Oversexed

I went from happy to melting to melted and shimmering, firing off twice while he was still inside me in that position, burbling meaninglessly, crying, sobbing, begging him to finish me, and, after he had, begging him to stay inside me. Begging him to finish me again, and, when he had, purring and sobbing at the same time. I went soft and vulnerable for him. He conquered me, tortured me, slayed me, giving me no mercy, taking me more completely than I’d ever been possessed before—and forever, fucking me in waves and waves of surrender and pleasure—a death by cock.

I knew when he came, as it was with his body tensing and shaking, and his cock thrusting up deeper inside me then it had ever been. He didn’t withdraw, though. He pulled my legs into his side, causing my shimmering channel to sheath his throbbing cock closer, and he leaned down and kissed me—on the lips, all over my face and throat, on my nipples, to return eventually and fully possess my mouth. I was clutching his shoulder blades with my hands, digging my fingernails into his back. But he didn’t complain.

I felt his going hard again and tore my lips away from his, and cried out, “Fuck! Shit! Yes, yes!” as he turned me on his cock, face down into the needles of the fir branch and took me into the Nirvana zone—and beyond—again.

When he pulled out of me this time, I was barely conscious. I was dancing on the clouds and barely aware that he had withdrawn and was standing and pulling his jock and shorts back into place.

“I hope you’re OK, that I didn’t hurt you.”