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So I’m happy.
I’m happy that it hurts and God, it hurts so bad that I know whatever it is we’re making is going to be the most beautiful thing ever.
But he doesn’t seem to think so.
Because there’s agony on his face. Agony in every inch of his body. His breaths are shattered. His arms are shaking.
And his eyes are frantic.
His eyes are agitated and panic-stricken and he’s chanting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I… My dick… My… Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
He would’ve gone on if I hadn’t raised my head up and kissed the words out of him. Then, against his parted mouth, I whisper, “Don’t be s-sorry.”
His trembling hands are framing my face, wiping off my tears that I didn’t even know I was shedding. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
My belly clenches as a fresh wave of pain washes over me. But all I say is, “But it’s beautiful.”
He presses his fingers on my cheeks. “It’s fucking ugly. I-I made it ugly. I —”
“It’s the most beautiful thing ever.”
He stares at me for a few beats before shaking his head. “I’m pulling out.”
“No, you’re not. You’re —”
I gasp when he tries to slide out and the pain flares once again, making my body tighten as a fresh batch of tears spills out.
Which makes him clench his teeth in anger. But I can see that there’s pleasure too.
Because I guess it feels good to him.
The tightness of my pussy. The slick walls.
But he ignores it all to take care of me. To lick my tears off and whisper apologies all over my skin.
Closing my eyes, I whimper, feeling his dick throb inside of me, “You said you won’t stop.”
His chest heaves. “Because I’m an asshole. I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“You did. You do. I don’t want you to go a-away,” I whisper, clutching his hair now.
“I guess I can’t anyway,” he says in between kisses. “You’re fucking stuck on my dick.”
I am.
Stuck and pinned.
Trapped.
And while I feel another wave of pain coming in, I still can’t help but smile through my tears. “It’s because I’m a Firefly.”
He looks up, his tormented eyes flashing with possession, his dick throbbing even harder inside of me. “Yeah, you are.”
“Your Lovelorn Firefly.”
“My Lovelorn Firefly.”
“And you’re my Beautiful Thorn.”
“I am.”
“So then,” I adjust my lower body, trying to ease up the pain, “m-make it fit.”
His hand immediately goes down to my hips to stop me. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He dips down to kiss me and then he sets about doing that.
He sets about making it fit, making us fit.
The Beautiful Thorn and his Firefly. Which at first glance may seem impossible, unnatural, us fitting together.
But it’s not.
Not when he kisses me with his wet and hungry and hot mouth. Not when that kiss almost makes me forget that I’ve got a giant dick inside my tiny hole, stretching it out, putting pressure on my pelvis and making it burn.
And when he touches me, my clit, with his magical fingers, my almost-forgetting becomes complete.
It’s like he’s sucking the pain out of me.
Sucking the poison out not only with his mouth but also draining it out with his expert fingers.
And slowly I become delirious.
I become euphoric.
I become barely aware.
Of what I’m doing, of the things around me.
All I know is that I’m tasting cinnamon on my tongue. I’m breathing cinnamon too. I’m also scratching my nails along something smooth and long, muscular and arched, his back maybe or his obliques. My heels are running along something coarse, probably the backs of his hair-dusted thighs.
But most of all, I’m aware of this need.
This intense and potent need to move.
To grind and writhe under him.
I think this need has replaced my pain. Actually it hasn’t just replaced it, it’s grown bigger than the pain ever was.
So much bigger and incessant and urgent.
So I do.
I move and holy fuck, I think I see stars.
And so I move again and there it is once more: a flash of stars and bright light.
I guess he was right then. His dick is magic. It’s out of this world.
And God, the friction.
There’s a friction too, down there, that I haven’t felt before. That makes me moan into his mouth, and I wonder if it’s those studs. Those ladder-like beautiful studs that he got to punish himself for hurting me.
That are now giving me this otherworldly experience.
This immense pleasure.
Poetic pleasure even.
His pain turning into my pleasure.
And oh my God, I want more.
I want more of his poetry. I want more of his artistry, his beauty that he created for me.
So I keep moving. I keep undulating and writhing. And it’s so easy too. So easy to move under him.
So effortless.
It’s almost like we’re sliding against each other. Gliding and slipping.
As if we’re in a dream.
And in this dream, not only has he made it so that his dick fits in my pussy but he’s also somehow made our bodies fit too. His hips fitting into the juncture of my thighs, his pelvis grinding into mine. My heavy breasts and tight nipples sliding into place just under his arched pecs. My thighs settling in the nook of his tapering waist and my heels digging into his muscular, flexing ass.
