Pleasure shoots through my body and makes my knees tremble. I'm all trussed up in black lace. Sad and desperate to look appealing. A vessel body. Just a bit of something, something. Just a bit more.
He stops to stroke me.
It goes on and it goes on. I wish he'd take me upstairs, but it just goes on. My knees and hands are starting to shake. I can feel myself pulsing. Tight, twisted up muscles pushing down painfully. Small whimpers interject the silence and the click of keyboard keys.
I hear his chair move. He tells me to get up, go upstairs, get on the bed. He removes the plug from my arse, replaces it with his flesh and begins to fuck me. Mmm the stretch, the pull of the flesh. The continuous rhythm of his body, pushing deeply into mine. That dull ache of feeling overly full. I ask him in breathless desperation if... well you know how it goes by now.
Deep, aching, feeling like something make break, pop, rupture, so full, too full. I beg him to fuck me harder, he obliges, he climaxes, deep shuddering moans of satisfaction and release. I could have so easily come again. He flops next to me. Eyes closed. Body limp and relaxed. He mumbles to me.
"Make yourself come again".
I oblige. I can feel that he's drifting off to sleep. Crippling, deep muscular pain and droplets of pleasure slosh around inside me. Black heat and twisted yelps. I look at him. His eyes and closed but his lips curl into a smile.
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