Original Story - Ride of Pride 😈

Transcript

We've all taken the little walk of shame, strolling home, not quite put together, head down, shameful. On this particular occasion, as I whizzed home on the last tube of the night from hours of fucking, I couldn't help but feel proud. My ride of pride.

I couldn't stop my mind from racing, flashing back to the sordid evening, my makeup smudged across my face from the mess he made of me. I held my head high, it felt like war paint, a sign of a glorious battle between the sheets. I could still feel his stubble, against my cheek, across my chest, between my thighs.

I catch myself and remember where I am. The London tube gets busier and busier, more people to see me in my dishevelled state, my hair not quite lying flat where his hands had been tangled in it, keeping me in place as he slammed into me. Behave! I tried to focus on the tube map and distract my wandering mind, but I could still hear him begging me to slow down as I bounced on him, feeling every part of him inside me.

I smiled, as I remembered ignoring his pleas, riding us both to climax, and it was all the sweeter riding home, knowing I'd never see him again. I flew closer to home, feeling powerful and sexy, savouring the hours of riding him, and the remaining time of my ride of pride.