Ruined

by LP Lovell

He leans across and grabs something from the bedside table. I hear the rip of foil, before he rolls the condom over his cock. Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Embarrassing.

  He positions himself between my thighs, and I take a deep breath. Okay, he’s a monster, and this is going to hurt.

  “Molly, look at me.” He whispers.

  I pull my eyes to his, and lose myself in the golden caramel of his irises. He nudges against my entrance gently, as he presses a small kiss on the tip of my nose.

  He pushes inside me and I gasp. He withdraws and then pushes forward again. His eyes never leave mine as he repeats his advance and retreat. He’s stretching me beyond what I thought was possible. He clenches his jaw hard, as a frown line appears between his eyebrows. “God, you’re so tight.” He bites out.

  I angle my body, rolling my hips up as he slides in the last inch, and hits home. “Shit.” I hiss as my body hits the very limit of its capabilities. It’s painful, but its good. I’m so full of him, so consumed by him. His enormous body dominates every inch of my smaller one. I feel utterly possessed by him.

  I look up at him. His jaw is clenched so hard, a muscle is ticking in his cheek. The muscles in his neck stand out in thick roped cords. My chest suddenly feels very small as I fight to catch my breath. He touches his forehead to mine, still not moving.

  “Okay?” He asks, his voice strained.

  “Yeah.” I barely recognise my own voice.

  He pulls back and pushes forward again. I’m on the edge, every nerve ending begging for release. The strain on his face doesn’t leave. Hell, it almost looks painful. After a few thrusts, my body starts to release it’s vice hold on him. He breathes deeply, but keeps his movements slow and measured.

  I run my hands down his back, until I’m gripping his arse in both hands. I squeeze, urging him on. He doesn’t move, but instead rolls to his back, dragging me on top of him. He keeps a hold of my hips, allowing me to hover on his cock, but not sink down on it. Once I’m positioned above him he releases his hands, and grips my thighs, just above the knees.

  I slide down his length, until his taught stomach is brushing against my clit, and then I roll my hips forward, rubbing my clit along his skin, whilst absorbing the full force of his cock. I moan shamelessly as I swing my hips faster, riding him. His hands fist in the duvet as he throws his head back. He bucks upward underneath me, and I throw my hands out onto his chest to steady myself. The rhythm gets faster and faster, until I’m shaking and screaming his name.

  I clench around him as an orgasm grips me, hurtling me into oblivion. I feel his fingers digging into my hips hard as he pounds upwards into me. “Shit!” He roars, as his thrusts stiffen.

  Then he goes limp, his big body falling back on the bed in a heap. I fall forward, and rest my head in the crook of his neck. His breathing is as ragged as my own, his chest rising and falling heavily. Warm hands cover the skin of my bare back, and slide up into my hair.

  Neither of us says anything. There is nothing to say.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HUGO

  Sex therapy round three. I never saw Stacey after that first time. I kind of figured that the sex therapy wasn’t really working for her. In fact, I’d say she was having about a much success as I am, which incidentally is a lot. If there is one sure way to pick up a chick, it’s at sex therapy. I mean, come on, two sex addicts together. That’s like putting two junkies in a room with a bag of coke and telling them not to take it. Except we have to make our own coke, but hey, that’s the best part.

  I’m currently getting the ‘look’ from Claire. Claire is a sex addict who masturbates up to five times a day. My kind of girl. She’s what I’d call curvy, okay so she’s a big girl, but I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy. I don’t discriminate.

  “Hugo, how do you feel you are progressing?” The therapist whose name I still can’t fucking remember says to me. He rarely speaks to me. I’m pretty sure he allows me in here because he has to. That’s fine by me. I come in, miss out on all the Kumbaya shit, and pick up.

  I shrug and answer him. “Fine.” I don’t have a fucking problem, so there’s nothing to progress on.

  “I think that you use sex as an emotional outlet. You don’t openly express your emotions any other way. You simply laugh it off, or evade the issue.”

  “Oh, it’s an outlet alright, but there are shit all emotions involved, you can trust me on that.” I laugh.

  He sighs and moves on. Something tells me he might sign me off as ‘cured’ as soon as the opportunity arises.

  Claire happens to live five minutes from the shrink. I offer to bend her over last weeks shelving unit, but apparently she’s not that kind of girl. Who knew that a sex addict would have morals? I suppose that a girl who’s willing to pick up at sex therapy has to keep a few to herself.

  She lets me into the small Soho apartment, but I don’t look around. I’m horny as fuck. I haven’t had sex for two days. Two days! My balls are getting twitchy, and that’s never cool. I’m about to make my move, when she does it first. She shoves me back the wall hard and starts frantically clawing at my belt

  “Straight to the point. I like it.” I say with a smile.

  She bites her lip as she yanks my jeans open and shoves them and my boxers down my hips. My cock springs free, eager and willing as always.

  She wastes no time, and drops to her knees in front of me, licking my cock like it’s her favourite flavoured lolly. Ah, fuck. One hand cups my balls, as she practically fucking swallows my cock. I look down, and her lips are touching my pubes. Holy fucking shit, she just deep throated my entire cock without even gagging. I think I’m in love.

  She works me hard, bobbing her head back and forth as her hand massages my balls. I wrap my hand in her hair and thrust forward slightly. She moans, and the vibration of her tongue has me groaning through gritted teeth.

  She sucks hard as she pulls up, and tingles shoot down my spine. I’m so fucking close to coming, and then she stops, releasing my cock with a little pop.

  “What the fuck?” I growl.

  She stands up, pointing at me. “I haven’t been laid in six months. If you think I’m letting you blow your load in my mouth, rather than my pussy, you are sadly mistaken.”

  “Six months! Fuck, I guess now I know why you have to bash one out five times a day.” I mumble. “You do realise this is just sex though, right?” I have to check. Ward off the psycho bitches.

  She narrows her eyes. “You’re a sex addict. Of course it’s just sex.” She points out the obvious. Had to check.

  “Okay, good point.” I concede.

  “Now shut up. I want you to ruin me.” She snarls. Oh, she has no fucking idea what I’m capable of. Hell, she won’t need sex for the next six years after I’m done with her.

  “Sweetheart, I’m about to fuel every orgasm you will ever have, for years to come.”

  She smiles, and presses her lips against mine. This isn’t romantic, but fuck me, she’s keen. She thrusts her tongue into my mouth, and bites my bottom lip. I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding by the time she’s done with me.

  Needless to say, Claire makes me fuck her on pretty much every available surface in that flat, and then she fucks me. She rides me like she’s trying to win the Gold Cup. Her tits bounce up and down with every thrust, as she moves over me. She comes, screaming like a wild animal. Her pussy clenches around my cock, and just when I’m about to come, she stops. Oh fuck no.

  I push her down on the bed and flip her over, pulling that big round arse up in the air. I dive right back in, and her pussy spasms around my cock.

  “Yes!” She screams, as I drill into her mercilessly, chasing down my orgasm, until my balls are throbbing, and my cock feels like it’s on fire.

  Everything in me tightens, before exploding back out. “Oh fuck!” I ride out the orgasm until there’s nothing left, and promptly pass out on the bed. Who would have fucking thought it? I pay ten grand a night for hookers, and yet the chubby girl who
hasn’t been laid in six months just made me come harder than any of them. Fuck going to sex therapy, I’m going to start hanging around outside Weight Watchers.

  I have to be at Allure tonight. I promised my friend Danny VIP entry for his birthday. He’s a pro footballer; he’s actually signed to Chelsea for forty million. Basically, I said I’d be around. I walk into the club and it’s heaving, which is always good.

  I designed Allure from the ground up, and it’s one of the most popular night clubs in London now. Everything in here is white, with blue up-lighting. The bar is in a circle in the middle of the room, and the top is one solid piece of marble that cost over fifty grand. Cylindrical cages sit on opposite sides of the bar, and in every corner of the room. I pay the best dancers to dance in them, and believe me, they are worth every fucking penny. I have strippers who, sliding down a pole in a g-string aren’t as hot as these girls, and they aren’t even putting anything on show. Well, no tits or arse anyway. I don’t put much weight in achievements. I’ve set up numerous businesses over the years, but this club is my favourite, and the one I invest most of my time in. It has booze and women though, so I can’t exactly claim that my interest in being here is entirely business.

  It takes me forever to get across the room. People continuously stop me and women rub up against me. I climb the stairs to the VIP section, which is full to capacity. Danny apparently brought the entire team with him. The VIP section is a massive glass balconied area that runs the length of the entire club, and looks out over the dance floor. It’s more of a viewing gallery if I’m honest, best placed to watch potential conquests make it on the dance floor.

  “Hugo!” Danny calls out in his scouse accent. One of my girls is sprawled across his lap giggling. I don’t run whores, and Allure isn’t a strip bar, but lets just say that the girls are hand-picked to work the VIP section. The girls up here know that if they play nice, then they are extremely likely to get some hefty tips. Danny is a typical footballer, brought up in a middle class family, and suddenly loaded. Needless to say, he pisses money up a wall worse than I do.

  “Danny.” He shifts the girl off his lap, Lara I think it is, and stands up. He hugs me, slapping my back. “How are you, dude?”

  He smiles wide. “I’m drunk.”

  I laugh. “Best way to be.”

  I signal one of the girls over from the bar. She’s wearing the required uniform of a white dress, but this one is so short and tight I have to wonder how she got in it. My eyes rake over her petite frame, and a smile pulls at my lips.

  “Are you new?” I ask, raising my voice over the music.

  She smiles boldly. “I’m Beth.”

  “Beth.” I roll the name over my tongue. “I’m Hugo. I..”

  “Oh, I know who you are.” She cuts me off.

  I raise an eyebrow, and reassess her. She’s brunette, with olive skin and wide brown eyes. She looks innocent, and damn, I have a thing for innocent. Don’t get me wrong, I love my girls filthy dirty, but there is just something about corrupting an innocent one, because under all the good girl pretenses, every girl is a dirty whore waiting to be unleashed on the world.

  The night is young, but I lodge her away as a prospect for later.

  I disappear into the office for a while. There’s rarely much for me to do around here, as my club manager, Mel, is the bomb at running the place. It never hurts to check on things though. Complacency in business is what loses money.

  I have a quick scout through the profit and loss turnover, and the conversion rates before heading back out into the VIP section which is right outside the office door.

  I spot George at the bar dancing with one of the girls while he waits for his drink. Molly said they might pop in tonight. It’s a shame he bats for the other team, because the chicks fucking love him. Irony at it’s best I guess. I clap him on the shoulder when I reach the bar.

  “Hey handsome.” He preens.

  “How are you, dude?” I shout over the music as I signal Tanya, behind the bar, to get me a drink.

  “I am fantastic, actually. I got a job today touring with Ariana Grande next year.” He bounces up and down.

  “Shit. That’s epic.” I smile. “You uh, want to hook me up while you’re there?”

  He laughs. “I can’t be responsible for giving my new boss an STD now, can I?”

  I flick him the bird. I still order the fucker a shot though. “So, you’re out celebrating?” I ask.

  “Hell yeah.” He downs the tequila shot and slams the glass on the bar.

  “On your own?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re as subtle as a brick. It’s okay, I know Molly’s like your bestie or whatever.” He grins. “She’s over there.” He gestures over his shoulder to Danny’s table.

  I narrow my eyes and spot a blonde head sat amongst the entire football team. “The fuck?”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” He says in a sing song voice. “I would.”

  I leave George to his dancing and move over to Danny’s table. He looks up when I approach.

  “Hugo, this is…”

  “Sweetness.” I cut him off, looking straight at Molly. Her face is flushed, and a smile pulls at her full lips as she laughs at something one of the guys just said to her.

  “Hugo! I hoped you’d be here.” She glances at Danny. “Free drinks.” He laughs as though she’s fucking hilarious. I don’t miss the way his eyes trail over her bare legs in that tiny skirt. For some reason it pisses me off. I clench my fists and try to keep a hold on my temper, a temper that very rarely makes an appearance. Then Danny casually places his hand on her thigh. I haven’t felt anger like this for years, and honestly I find it down right fucking disturbing that I would feel it now, just because a guy is touching Molly. What is up with me? Maybe I just need to get laid….again. Too much testosterone or some shit.

  Molly takes one look at my face, and a small frown line appears between her eyebrows. She stands up, and Danny stands with her, offering his hand to help her as she shimmies her way out of the booth. Pretty much every single guy at that table tries to get a look up her skirt.

  “Come on. You owe me a glass of Prosecco.” She says, looping her arm through mine and guiding me back to the bar.

  “I do?”

  She rolls her eyes as she leans her hip against the side of the bar. “You do after that. What the hell was that? I thought you were going to punch him.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” I blow her off.

  “You’re a shitty liar.” She says, tilting her head to the side.

  I ignore her and order her glass of Prosecco. Why anyone would drink that shit I don’t know. It tastes like sparkly cat’s piss to me.

  “Right, well you pulled me away from Danny Lawson, so you’re going to dance with me.” She declares.

  “Danny Lawson is an arse, and I bought you a drink. What more do you want, woman?” I groan. Jeez. “Where’s George? Get him to do your girly dancing with you.” I don’t mind dancing, but dancing almost directly correlates to sex. Ergo, I do not want to dance and undoubtedly pop wood, only to then have to tell my over eager dick that we are friend zoned. Poor fella can’t tell the difference.

  She smiles wryly. “George is dancing on your bar.”

  “What?” I look down into the club and low and behold, there is George, dancing in one of the cages. Every fucking time. I don’t know how he manages to convince the girls and security to let him up there. I want hot girls dancing, not a guy. Although, he does draw a certain crowd. I can see the hungry looks of the women near the bar. They like to pretend they’re refined, but when a guy can move his hips like that, they suddenly forget themselves. It makes me laugh. I love it.

  “Fine. One dance.” Secretly I love dancing with Molly. I love watching her body react in ways that I don’t think even she is aware of, but like I said, it’s a twisted form of torture.

  So, this started out relatively innocently, I promise. We’ve been dancing for an hour, and the intermittent
drink breaks have made Molly somewhat uninhibited shall we say, and when she’s loose she’s dangerous. She’s smiling as her hips glide from side to side, and I watch as the material of her dress inches up her thighs. Her arms snake around my neck and she flicks her hair to the side. She mouths the words to the song happily as she moves, completely unaware of her appeal or her effect. Every movement is so fucking sexy. My cock has been rock hard for the last half an hour, and it’s hitting the pain zone right about now. Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover this. I keep my hands by my sides in a bid not to touch her. I only have so much restraint. I try to focus on a girl dancing behind her, but I can’t. Her body is so close, her chest rubbing against mine. Fuck.

  My fingers inch to her hip of their own violation, gripping the material of her dress and twisting her around until her back is facing me. I grasp her waist, my fingers clenching into her as I try and talk myself out of my next move. Nope. Can’t. I yank her back, and slam my body up against hers, feeling the contour of her perfect arse against my crotch. I hear her hitched breath, and feel her stiffen as my hard-on presses against her.

  My lips almost brush her shoulder and across to her neck, making her tilt her head to the side. She relaxes, and her movements slow, becoming more sensuous. Her arse slowly presses back and rolls against my crotch on the beat of the music. Her back bows as her body writhes rhythmically. Everything about her over-whelms me. I can smell the scent of her sweat mixed with her shampoo, and that exact combination just reminds me of her, naked and sweaty, bent over whilst I pull her hair and fuck her from behind like a dirty whore. On instinct, my hand creeps up her back and winds into her hair, yanking her head further to the side. I’m so close to her, close enough to hear the strangled groan that slips from her lips. I clench my teeth as my cock throbs painfully. My other hand moves up the front of her body until my fingers are gripping her throat loosely. Her breathing speeds, and I can feel her pulse racing against my fingers. Molly likes to play the good girl, but pull her hair and grab her throat, and she’s a moaning mess.