Intense Cravings Ignited
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Chapter 1: Sparks in the Check-In Queue
Reid wiped the sweat from his brow, the summer heat clinging to his broad shoulders like a second skin. At 41, his life as a roughneck welder kept him solid—thick arms roped with muscle from years of grinding metal under the Texas sun, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a jaw that could crack walnuts. Divorced three years now, the alimony checks stung worse than arc burns. Tuesdays at the plasma clinic became his ritual, a couple hours to zone out, pocket some cash, and eye the occasional stunner amid the fluorescent drudgery.
Today, the line snaked longer than a rattlesnake convention. Nora stood two spots ahead, her raven-black hair cascading in wild waves down her back, catching the harsh lights like oil on water. Mid-twenties, maybe, but with curves that screamed grown-woman sin—wide hips straining black leggings, a cropped hoodie hugging full tits that jiggled just right when she shifted. Tattoos snaked up her neck, intricate vines twisting toward a pierced collarbone. She smelled like vanilla and smoke, faint whiffs drifting back as she tapped her boot impatiently.
Her phone buzzed. Reid couldn’t help eavesdropping; the clinic’s hum made everything public. “Fuck off, Derek,” she hissed, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “I ain’t paying your gambling debts. We’re done—six months done.” Her free hand clenched, nails digging into her palm. She hung up, muttering curses, then caught Reid’s gaze in the mirror over the check-in desk. Her blue eyes narrowed, lips curling. “Problem, cowboy?”
He smirked, holding up his hands. “None here. Sounds like a dickhead ex, though.”
Nora spun halfway, sizing him up. That intense stare pinned him, electric. “You got no idea. And you? Staring like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just appreciating the view,” Reid shot back, voice low. She huffed a laugh, turning away, but her ass swayed extra as the line crept forward. Plasma donation felt mundane till then—needles, beeps, salty snacks. Now, the air crackled.
They ended up side-by-side in the waiting pen, vinyl chairs squeaking under the crowd. Nora crossed her legs, thigh brushing his knee by accident. Or not. “Name’s Nora. You a regular?”
“Reid. Yeah, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Pays the truck note.”
“Welder?” She nodded at his scarred knuckles.
“Spot on. You?”
“Bartender downtown. Ink artist on weekends.” She tugged her sleeve, revealing a dragon coiling around her forearm, scales shimmering like real hide. The conversation flowed—her shitty ex draining her savings, his bitch of an ex-wife vanishing with half his tools. Laughter bubbled, easy. When her pager buzzed for a bed, she leaned close, breath hot on his ear. “See you Thursday, welder man.”
Chapter 2: Thursday Tease and Tension Builds
Thursday hit like a hangover. Reid arrived early, pulse thumping harder than usual. Nora was there, in ripped jeans hugging her thick thighs, a tank top barely containing her heavy breasts. Sweat beaded her cleavage, drawing his eyes like magnets. She waved from the vitals line, that intense smile flashing white teeth.
“Miss me?” she teased, falling in behind him post-check.
“Like a cold beer on a hot rig.” They chatted as the queue dragged—her dreams of opening a tattoo shop, his side gigs flipping junkers. Her ex called again; she silenced it with a growl. “Bastard’s obsessed.”
Reid’s phone lit up—ex demanding more child support, even though the kids lived states away. He vented, fist clenching. Nora’s hand landed on his arm, firm grip sending jolts straight to his groin. “Breathe, big guy. We’re in this plasma purgatory together.”
The wait stretched, bodies close in the heat. Her knee nudged his thigh repeatedly, deliberate now. Sweat mingled scents—her musky vanilla, his clean steel tang. Eyes locked during lulls, that intense chemistry brewing, unspoken promises hanging thick.
She got called first. As nurses hooked her up, she shot him a wink from her recliner, legs spread casual, hinting camel toe through denim. Reid adjusted his jeans, cock twitching. His turn came; bed next to hers. Through the curtain gap, he glimpsed her moaning softly as plasma flowed, lids heavy. Fantasies flooded—pinning her down, ripping those jeans…
Post-draw, she lingered by the cookie table. “Gym tomorrow? Nah, trashy bar off 35th. Meet me after my shift?”
He nodded, heart hammering. She slipped out, hips rolling hypnotic. Reid chugged orange juice, mind reeling from the intense pull.
A Quick Flashback Detour
Memories hit Reid driving home: first spotting Nora two weeks back, her full lips sucking a straw, eyes devouring him across the room. She’d bent for a dropped pen, ass cheeks peeking, tattoo tramp stamp winking. That image fueled late-night strokes. Now, real contact brewed something feral.
Chapter 3: The Naughty Note and Late-Night Texts 💋
Tuesday again. Clinic packed, but Nora breezed in late, ponytail swinging, sports bra and shorts screaming post-yoga. Reid waited in the donor lounge, pretending to scroll bids. She slid into the seat beside him, thigh pressing—hot, smooth skin electric.
“Hey, stranger.” Her whisper tickled his neck. Chat exploded—work rants, tattoo ideas (he wanted a phoenix on his pec). Tension peaked; her foot hooked his calf under the table, rubbing slow.
Her draw finished quick. Tap on his shoulder mid-extraction. She leaned over the bed rail, tits dangling inches from his face, cleavage a dark valley. “Fun alone?” Paper fluttered into his palm. She vanished, ass bouncing out the door. 🔥
Note read: “Text me, stud. Nora. 512-xxx-xxxx. Let’s make plasma wait feel worthwhile.”
Homebound, cock straining zipper, Reid texted: “Got your note. Bed felt empty w/o you.”
“Good. Bored tonight? My trailer’s nothing fancy, but grill’s hot. 8pm?” Address followed.
His place—a converted workshop loft on the edge of town, tools gleaming, king bed dominating the space. He showered, soaping his thick shaft, imagining her mouth. Dressed in faded Levi’s, black tee hugging his barrel chest.
Texts escalated: Her: “Thinking of your strong hands. Wet already.” Pic—tattooed thigh parted, panties sheer. Him: “Gonna wreck that pussy.” Dick pic, veined monster throbbing.
Door knock at 7:58. Nora in micro-skirt, halter top straining nipples erect. “Brought beer.” Hugged tight, her cunt mound grinding his bulge.
Chapter 4: Grill Smoke and Grinding Heat
Reid fired up the Weber, ribs sizzling, mesquite smoke curling thick. Nora perched on the picnic table, legs dangling, skirt riding up to bare pussy lips—no panties. “Oops,” she giggled, spreading for his stare. Juices glistened under patio lights.
Beers popped, stories poured—her fleeing Cali asshole ex, his rig-life scars. Food devoured picnic-style, fingers licking sauce, eyes devouring each other. “You’re intense,” she murmured, hand on his thigh, nails scraping denim. “Eyes fuck me already.”
He growled, yanking her onto his lap. Lips crashed—brutal, tongues warring sloppy. She tasted hops and heat, ground her sopping slit on his bulge. “Feel that? Your cock’s huge.”
Inside, loft dim-lit, metal racks of tools witnesses. She dropped to knees on concrete, unzipping him. His meat sprang free—9 inches thick, veins pulsing, pre-cum beading. “Fuck, welder dick.” Lips stretched wide, throat gulping half down, gagging wet. Slobber dripped chin to tits as she bobbed, hand jerking base, other fingering herself audible squelch.
Reid hauled her up, skirt over head. Tattoos everywhere—dragon across ribs, “feral” scripted on hip. Bra snapped off; D-cups dropped heavy, pierced nipples like bullets. He mauled them, sucking hard, teeth grazing. She yelped, clawing his back. “Rip me open!”
Bent over workbench, ass high. He spread cheeks—pink rosebud winked above dripping gash. Spat on her hole, thumb circling. “Ever ass-fucked?”
“Hell yeah. Pound it.” No lube needed; she flooded. Cockhead breached pussy first, slamming balls-deep. Walls clenched vice-tight, milking. She bucked back, screams echoing off sheet metal.
Intense rhythm built—hips slapping thunderous, sweat flying. Pulled out, drove into ass raw. “Shit! Yes, destroy my shithole!” Anal stretched gaping, froth coating shaft. Fingers in her mouth, then cunt, double-penetrating furious.
Balcony Break for Air
They stumbled to the loft balcony overlooking junkyard sprawl. Moonlit, she rode reverse cowgirl on lounge chair, ass cheeks clapping, tits flopping wild. Wind whipped her moans. He choked her throat light, slapping tits red. Cum boiled; he flooded her bowels deep, hot ropes pulsing. She squirted, soaking his balls.
Chapter 5: Loft Bed Onslaught 🔥
Bedroom reeked sex—cum, sweat, pussy tang thick. Nora sprawled, legs splayed, asshole leaking white globs. “More, daddy. Use me like a whore.”
Reid’s cock raged semi-hard, ready round two. Flipped her doggy, face buried mattress. Pussy devoured—tongue scooping his load mixed hers, clit sucked vacuum. She bucked, grinding face-fucked. “Eat that creampie, fucker!”
Full nelson locked—arms pinned, legs wide. Re-entered pussy savage, neck cranked back for sloppy kisses. Thrusts pulverized cervix, her guts churning audible. “Gonna breed this sloppy hole!”
Switched: She squatted over face, piss streamed golden into his eager mouth. “Drink it, pig!” Salty flood quenched, dick diamond-cut. Mounted 69, her ass smothering, throat-fucked while tonguing shithole.
Intense finale brewed. Missionary brutal—ankles by ears, pile-driving. She came thunderous, nails raking chest bloody, squirting arcs drenching sheets. “Fuuuuck! Intense cum!” He exploded, painting womb white, overflowing frothy.
Collapsed panting, bodies slick glue. But hunger lingered…
Chapter 6: Dawn Filth and New Vows
Sun cracked blinds, Nora’s hand stroking Reid awake. Cock morning-woody greeted her fist. “Round whatever. Shower?”
En suite steamed quick. Under spray, she dropped soap, ass presented. Fisting started playful—three fingers, then four, wrist-deep in cunt. “Stretch me, beast!” Arm churned, gush exploding shower walls. His turn: Cock in fist-gape, double-stuffed bizarre.
Dried rough towel-slaps. Kitchen counter breakfast—pancakes drowned syrup, her eating off his plate licked clean. Bent over sink, anal round three: Lube syrup sticky, ass reamed slow-build to frenzy. Pots crashed as she thrashed.
Post-meal cuddle on couch, TV forgotten. “Plasma tomorrow?” she purred.
“Fuck plasma. You’re my addiction.” Intense gaze locked, sealing pact. Clothes on reluctant; she left with creampied waddle, promising texts.
Reid watched tail lights fade, cock twitching anew. Their plasma lines now foreplay arenas, lives fused filthy passion.
But Thursday? She’d text during wait: “Beds too far. Bathroom stall quickie?” Grin split his face. Cravings eternal. 💋
Later that week, clinic bathroom—stall locked, her skirt hiked, reverse impale on toilet. Gags muffled moans, cum dripping thighs as nurses called names oblivious. Intense hunger fed, endless.
Their saga unfolded raw—gym locker romps post-workout, truck-bed fucks under stars, tattoo parlor quickies amid needle buzz. Nora’s shop dream? Reid funded first ink gun, christened in backroom orgy of fluids.
Exes faded ghosts; Nora moved in, loft walls echoing nightly screams. Welder hands built cribs? Nah, built depravity empires. Intense love, trash-hot forever.
