#dreamboatdriver

He wakes up hard for you, every morning. You never protest when he decides to put that morning wood of his to good use, especially because it means you wake up to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, hot breaths of wet air on your neck. It’s almost like he’s in pain if he doesn’t fuck you right then and there, like he’ll explode. 

Once he comes in you, you push his head down between your legs, order him to clean up his mess. He does it so quickly, so eagerly, wanting to please you and make you feel good. He always does, and you tell him how good and perfect he is. 

He gets lost in the idea of you sometimes, when he’s at work. Driving the same route over and over all day long can make him drift off into his own head, think about all the things he wants you to do to him, what he wants to do to you as soon as he gets home. 

He works himself up, sometimes has to pull the bus over when there’s no one on board, a slow day. He’ll tease himself, pinch at his nipples, even go so far as to rub his cock through his pants, get him hard and aching. 

When he’s really wound up, he’ll silently walk right up to you and grab your ass, grind his cock against you. 

He’s not usually very rough with you, but he’s needy, he’s desperate. When he gets like that, it’s almost frantic, he’s pulling your clothes off of you, burying his face in between your tits, sucking at your nipples.

Sometimes he needs a firm hand, sometimes he needs you to step on him, crush him under your weight. He’s a big guy, he can handle it, he likes how it feels with your heavy boot on his cock, he’ll rut up against it, trying to get that delicious friction.

When he fucks you it’s with lots of soft whispers, lots of “you’re the most perfect thing in my whole life” or “i’d be nothing without you” and you know the latter isn’t true, not really. That’s him giving you more credit than he should, but he says it anyway, believes it. 

He likes getting fucked just as much as fucking, sometimes he’ll beg for you to take over, that weak chin wobbling for you as those doe eyes of his go soft. You can never refuse him, not that you’d ever want to. 

He’s a soft and gentle poet, but he knows when he wants something shoved up his ass or down his throat, knows when he wants to be sloppy and covered in your come, in his own come.