This does hurt, a little, but it's a hurt her body craves, a roughness and ferocity that only fuels the fire in her groin, the meeting of their raw and desperate need for one another, held in check for so long. She gasps and writhes under him, spreading her legs wider and her knees higher, both hands now gripping his shoulders as she gives herself over to instinct and ruts against him with all her strength. Panting, she buries her face against the side of his neck, smelling sweat and sex, feeling his blood pulsing against her and his breath ragged by her ear.
She's heard of women who can orgasm one after another, but rather assumed it was an exaggeration - certainly when she's pleasured herself, she's been spent quickly. But now she can feel it coming, another wave of that ecstatic ending, and she groans against his skin and digs her fingers into his shoulders, gasping and shuddering at the unbearable bliss that's trembling through her, and...
And then he cries out, and she feels the change inside her, feels him tremble and spill himself, and she arches against him and holds him as tight as she can, and rides the wave of his pleasure, of his completion, her own lust making her heart skip and her breath catch.
It isn't enough to drive her over that edge. Not quite, but exquisitely, agonisingly close. She whimpers, pushing her hips against him, consumed by need and love and ecstasy, trying to eke out the last few thrusts to bring her off.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2018-07-27 04:44 pm (UTC)She's heard of women who can orgasm one after another, but rather assumed it was an exaggeration - certainly when she's pleasured herself, she's been spent quickly. But now she can feel it coming, another wave of that ecstatic ending, and she groans against his skin and digs her fingers into his shoulders, gasping and shuddering at the unbearable bliss that's trembling through her, and...
And then he cries out, and she feels the change inside her, feels him tremble and spill himself, and she arches against him and holds him as tight as she can, and rides the wave of his pleasure, of his completion, her own lust making her heart skip and her breath catch.
It isn't enough to drive her over that edge. Not quite, but exquisitely, agonisingly close. She whimpers, pushing her hips against him, consumed by need and love and ecstasy, trying to eke out the last few thrusts to bring her off.