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He was right. I resisted, as if an orgasm was unwanted. Why could I not give way to what my body desired? I ceased fidgeting and writhing my hips about, and opened my legs. He slid two fingers down my slit, between my folds. Slowly and gently, he glided up and down, aided by my natural secretions.
“So wet,” he muttered.
I pressed my bottom against his stiffness, still encased in his pants.
“Do you want to feel it?” he asked.
I nodded. I thought he meant his cock, but instead of releasing it, he took hold of my right hand in his and brought it across my hip to my front. He isolated two of my fingers, forming a little tool, and used his hand to direct my digits.
“Feel it.” He pushed my fingertips over my clitoris then up again, lifting the hood. My clitoris had grown—engorged and excited. I moaned, twisting my head to one side as a flurry of nerve endings responded to my own touch. Stefan guided me, set the pace and pressure using his hand behind mine. He masturbated me using my fingers. It was a huge turn-on. Every part of my body buzzed with an electric pulse.
He briefly let go of his supporting arm, the one nestled about my ribs, and his zipper whizzed down. He stuck his erection out and it sat right at the apex of my buttocks, nudging my cleft in a magnificent duet with his unyielding hand. The rhythm was heavenly. As you’d expect from a conductor, he kept time beautifully—a slow, methodical up and down—the tempo of largo. My hand, enclosed by his, edged my clitoris to the brink, while behind, he rubbed his cock into my ass, letting me feel his hardness in all its glory.
I feared my legs might give out. Still hampered by my trousers, I couldn’t move my knees any farther apart, nor shake them free with my shoes on. I knew what was coming, and I held it off. I didn’t want to collapse at his feet.
“I want to come,” I panted, clinging onto his supportive arm. I couldn’t stop myself jiggling about. I tried to lift my hand away from my sensitive clitoris, but he wouldn’t let me. He applied even more pressure, squeezed my fingers and made sure I kept in contact.
“You’re going to come,” he commanded.
I dissolved. All my resolve dissipated as I continued to be sandwiched between his cock and firm hand. I curled my toes up and bent my knees, nearly forcing Stefan to lift me off the ground to keep me upright. He briskly rubbed my clitoris, coercing it until my orgasm lifted off the plateau and took flight on its own. My own fingers had brought me to the edge, but his direction compelled me to come.
I didn’t care if anyone was walking nearby—I cried out. My pussy contracted with one powerful and stupendous spasm. “Oh, oh,” I whimpered.
He crushed my hand in his, forcing me to press hard on the little sex organ as it sent out wave upon wave of almost unbearable delight.
I wept. I’d never cried during an orgasm before now. The tears that had collected unshed in my eyes tumbled down my cheeks. A silent release. Cathartic. Necessary.
I slumped against Stefan and he stilled, letting go of my cramping hand.
“That was needed, ya?” He kissed the top of my head.
I rotated and snuggled into him, my bare ass grasped in both his hands. His erection poked up between us, a neglected beast in need of its own fulfillment. I went to crouch, to offer him my mouth, but he yanked me up with a shake of his head.
“Not on this floor. In any case, my fine friend wants to be inside you.” He steadied my shaky stance then searched about the boathouse. It really was not an ideal location for sex.
He fetched two life vests, bright orange and well-padded with foam. He opened them both out and dropped them on the floor at our feet. “We need to free up your legs.” He crouched and removed my shoes then drew off my trousers and knickers. I held his shoulder for support.
I pressed a hand to my sex, feeling the swollen, tender labia and copious juices. Would I survive a bout of Stefan’s pummeling sex on a concrete floor? I waited for him to strip, but he didn’t, merely opened his trousers and pants, allowing his penis greater freedom. I stared up at him, the tears drying on my face. He wiped them away with a thumb.
“You’ve been a good Mausi, letting it all out. You’ve captured my heart with your enchanting orgasm, but you don’t have—”
His heart! What did he mean? Dare I ask? My tongue held back, not wanting to ruin the erotic scene. Instead, I offered him my body, because I couldn’t deny him pleasure. “No, I do have to. Tell me I have to,” I added.
He curled his fingers around his cock, fisting the shaft, and he pumped a few times, making his erection stiffer. I watched, fascinated, licking my lips.
Stefan straightened his shoulders, put the other hand on his hip and spoke in that voice I’d come to adore. “You will get on your hands and knees and stick your ass up. You’re going to be fucked.”
I scrambled into position, overcome by an eagerness to please him. I knelt on one vest, scrunched my elbows down next to my knees and formed a ball with my bottom pointing up. From behind, I heard Stefan growl—the delectable sound of a man about to have his satisfaction. He knelt on the othe
r vest, casting a shadow over my quivering body. The T-shirt and bra, the only items of clothing left on me, bunched around my shoulders and my breasts hung, squished between my arms and legs. I’d never been fucked like this before.
“I’m going to fuck you long, slow and hard.” He grabbed hold of my waist. “If it gets too much for your knees, tell me.”
I nodded, bowing my head, and screwed up my eyes, waiting for his thrust. It didn’t come. The smooth head entered first, spreading my lips farther apart and edging in. He penetrated centimeter by centimeter, pulling me backward to meet him. I stretched about him as the coils of vaginal muscles gave and the friction of his unlubricated shaft chafed against my inner walls—a gentle abrasion.
I held my breath, expecting the rampant thrust. Instead, he ground his cock into me. I opened my eyes, stunned by his approach. Slow! This was a protracted, dawdling display of intercourse and so unlike Stefan.
“Oh, fuck, please,” I wailed.
