I place the head of my cock just inside her quim, pushing in only a little, and she gasps.
“Like this?”
“Yes, Alfred, please. I need all of you. Now.”
I thrust into her further, impaling her. Her tight walls constrict around me.
“Fuck,” she murmurs.
“I am too large.” I am ashamed that she must adjust for me—that I must be uncomfortable for her.
“I will survive, I assure you. Now you must move.”
I thrust until I am totally inside of her. She lets out a throaty, guttural moan.
“Move, please,” she repeats.
I withdraw a bit and felt the searing pleasure of her play on my cock.
The sensation is different than the other positions that we have tried. I immensely enjoy the beautiful view of her shapely ass and the long, elegant line of her smooth back. She is not a small woman, and her bountifulness does terrible things to me.
However, it is immediately clear to me that I will have trouble controlling myself. This angle makes it very difficult to remember that I am not supposed to spend inside of her. That I have promised her to withdraw. I don’t want to give her the inconvenience of a child. And I cannot bear to imagine having a child by her—and having no claim to her or the babe.
I remind myself of this fact, severely, even as pleasure forces itself down my cock and through my entire body.
“Annabelle,” I say. “You feel so wonderful. Your quim—I could die here.”
She lets out a ragged moan at my words.
“Harder,” she commands.
I have to agree. There is something about this position that makes me wild and unchecked.
I pound into her, delighting in the sensation, but I worry that I am hurting her.
“Are you all right? Is this all right?” I ask.
“Yes.” She responds. “Please harder.”
I obey intuitively, pulling her against me, thrusting in and out. My spend builds in my spine, threatening already.
“Annabelle. I must withdraw—” I try to warn her.
But she moans. “No. You may not.”
I am not sure what to do. Everything in my body wants to keep fucking her, but there is only so much time before I will inevitablyspend.
“I am close. If you withdraw, Alfred, you will find yourself without a post.”
“Fuck, Annabelle,” I swear, horribly aroused by her command—by her threat even. And I don’t need more arousal.
But I cannot disobey her. No part of me can.
I keep pounding in and out of her, filling her up, feeling her constrict over me.
My seed threatens to spring from me now. I am not at all certain of my ability to stop from spilling.
“Annabelle,” I warn her one more time. “I am—I am—I am?—”
