and leaking, and she sank down on it in one drop. Her pussy swallowed every inch like it was starving. She rode me rough, tits bouncing under the lace, fishnets scratching my thighs. Every time she slammed down I felt her cervix kiss the head of my dick.
We didn’t last long in the truck. I carried her to the hood, bent her over the warm metal, and drove back in from behind. Her ass was small and pale, marked with a little tattoo of a skull. I spread her cheeks and watched my cock stretch her open, shiny with her juice. She reached back and spread herself wider. “Harder. Make it hurt.” I slapped her ass red and pounded her until the truck rocked on its springs. Her moans turned into one long filthy whine when she came, pussy pulsing and squirting down my balls.
We didn’t go home. I took her to the cheap motel near the cemetery. The room smelled like cigarettes and cheap soap. She stripped the second the door closed, leaving the black dress in a puddle. Naked except for the torn fishnets and heavy boots, she dropped to her knees and sucked me like she was trying to choke. Spit ran down her chin onto her small tits. I fucked her throat until she gagged, then flipped her onto the bed.
She got on all fours, face in the pillow, ass up. I licked her from clit to asshole, tasting funeral perfume and sweat, then shoved back inside. The headboard slammed the wall with every thrust. She begged for it deeper, dirtier. I spat on her asshole and worked a thumb in while I fucked her cunt. She came again, screaming into the sheets, legs shaking.
We switched positions until the sun went down. She rode me reverse, watching herself in the mirror above the dresser, black hair swinging, pale skin flushed. I pulled her down by the throat and made her watch while I filled her. She milked every drop, grinding until my cum leaked out around my cock and ran down my shaft.
Later she lay on her back, legs spread, letting me finger the mess back into her. “Again,” she whispered. I was already hard. I fucked her slow and mean that time, holding her wrists above her head, biting her nipples until she begged. She came with her eyes rolled back, cunt fluttering around me like a fist.
By midnight we were both raw. She sat on the edge of the bed, cum and spit drying on her thighs, and lit a cigarette. “Thanks,” she said. “I needed to feel alive.” I watched her smoke in the dark, fishnets still on, boots kicked off, and knew we weren’t done yet. The night was young and so was she.
