The Bangover

He was a wolf that was dressed in sheep’s clothing.

Awkward. 
Shy. 
Gentle. 
Polite.

I would never have guessed…

I was 19 and he gave me my first bangover.

And then my second.
And third.
And fourth.

He went through me.  ALL of me.

For hours.
For nights.
For entire days.
For weeks.

After he left, I would sit in bed cradling a cup of coffee and nursing my bangover.

My pussy would be so bruised that it hurt to pee.
My mouth would imitate lockjaw for all the hours he had fucked it like a cunt.
My body would ache from the marathon pounding.

He gifted me with pleasure that I never knew existed.  He made me feel deliciously wanted yet used.

I’ve had an array of bangovers throughout my life but none compare to the ones that he gave me.

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