His hands bracketed my waist, pushing me into the armrest. I was pinned. By this point, I was probably nothing more than a hole for him. A hole that held him tight. A hole that promised bliss.
Flesh slapped with each thrust now and I had to moan. Not out of discomfort exactly, but something else. A reaction to being so close to losing myself.
My sphincter clenched around his base and I groaned into the pillow that I’d gathered to my face. It became a blissful, uncomfortable, mind-blowing feedback loop. Clench, spasm, moan. Try to relax. Fail. Clench again. My fingers danced wetly on my clit, prodding me to the edge.
Then finally came the surge. The tingling mindless rush of release, the moment when nothing else mattered and all sensation became a blur, an exposed nerve that you couldn’t help but to touch.
The pillow muffled my moans and whimpers and gasps.
He abandoned the gentle strokes of earlier. Now he crashed into me with barely restrained violence. Any consideration of my comfort fell by the wayside and that was okay. I rocked on the armrest as he pummeled me.
My ass burned under the onslaught and I prayed that he would soon come.
His rhythm faltered. He gasped. Then swelled. Then swore as he unloaded into me.
He stayed buried within me for several minutes, though it felt like much longer. After the endorphin rush of release, I became more aware of how much he’d stretched me and how abused my poor hole had been.
“You really need to get out now,” I said.
I held my breath as he withdrew. His cock felt impossibly long. I’d recover, of course, and set my internal timer for a reprise.
Later, we drank some more port. I nestled into him on the sofa, no longer dressed as a schoolgirl. Flannel PJs. Less sexy but more comfortable.
We looked for something on Netflix, getting the Netflix and chill all backwards.
“You said the girl had a photograph above her bed. Impressions of a rope on an arm.”
“Uh-huh.”
I smiled. I had my idea for my play day.