The Mist: Chapter 5C

Hah! Got back from LA at 2 AM and got this out and the sun hasn't risen yet, so I'm saying I didn't miss my deadline. Will probably go over it again tomorrow for proofing though.

*****

Monica felt her pussy just start to drip as she got closer to him. The mist was alternately concealing and reveling him, but he wasn’t wearing anything. She saw a little gray in his hair, his black hair, and his body looked a little…

Bulky.

Older. He was older than she was. Monica came staggering out of the mist and saw him, one hand was on his cock, and was stroking it, slowly.

Monica licked her lips, looking at the thick shaft, heavy balls swaying. A salt and pepper beard and gray streaked hair, caught her attention, along with the slablike muscles. Someone strong, older…

He growled and suddenly his cock twitched, and a tide of semen spilled onto the grass.

For a moment, Monica bit her lip in disappointment . That was a waste but…

He’s not getting soft.

His cock is still hard…

How the fuck did a guy do that. None of her dates had been able to stay  hard like that…

Then he turned around to look at her, and Monica stared at him, unable to look away from his blue eyes. She licked her lips, looking down, staring at his cock.

“Who are you?” he said, his voice a low growl.

“M-monica.  Sir.” Where did the sir come from? But it felt to right to call him sir, to acknowledge his looming body, his maleness.

“Do you know what happened?”

“N-no?”

“Last night, I was a little chubby. A nice guy. Now, look at me.” He gestured. “I feel strong. This place…”

“It changed me…”

“It made you what I want,” he said, looking at her body.  “Get those clothes off.”

I shouldn’t—I should… But he was a man and there was something about his voice. Monica remembered the noise as she’d headed out, a woman eagerly submitting, accepting her…

Please.

With that, she reached down and pulled her shirt up and over her top, throwing it to the side, gasping as the cool air, caressed her thick, stiff, nipples. She cupped her jugs, moaning at the way they felt as the warm masses of tit-flesh spilled over her small hands. Then she dropped them and undid her bottoms, pulling them off, the feeling as the cool air hit her wet pussy, her clit literally throbbing with pleasure.

“I came here because I needed a cheap place to stay,” he growled. “But now I know why I’m here. Because I will have a woman. You.”

What is… Monica licked her lips. It didn’t matter. She felt… perfect, looking up at the big man. What had the rest of her life given her? Casual dates, looking for a place to stay, going to college to get a job that would keep her busy until she was too old to enjoy free time?

“This place… the dreams…  I know what my place is. Get on your hands and knees.”

Monica fell to her hands and knees, and crawled up to him and she shuddered in delight as the mist-dampened grass touched her tits, brushing her like a hundred tiny little fingers. She grunted,  and crawled in front of the older man, crawled like his slut, his pet and she was only thinking about how it would feel when he touched her. The mist was heavier now, and she couldn’t see the apartment, or the city, but she could hear moans and whimpers, gasps of eager submission from women and growls of domination from the men who were taking them, making them theirs.

Monica stopped in front of the man, her man, and raised her ass, spreading her legs, exposing herself to him…

She’d never done this. Never been so submissive, but it felt to perfect to be taken by this beefy man, a bull male, getting ready to…

“Breed!”  She gasped out as he gripped her by her hips and thrust into her. His cock just spread her and Monica arched her back and squealed out in delight. There was something primal about being taken like this. No “getting to know him” no thoughts beyond the need to serve her man, to be his… to be filled by him. One big hand gripped her by her hair, and pulled her back, Monica squealing in delight, as her big fat jugs bounced around. She was being taken like his slut, like some kind of animal and she loved it. It was… It was what she was made for. What she’d been shaped into. How his hands had let go of her hair, his male grunts the only sound he made, as his hands curved around to cup her jugs, to squeeze and tease them.

“Yes…” Monica said, her voice high and thready. “Harder! Please!” She didn’t know his name, she didn’t need to know his name.

His cock thrust into her, and she gloried in it, every other thought vanishing under the tide of need. It could have been hours… or minutes… She didn’t know, she didn’t care.

And then she felt him swell within her, and his roar sounded at the same time her scream rose into her air, an orgasm like she’d never dreamed of  rolling through her body.  She was dying and melting and going to heaven and every thought, everything the old Monica had thought was important was blasted out of her brain by the sheer, incredible pleasure. Monica fell to the ground, her arms giving out under her, babbling nonsense phrases, as he kept thrusting into her. Then she was fading into a blissful oblivion, wondering if he would tell her his name, or just keep fucking her…

She hoped he just kept fucking her.

And then with a last blast of pleasure, her mind faded out into a comfortable pink sleep.