it’s been over a week since i have been fucked. the bruises are fading but my memory is vivid.
i think the last orgasm i had might have been in my sleep last week. i tried to wait, i tried to harbor the release, i tried and failed. thoughts leading to action, i caught myself lying in the guest bed in my black panties, with a vibrator shoved down between my legs pressed snug against my clit. my breathing growing heavy and my mind racing at the various acts that i have actively participated in. it was the thought of R fucking me from behind that threw me over the edge and into rapid panting. it was me seizing against his cock and milking him dry that had me twisting and squirming. it was feeling him pump his cum inside of me that had my eyes well up and the explosion of emotions that escaped my lips.
i laid there gasping for air with a tear stained face, limp. the vibrator was still in place but somehow i turned it off during my fit of orgasm. i thought some more and closed my eyes. “just one more”, i thought, “one more like the last”, i wanted to feel. i wanted to be in his bed laying on my back covered in sweat and catching my breath.
just one more.
i turned the vibrator back on slowly. my eyes closed tight and biting my bottom lip. i pushed the vibrator against my clit and it stung. R’s fingers traveling downward to the mess he made in me. my skin crawled and my breathing pushed hard through my nose as i bit down hard. i could feel his fingers pushing through his cum, my cum, our cum. he knows me by now that he hits my g-spot without fussing around and it leads to my back arching. i cling to him as if my life were escaping from me, i bite him as if it will be a trade to keep living. i beg and plea and none of that matters, it’s when he feels like he has had enough, is when it stops.
my body shivers and the orgasms, all though not as intense as the first one, litter me and feed me with doubt. am i only good for one on my own now?
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