I was laying on my stomach after two rounds of sex. My body was relaxed, melting into the bed.
He had left the room, I heard him come back in and shut the door, the bed dipped down from where he sat next to me. Feeling lazy, I didn’t even turn my head towards him. He began rubbing my ass, followed by playful slaps, every so often increased the force to an actual smack. Soft, soft, pat, pat, smack, sting. And again, and then back and forth from one cheek to another, in such a regular rhythm that my heart seemed to beat to his cadence, before changing up the pattern, becoming more unpredictable with more force and less playfulness.
My cheeks were stinging, my ass was clenching and bracing in anticipation of the next spank. My world became smaller until it was just him and me, the stinging heat of my skin, the dampness between my thighs. He halted and caressed so very lightly, occasionally leaned down to breathe on my reddened cheeks. And then his tongue delved into my sex, and I came. He spanked me again, licked and sucked and fingered to orgasm, spanked, and soon no matter what he did, I seemed to cum, and my ass was up in the air, welcoming his touch, his kisses, his fingers sinking inside of me.
He had leaned forward at one point to grab something from off the nightstand, and the hair on his thigh was treated to my slick sex sliding up and down it – even that drove me to pleasure. My thighs were drenched, trembling, by the time he entered me from behind. He thrusted in and out quickly, forcefully, consistently. I screamed and pushed my hips up, meeting him, eliminating any space between us, grinding down and around his shaft. He seemed to hit a spot, move slightly, hit again, and again, so consistently, so hard.
He started telling me when to cum, that I was going to cum again. He told me when I would orgasm, slow for just a second or two afterwards, pushed me back up to another one. “No,” I begged, denying another orgasm.
“Yes,” he stated simply, pushing deeper, fucking me harder. He started counting the orgasms: 1 2 3 4 5…hold….such a long 5. “Down,” he’d whisper, pulling back and moving more slowly. “Again,” and he leaned in more, hit and rub and thrust, count five orgasms, hold me there.
After three times of this, with sweat dripping down his face, dripping dripping down my back, pooling in my arched lower back, my body also drenched and sexually exhausted, I clamped down so hard that I wasn’t allowing him full access, no matter what position he tried. Sure, I was still being pleased, but he felt so close to his own, and he couldn’t get that without full penetration.
Not to mention he knew I was ready to come down for the overwhelming ecstasy that I was experiencing.
He leaned back and I was in a near comatose state, not even feeling grateful for what I took as a respite, not really feeling anything besides my pleasure and exhaustion. “Roll over,” he instructed, and I did. In missionary position, he leaned back and pinched my nipples, instantly bringing me to orgasm and causing me to move against him in pursuit of my own pleasure.
He spread my legs wide, with knees almost to ears, keeping his arms behind the knees, entered me fully and deeply, hit a delicious spot back in my depths. I screamed, and was vaguely aware of him verbalizing that he was close, that I was going to stay there until he reached his own climax.
His ragged breathing and gasps of pleasure were an amazing sound, the feeling of him tensing into me, and then almost falling against me, before slowing and withdrawing; I ridiculously didn’t think his own orgasm would be accomplished that night, so long had we gone.
With breathing a challenge, I lowered my shaky and stiff legs down, rolled away from him, clung to the side of the bed. He laughed and rubbed my back, laughed again at my sharp intake of breath.
“I won’t touch you, I’ll let you down,” he promised, and moved some hair out of my face. He let me doze for a few minutes, his questioning: “are you okay?” waking me, and we attempted a conversation – him answering questions or just talking, me making no sense and rambling about trifles. “I’ve never seen you this out of it, where you can’t even follow a conversation,” he said. His hand gently caressed my back after a while, testing how sensitive I was, and I no longer gasped for breath, just felt very foggy, exhausted, relaxed, peaceful.
When his fingertips finally grazed my reddened ass cheeks in his caresses, I felt my body clench of its own volition, the skin so very sensitive from the spanking that started it all.