Make Me a Star

“Fuck yourself. Move your feet down to where the arms of the chair meet the back. Use those feet for leverage. Fuck yourself on the cock.”

I did so, and unless my sensations were deceiving me, he was going harder inside me, and throbbing harder too. So, he could get bigger during the fuck. And with my controlling the stroking, the pain was less, the pleasure more. More throbbing slide along undulating walls, as the fear and tension drained from the core of my body and I opened more to fit the shaft better.

We were both calling out variations of “Yes, yes, fuck me.” I gave him my load again up his belly and heard him laugh and mutter something like “Oh to be young again.” I kept sliding up and down on the shaft, pumping my knees and pushing off on the crease where the chair arms met its back, getting better at it and being more in tune with it with each stroke. He growled a “Got you interested now, don’t I?” in a strangled voice, went rigid, and cried out a final, “Oh, Fuck!” I felt the entirely new, and not unpleasant, sensation of being creamed by his cum high up inside me.

Yes, I would know when he dropped his load inside me. And when I thought the spurt had ended, another one came. And then another one. He resumed the stroking, and the slide was looser, aided by the added lubricant. I experienced a flash of arousal. “Yes! Fuck me, fuck me. Harder, deeper.”