I'm Not Leaving Here Until You Cum in My Pussy

"I'm Not Leaving Here Until You Cum In My Pussy"

Hearing you say things like this makes me laugh. A hearty, wheezing kind of laughter that barely escapes from the lungs. It's both audacious and tender, in a way, and it makes my already plumped-up cock even harder as I lean an elbow on the bed to face you.

"Thank you for this ultimatum," I say. And I'm thinking:

That is so fucking hot.

I've given you four orgasms so far, without my penis coughing up a drop. Fortunately, you are so consistently wet—the folds of your little snatch forever like oily velvet—that I haven't experienced chafing yet. Chafing

does

happen when you're locked in an all-night fuckfest, no matter how much vaginal fluid or lube one brings to the arena.

The arena is my bed, of course.

"So, you'd rather I cum inside you than squirt it on your tits?"

"Yes!" You actually exclaim it, fervent-like. "It's such a fucking turn-on when I can feel you sploosh. The feel of it—the bolt of heat squirting up inside of me is electric."

My cock, affectionately named Carter, perks up even further at this. You grab him and start tugging.

"Okay," I say, "but I'm still hungry."

So I help myself to feasting on your cunt (again). Your thighs are soft yet taut, and I spread them apart, exposing the undercheeks of your scrumptious ass. I dig my thumbs into each plush cushion. My tongue licks teasingly at first—nibbling your clit and swabbing the contours of your labia—and then I start to French-kiss your pussy.

Your plump, bulbous can squirms around above the wet spot you've made over the past 45 minutes. My hands are capable of an on-demand death grip, but they struggle to keep your buns in place, to keep your little pink fruit forefront and center.

The wet spot you made, by the way, is approximately the size of a kettle drum. It is also the measure by which I can tally your orgasms, with each explosion from you making the puddle ripple out to greater proportions. I want it to make it a pond. A pond that eclipses my king-size mattress, on which ducks could glide around breezily.

While your delicious ass slithers around in your own lather, I can feel your low back arching, your pelvis thrusting up into my face, and that's the cue that you're at your peak pleasure plateau with the cunnilingus. It's time again to slide Carter in deep.

He goes deep, filling you up until the slippery seams of our conjunction feel ready to split open and crack apart, leaving us to bleed out in a crimson puddle instead. Treading the line of such agony is impossibly easy though when the pleasure sensation is as overwhelming as it is.

I flex my cock for added fun, and I can feel your pulsing vaginal muscles tighten around the base of my cock in response. Like smoke signals made of flesh.

I slowly (dramatically) retract Carter until only his head remains in your snatch and then flex him again there to make his head swell up like a racquetball, and then I can feel your pussy lips snap back into place when I pull him all the way out.

And back in he goes, now with a ferocity that rivals a jackhammer chiseling out a pothole. There is nothing industrial about the sound made by our equipment, however. Instead, it is a frenetic wet smacking that equates to 120 bpm, matching the tempo of music playing on my bedside Google Nest. (I think it's Black Moth Super Rainbow.)

Also, there is your screeching elation, which hopefully wakes up the upstairs neighbors, who are lesbians. It crosses my mind that they might be getting it on, too. But not like this.

It's not my intent to stifle your screams, although I wrap my southpaw around your throat and squeeze gently. Your eyes remain closed. I figure you'll open them if I squeeze too hard... and yet I definitely intend to choke you. Not a gagging, stifling choke—just enough to cut off your air supply a little and make you squirm a bit more.

"Is this ok?" I ask, squeezing as if clutching a kitten. "I don't want to leave a mark."

"Uh huh," you manage.

With my right hand, I tug slowly and incrementally harder on your hair.

Hair pulling is one of your favorite things, I've gathered, and this too isn't meant to harm, but to titillate. It works every time; I know this because of the dreamy look in your eyes when I do it. Your glistering blue eyes that roll back in your head. I love weaving your thick hair in my palm, sure to tug on the whole bunch at once like a fine and healthy pelt.

As I pound away, it feels like my cock has entered a nether realm without boundaries. Where liquid and solid matter are suffused and inseparable. Carter is completely disoriented. Joyously lost, he's swimming like an eel in the ethereal sea of your pelvis. Then you wrangle him in.

You do this by reaching down and squeezing your pussy tight(er) around my cock. I've never met another girl who performs this trick, and it's dazzling. Is squeezing necessary? No. You do not have some kind of hatchet wound; you have a supple little cleft that is as bald and smooth as a fresh plum. You squeeze your twat between your forefinger and thumb, and this added constriction gets Carter's attention right quick.

Carter (and the rest of me) is drilling you like an oil derrick, with your knees bent at my shoulders. Your mouth is open and wailing, your eyes shut, your cunt clogged with eight inches of flesh and a pair of balls who also want to go swimming. Your cunt obliges them. Juice floods out of you as you cum again, and the culmination of these things leads to my own explosion: I growl as jism streams from my cock and I can hear you gasp one more time at this release, splashing me with more fluid, our joint machinery cooling down like a whirring dynamo spinning to a stop.

When I catch my breath, I manage to announce: "I just totally came in your pussy."

We wipe our sweaty foreheads, and I tumble off.

...Your own announcement comes the next day from a text:

"I LIT-erally just peed on myself. I couldn't hold it! Apparently that's a thing. You broke her and the bladder. Did you know you reached that far? Congrats. High five."

You peed yourself. Goddamn.

My reply is:

"That is so fucking hot..."