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He’d done the same thing the first time we’d had sex, when I was totally inexperienced and facing down the biggest cock that had ever been in me. He’d wrapped my fingers around his cock and coached me, telling me to control the depth and find what was
right. To this day, he was the largest man I’d been with.
He was also the most considerate man I’d been with.
I held his wrist and slowly pumped his hand inside me, pulling until the widest part of his hand threatened to slip out, then pushed back in a little. “Not all the way. Just like that much, okay?”
“Okay.” He smiled down at me. Can you reach the vibrator?”
My hand groped across the bed for it, and he continued, “I’m going to keep doing exactly what I’m doing now, unless you tell me to change the pace or ask me to go deeper. When you orgasm, that’s when I’ll take my hand out; it’s easier to do it then.”
I pressed the head of the wand against my clit and flicked the switch. It didn’t take long to get right on the edge, but I fought it and pulled the vibrator back to resist. I wanted more of this intense pressure, more of the sucking pull of his hand inside me. I just plain wanted more.
“Faster,” I begged, and he picked up the speed of his thrusting hand, wriggling his fingers as he did so. I put the vibrator on my clit again, and this time, there was no stopping. Every muscle in my body went rigid to the point of pain, and a high, thin scream twisted from my throat. I twisted, too, jerking the duvet down, the fabric audibly shredding beneath my nails. My orgasm went on and on, and but I didn’t let up, shouting mindlessly, whipping my head to the side, biting the arm arched against the bed. My climax was a wild, uncontrollable force that left me helpless in in the eye of its storm. I thought I was going to die. I was certain I’d never been so alive.
Before I could come down, while my cunt still clutched at the impossible hugeness of his hand in me, he gently slid out. My body shook with violent tremors, my calves cramped. My bones and muscles had liquefied from pure pleasure.
He wiped his hand on the duvet—we were going to have to reimburse the hotel for that, anyway—and carefully laid one hand on my hip. “Is that too much?”
“Not at all,” I rasped.
“Do you need water?”
I nodded, though how I moved my neck, I had no clue.
He helped me to sit up and cradled my limp body against his chest as he handed me the glass from before. I gulped it down then collapsed again while he went to get more.
When he returned, I sat up and winced at the soreness between my legs. “Hey, instead of intercourse, could I like, suck you off? I hate to wimp out on your birthday—”
“Good lord, Sophie, I’m not going to ask to fuck you after that. This is the first time you’ve ever been fisted, I understand if you need time off.” He unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it from his shoulders, and toed off his shoes. He unbuckled his belt and slipped off his pants, then pulled back the covers beside me and tucked me under.
“Seriously.” I propped myself on my elbow. “I’m not going to be emotionally well if I can’t do at least something for you. I need that…reciprocation. I can’t stand it when you don’t get off.”
“Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “Shall I get myself started?”
I stretched out beside him, luxuriating in the feeling of sweaty skin and overused muscle against soft sheets. I walked my fingers down the narrow line of hair on his stomach. “Mmhm. I love to watch you jerk off.” I snapped the waistband of his boxers. “Get rid of these.”
He lifted his hips and slid the black silk down his legs. His cock was semi-hard, and he stroked himself slowly as I threw my leg over his. I pressed my body close and kissed as much of his chest as I could reach, then down, trailing the ends of my hair over his skin.
“I loved that. All of it,” I purred against his ear. “I love it when you control me. When you punish me and hurt me. I love losing control over myself. Losing myself.”
A deep sigh rumbled from him. He was hard now, his foreskin rolling over the tight pink head of his cock with every pump of his hand.
I slid down his body, sucking and licking at his stomach. I rose to my knees to straddle his thigh. My wet, sore vulva plastered to his skin, and he groaned at the touch of it. Covering his hand with my own, I leaned down and hovered my mouth over the head of his cock. I didn’t close my lips or suck, or even flick my tongue out. I just let a thin line of drool run from my mouth, directly onto his tip, until he squirmed his hips on the bed. I made him wait as long as I could stand before I closed my lips over him and took in as much of him as I could.
Bent over wasn’t the ideal position for giving head, but I worked him with a hand that replaced his own, never speeding up, just a slow, lazy suck and swirl of my tongue as I glided my hand up and down his length. When his hips began to pump in time to my motion, and then sped as though desperately reaching for more, I slipped the point of my tongue between his foreskin and glans and swept over the super sensitive spot on the bottom of the head. His hands fell to my head, and he held on, thrusting deep enough to gag me. His body strained beneath me, and he made a noise that could have been either pleasure or pain as he erupted, filling my mouth and throat. I coughed and cum ran out over his cock and my hand, and I used it as I milked the last drops from him before giving a tiny, chaste peck to the head.
He hissed and laughed at that, and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Oh, Sophie. This was a fantastic birthday present.”
“Thank you.” I pulled the covers over both of us, taking a moment of sadistic delight in the way he gingerly tried to avoid contact between the sheets and his penis.
“Did you enjoy yourself? Anything you would have changed?” It was his usual check in, and I loved it every time. It felt nice to be valued, rather than abandoned with a quick cuddle before the snores started. My past partners had been terrible for that.
I considered his question. “Nothing you did, but something does bother me.”
“Hmm?” he asked, situating me more comfortably against his shoulder. His fingers skated down my spine and back in long, slow sweeps.
“I don’t like that you were able to just call up the front desk and be all, ‘hey, there’s going to be a woman screaming, ignore it,’ and they were totally cool with it.” I frowned. Saying it out loud made it even more troubling.
