Hip Hop And Punk Rock

Me and my boyfriend, Quinton? He's hip hop and I'm punk rock. I'm pale as death and he's dark as night. Opposites attract and the only thing we share is how nasty we like to fuck and how much we don't give a shit. If I had to pick a way to describe our relationship it would be a pair of middle fingers, raised high and waved around a crowded room as we walked out the door. Fuck everything and everybody that ever stands between. We never clean it up for polite company or turn it down for the quiet neighbors. I'd die for him and he'd kill for me and there isn't one single fucking thing you could do to change that.

How rough do we get? Usually pretty fucking rough, but not every time. Sometimes I'm in the mood for a little degradation and Quinton always provides.

The first time we met was passing each other in the hallway of our apartment building. I can't describe what it was about him that caught my eye: he's certainly tall and husky, but not exactly Mr. Olympia. His face was mostly shrouded by the hood he had up around his head, a Seahawks jersey over his black hoodie, wearing jeans easily four sizes too big, but at least belted at his waist. I sized him up in an instant and was fully prepared to pass like ships in the night as our paths crossed, but

something

about him caught my eye and I came to a dead stop, putting my back against the wall. A feeling washed over me like a tidal wave, something I'd never and didn't understand.

He'd stopped as well, turning towards me, standing what would be uncomfortably close under normal circumstances, but I didn't feel the slightest bit afraid.

"Hey," his voice was a delicious baritone that sent a chill down my spine.

"Hi!" I squeaked. I mean that, I literally fucking squeaked. Jesus, it's embarrassing just recalling it and I have no idea how I didn't just dash off out of sheer humiliation. But I didn't and he put his huge hand next to my head. I don't know what gave me the idea, but I turned my head and licked his thumb while giving him a sidelong glance. I couldn't read his expression through the shadow of his hood, what the fuck was I thinking, he's going to think I'm fucking crazy, jesus girl, get control of yourself.

He didn't even seem to notice it, even as my tongue went down his thumb, leaving a wet trail to his wrist. For whatever reason, I reached up to roll back his sleeve and that is when he reacted, grabbing my hand slamming it against the wall opposite his hand and stepping forward to kiss me. Wait, no. Kiss is the wrong word. It was more like he tonguefucked my mouth, right there in the hallway of our apartment building. We went on and on for minutes, not stopping even as people opened their doors and stood around watching, our tongues wrestling in each other's mouth, both our eyes closed and pressed up against each other.

I was dizzy by time we broke apart, panting heavily, my lipstick smeared over his face comically, "Hey, I'm Eve."

"Quinton."

"Your place?"

"Yeah."

We didn't even make it to his actual bedroom, Quinton fucked me on the tiled floor of his apartment's threshold, not even bothering to taking off anything but my panties, yanking them halfway down my legs and giving my throbbing fuckhole a beatdown that left me walking funny for a day and half afterwards. My juices were pooling on the floor underneath me while the tears (of joy) coming down my face wet the carpet. And glory upon glory, Quinton's dick never gave up; he came three times, right up my womb every time, only falling limp after the third go. I didn't quite orgasm, he was so fucking huge that his size sent my orgasm scurrying off into a hiding spot like a scared mouse, but that doesn't mean it wasn't some life-altering sex.

***

The last time I needed it, we were just about to walk into the mall and I said something, kinda off-hand-like, figuring he would get around to it after we were done shopping. Nope. Not by a damned sight. He took about two more steps with me, stopped, grabbed my hair like he was twisting a t-shirt and pulled me between two pillars of the parking garage we were in. He yanked my hair back and forced me to squat down, then got his dick out and slapped me with it for a few minutes.

Anyone could have seen us, there was basically nothing obstructing their view from the side other than a chain link fence on one end, but he didn't give a shit. He told me to open wide and I did, letting my mouth hang open as I looked up. Then he spit right onto my lips and jammed his cock in like he'd never heard of a gag reflex, telling me to suck. So I wrapped my mouth around that fat fucking monster, using his spit and mine to get it wet, working my head back and forth along the bulk of his length. One of my hands was between my legs to keep myself steady; the other gripped the base of his dick, tight. He called me a fucking stupid bitch and I slipped my mouth lower, getting him halfway down my throat before I ran out of air and let him slither out my mouth, spit running down my chin. I didn't bother trying not to sputter and cough, he got off on that shit and I got off on getting him off. He did it again, but forcing it a little more, and I gagged around him, which made my pussy so wet I could practically smell it myself.

Quinton was choking me with his dick, my throat burning as it expanded to accommodate his girth and aggression. It was fucking hot and I intentionally let my breathing fall out of rhythm with my fellating; mild asphyxiation put me on cloud fucking nine and this was the easiest way I could induce it. Almost immediately I saw the glittery projections dance across my vision, shit was so trippy and euphoric when contrasted again the dick cramming in and out of my mouth. I must've gurbled something because Quinton wrapped my hair tighter around his hand and pulled my mouth off him, a long string of spit stretching obscenely far, then breaking and falling on my shirt.

He took his glistening cock by the base and dick-whipped me across the face with a wet smack. I closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue in anticipation of another one, but was rewarded with a wet

splat

instead: he'd spit right on me again, this time landing across my eyes and nose. I didn't complain, instead I enjoyed the voice in my head telling me I was a fucking whore and started tongue-dancing; rolling it across my lips in an exaggerated circular motion, extending it as far as possible and flicking the tip like a hummingbird's wings. I have a pretty long, agile tongue – shit is seriously lizard-like – and I knew it turned Quinton on to see me do my thing with it. I wasn't wrong and after a few seconds of my show, he smacked it with the head of his dick. That shit felt good.

It was also my cue to take him back into my mouth and slurp with a passion. My lips clamped tight around the flared, purple head like a lollipop, focusing on working it over with my mouth while my hand stroked back and forth along his length. He was so goddamned thick I couldn't even get my fingers all the way around and I loved him for that. My lips kept playing with the crown of his dick – sliding down to his pisshole then slithering back down to his glans like a wet snake – while I jacked him off straight into my mouth. I knew I was doing right because he growled with approval.

A car drove past us, rolling through the garage in search of an open parking spot. I was damned sure the driver would see us and naturally pulled back to look as it passed by. But Quinton wasn't having that shit though and wrenched my head back around, slapping me with his dick again, "Did I say to stop?"

I looked up at him and shook my head then put my tongue to good use by gliding it over the thick vein that's on top of his fat-ass fucking dick. He controlled my head for a bit, not letting me move until he was satisfied I wasn't going to be distracted again and then eased up so I could start licking faster, dragging my tongue on both sides, underneath, over the crown in a figure eight; I went deep in my bag of tricks for this one, the whole time feeling like a piece of fuckmeat, which is a major turn-on. I was so fucking wet, I was sure there was a visible spot on my panties, but I couldn't spare the hand between my legs or I'd fall the hell over from bobbing my head around so forcefully.

That's when Quinton decided I'd had enough and pushed my head away before putting his dick back in his pants. I was woozy as hell from and slowly stood up on shaky legs, struggling to keep up as he walked to the mall. He didn't even let me un-fuck my makeup or anything, I just walked into the mall looking like... well... I'd just been straight-up face-fucked. It was horrible: I was my horny as hell, there was spit all over my face, I was burning red with embarrassment and Quinton was asking me about outfits I wanted like he didn't just brutalize my mouth in a well-lit parking garage just a few minutes prior. Eventually we ran across a set of restroom and I ducked inside to clean the evidence off my face and fix my makeup, but I was still burning with need. It's why I loved him so much.

But love wasn't the same as getting relief: after I came out of the restroom, the best he did for me was picking out some dumb faux-cowgirl deal for me to try on. I stepped into a changing room, but he was bold enough to walk right in behind me, pretending like I'd called for him. At first I was glad. I honestly thought he was going to fuck me right then and there because he pushed me face-first up against the back wall and pulled my panties to the side. I spread my legs and bent over slightly, all ready to get railed in a department store changing room like some kind of whore when he spit on his fingers and pressed against my asshole with them. It wasn't being finger-fucked really, it was more of massage or rubdown. I still enjoy the sensations, but I was craving more and he damned well knew it. I think I whimpered or sighed or something to let my disappointment known because he gave me the consolation prize: pushing my head into the wall, hard, and putting two thick fingers up my butt. I felt like a real slut when I felt that pair of digits stretch me. If he had kept them there just a couple of minutes I could've half-way gotten off, but once I started wiggling to get them deeper up my ass, he pulled his fingers away and calmly walked out of the changing room.

It took probably five good minutes before I could down-shift my sex drive enough to gather my senses and put my clothes back on, leaving the stupid fucking hat, orange flannel shirt and daisy duke scattered on the floor of the changing room. He was waiting outside, looking mildly impatient like any man does, with an eyebrow raised slightly like he didn't just tease the hell out of me in there. I was pretty fucking mad, but it was all mixed up in horniness, embarrassment, apprehension and a host of other emotions swirling around my head and making my face burn red.

After that, it was mostly normal shopping, albeit with liquid desire making my panties annoyingly damp and cool, and we headed home back home with a minimum of fuss. Well, a minimum of fuss for us. As soon as we were off the main thoroughfare, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over, biting down on his dick through his pants in revenge. He said he didn't like shit like that, but he never stopped me and the end result was an auspicious bulge in his jeans.

I unlocked the door to our home, having upgraded our housing situation years back, roughly a month after he'd fucked me in the doorway to his apartment. The kid's toys were scattered all over the fucking place, as usual, but neither of us gave a shit: he picked me up and threw me onto our bed, I grabbed the headboard and spread my legs while he started with the beads. Oh god, the fucking beads, they were rattlers that set to vibrating once moved and every time he popped one up my ass I felt it jiggling my clit from inside out. Yum, yum. There were technically twelve on the string, but I'd never gotten more than nine up my butt before begging him to either pull them out or fuck me.

Quinton, as usual, didn't say shit, he just grabbed my head and yanked it forward, forcing me to watch while his monster slid inside me, getting halfway before he pulled back a bit to tease. I definitely whimpered when he did that and my reward was to have my top and bra yanked up, letting my tits spill out. Amazing what a two pregnancies will do for your bust, even if you are Asian and I showed my appreciation for mammary release by massaging them, taking care to tug at my nipple rings. Just as I thought I had the upper hand, he dropped another two inches of thickness inside me and set those balls to rattling, feeling like my clit was being teased at 2000 RPM. The sound I let out was too derpy to describe, but let's just say it came from a place of inner pleasure and harmony. Yeah, that sounds pretty tantric, better than

"uuuhhhhnnnghhhooommmm."

Dumb noises aside, he was just about getting the point where he would normally back off to stop from hurting me, but one look into his eyes told me it was a day to uncage the beast. I put my hands down, on his pubic region, signaling him to stop for a second and spit right on the last two inches of his dick. He spit on my pussy and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, worked those last two in me. It hurt a bit, but my nipples were as stiff as bullets, sticking out a half-inch from my tits. And he took advantage, twisting both of them like radio dials and causing me to go off like a rocket.

A normal man might let his girl ride out her goddamned orgasm in peace, but Quinton was a sexual tyrannosaurs rex and used the opportunity to beat the shit out of my cunt like it owed him money. It made my orgasm shoot off in a bunch of different directions, like light hitting a crystal, parts of it were pain, parts of it ecstasy, parts were trepidation, parts of it were anticipation. It is fair to say my orgasm face looked pretty goofy at this point. There is a reason I always turn my face away the mirrors when he does that.

By time I came down from cloud nine, he was going soft inside me; not a bad feeling, but the stickiness running down my but

was

. I tried to push him off but he just grabbed my tits and massaged them before flipping me over, pressing his chest against my back and telling me we were going for championship rounds, even if the kids woke up.

***

He's hip-hop and I'm punk rock, I'm pale as death and he's dark as night, opposites attract, we're not so young anymore, but if this isn't love I don't think I'm missing too much. The world can stare at us and we'll stare right back, fuck your society and your expectations and if you think the two don't mix you haven't seen us fuck. But that's not for lack of trying on our part.