He wants, I know, to wring another orgasm from me. And he will. I respond to him so readily and he has learnt my body so well. Part of me even wants to resist him, to prove that I can withstand this onslaught of generosity, but I can’t will myself to move away.
And I can resist no longer. His mouth is heaven. He angles me off the table perfectly, his strong hands around my arse, so that he can access every inch of me that he wants.
I come, shuddering, my hands gripping his hair, and my cries ringing out in the room.
He stands, looking down at me.
“Turn over,” he says. “Now.”
For a moment, I am confused. What does he mean?
When I don’t move immediately, he places his hands on my hips and guides me. And then I realize. He is not done with me yet.
I almost let out a whimper. I am not sure how much more I can take. The two orgasms have exhausted me. For some reason, they felt like exertions of emotion—and I feel so close to him that it gives me a sense of heightened danger. I feel a softness, an openness, to him that distresses me.
But then I hear him undo the placket of his trousers and his large, heavy cock is at my entrance. He has me bent over the table, my feet on the ground. I am completely splayed and open before him.
My core throbs anew at the thought, at his large hands gripping my thighs. I prop myself up on my arms to give him better purchase.
“Is this—” he says, “May I?—”
“Yes,” I snap. I want it. Damn him, but I want him this way.
He enters me slowly, as if he knows that I fear his entrance, his tenderness, might break me. He fills me up inch by inch, creating pressure and firmness where there was emptiness.
“Fuck, Annabelle,” he swears from behind me. “You are so beautiful. So perfect.”
One hand grasps my left arse cheek, kneading the flesh there.
He withdraws and then fucks me shallowly, letting only the head of his cock dip in and out of my entrance. Icircle another orgasm, crying out, and then fly over the edge. I convulse around his cock.
“Yes, fuck, Annabelle,” Alfred says. “Jesus Christ, you’re incredible. You come for me so beautifully.”
I groan at his words. He pumps in and out of me then, tilting my hips and arse into various angles.
“Do you want my seed?” he asks. “Shall I fill you with myself?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I want all of you.”
I had not thought it possible that I would come again. But as Alfred nears his own orgasm, his movements growing more ferocious, wilder, another climax builds.
I don’t think I can handle it.
“No,” I moan,
He stills instantly.
“Annabelle, what is wrong?”
The lack of movement is horrible. My quim pulses, needing the stimulation that he was giving me.
“Nothing,” I pant. “Please. Continue.”
“Am I hurting you? Annabelle, please.”
He withdraws and turns me so that I am facing him.
“I have been too rough.”
