He can’t come. Not now. It’s three in the morning and we’re both exhausted. He can’t come. But I sit on his cock anyway.
It’s just so nice, you see, being in the same bed and feeling the pressure of his erection pressing into my skin. It feels so good to have him gently suck my tits, and cup his hand around the curves of my crotch.
He can’t come, but I don’t care. I just want to feel his dick inside me.
It’s not just the lateness of the hour, it’s also only been an hour or so since he sprayed jizz all over the living-room carpet. One hour would normally be plenty of recovery time, but it was so much spunk. So much in every sense: volume and speed and pressure. He can’t come any more: he’s spent.
But I rock back and forth on his cock regardless.
It just feels so good: the stinging ache of my cunt from earlier, when he wielded a fuckstick on me with vicious urgency. The bruises I can feel deep inside, being nudged by the head of his still-eager prick, despite the fact that his balls are empty.
I’m still basking in the lingering memory of the start of the night – when we swapped clothes and he performed a playful striptease. Slinkily, coquettishly playing up his femme side while the thrill of it pumped through his thickening cock.
I can’t resist riding him, even though I know he won’t come.
He moans beneath my kisses, buries his head in the soft flesh of my tits, and arches his back to thrust up into me.
He runs his hands over my hips and stomach, gently guiding me as I rock back and forth, up and down, enjoying the slick sensation of his prick sliding in and out of me. Pausing occasionally to make him think that I’m done.
Clenching my cunt around him to make him whimper.
I adjust my speed, changing from fast to slow. A subtle way to let him know that there’s no purpose to this fuck – no pressure. I don’t expect him to orgasm, because I know that his dick is far too sore from letting me watch him masturbate to porn. I just want to enjoy the ride for a while. Feel the stretch of his erection inside my body, and the pleasure zinging through my sore cunt and aching nipples. I just want to feel this one more time before I sleep.
He can’t come like this, I know it. It’s too late, we’re tired and sore. All fucked out. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have one more go before we finally turn out the light.
I ride him faster, promising my exhausted body that I’ll stop soon. Just give me one more minute of feeling this. One more minute of sliding up and down the wet shaft of his cock. One more minute of his lips on my nipples and his hands on my arse.
He reaches further round. Sticks the tip of a finger into my ass. The hotness of it takes me unawares, and so does this: shoving his finger further in, he puts his lips close to my ear. Holding me in place, with his finger in my ass and his cock inside my cunt, he growls:
“D’you want my fucking come in you?”
Read the other entries in the 5-blog-post-night series.
1 Comment
this says as much to me about intimacy as it does sex. And how our bodies surprise us sometimes when we think we have given all we have.