Nonstop Orgasms– HIS Perspective
It had been two weeks since we’d had sex for the second time.
To be sure, we had both cum numerous times since then, but there’s something about sex with her. Actually, it’s everything about sex with her. It’s fierce, it’s urgent—we’re in tune with each other in a way that I’ve never been with another woman. In fact, it feels like I’ve never been with another woman when I’m with her.
Needless to say, I was thinking about nothing but having sex with her, getting inside of her. I was thinking about making her cum with my mouth, lips, tongue, hands, fingers and cock. Just writing about it makes my cock hard and drip precum.
W and I met at our prearranged place, at the prearranged time. We traveled together to the place she had picked out. I don’t remember what we talked about on the way there, except that her hand was on my leg, making it very hard to think, to be a true partner in whatever conversation we had.
The trip was long, but seemed blessedly short.
We arrived at the place she had picked out; unlike previous times, it had a door that locked at privacy. We were going to be truly alone with one another, something that we had not had an opportunity to do in weeks. The world fades to black when I’m with her, but when it comes to our sexual opportunities, we aren’t picky, but we are careful. More often than not as I write this, it’s been in a semi-public place where we’ve made each other cum. There’s something to be said for the deviousness of the act and the closeness that it engenders, brought about no doubt by the shared knowledge and fear of discovery.
Once we were inside, we proceeded to our bed.
She turned out the lights, her beautiful body was silhouetted by a somewhat distant light. W is gorgeous; her body justly so. At some point I will get her to keep the lights on while we fuck.
We kissed, long and hard. Passionately.
Our burdensome clothes came off quickly, hitting the floor.
We made it to the bed in a nanosecond.
Still kissing, I began to caress her beautiful body. My hand found its way to her dripping slit. I proceeded to finger her, finding her clit. I made her cum—probably three times.
I feel powerful when I make her cum. She comes quickly, more quickly than any woman I’ve ever been with. Understand though, that each time she cums, it’s a victory. A victory for my mind, for my psyche, for my cock.
Earlier in the week, we had chatted about 69ing. For some reason, when I was a teenager, I thought that was the ultimate sexual position, fully understanding that there was no actual penetration.
I told her “Let’s 69”.
She turned around and spread her beautiful, muscular legs. I began to lick her tasty pussy with reckless abandon. She proceeded to put my cock in her mouth and lick and suck with delight.
It wasn’t long before my lips and tongue began to bring her to orgasm; she came HARD.
I didn’t stop. I kept licking and sucking. She tastes amazing—wet and sweet. She keeps a tuft of hair on her mons pubis, but shaves her lips, making me want to lick and suck them even more.
The most amazing part was that she kept sucking my cock while she was cumming. To my male readers, I need to put a picture in your mind—while you are making your woman cum, she still has your cock in her mouth. When she cums, she cums with it in her mouth. Her moans are muffled because she’s still trying to make you cum.
But I didn’t. Cum, that is.
I kept licking and sucking on her pussy. I opened my mouth wide and tried to put my tongue in as far as I could into her pussy. I moved my head back and forth, and used my nose, too. Still, she dutifully sucked my cock. Still, she moaned. Still, I didn’t cum.
It wasn’t because of her technique—she sucks cock better than everyone and anyone I’ve ever been with. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to cum—because I did want to cum. I think that I just wanted to cum the old-fashioned way.
So I kept making her cum. If I could have, I would have plunged my entire head into her pussy just to make her cum, to feel her pussy walls clench around my head as her entire body shook.
I think I made her cum another two times.
Did I mention that she was begging me to fuck her? I think I forgot that important point.
“I just want you inside of me,” she said multiple times while I had my face buried between her legs.
I refused, enjoying the taste of her pussy and the sensations I was giving her.
A short while later, she begged again.
“Please fuck me. I want you to fuck me, I want your cock inside of my pussy,” she begged, breathing heavily.
What’s a fella to do when a gorgeous woman is begging for your cock?
I was laying on my back on the bed, looking up at her.
She mounted me, rubbing her pussy on my cock. I didn’t have a condom on. One move of my hips or her hips, just one push and I would be in her. Bareback.
I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think about it, that I didn’t want it.
She would be okay with it, and I could be, too.
I knew that if I was inside of her without a condom, that I wouldn’t pull out and put one on. I knew that would be it, that we’d probably never use condoms again.
W is on birth control, but I’ve never not used a condom with her.
As much as I wanted my cock to make contact with the walls of her pussy, I couldn’t do it. Not because I don’t trust her—I do. Not because I think that she hasn’t been safe before—because she has. I think I am simply a product of my generation– I grew up in the “safe sex” generation.
“The condoms are over there,” I said, motioning towards the nightstand. “But you’ll have to put it on me,” I added, conditionally.
In what seemed like one deft, fluid motion, she tore the wrapper, placed the condom between her fingers, lowered it onto my achingly sore cock and I was condomized thusly.
I told her that she could ride me, and she did.
She guided the head of my cock into her dripping pussy, a combination of her juices and my saliva. Dripping wasn’t the word for it. More like Niagra falls.
“Use me,” I half-whispered, even though the noise we made was immaterial, given our surroundings. “Ride me. Fuck me, let me be your fuck toy. Get yourself off on my cock.”
I’ve never talked to another woman like this before. I may have thought these things, but I’ve never actually said them out loud. Yet I can say them with W. I want to say them with W. They make me feel powerful and they make her cum.
I want to be her fuck-toy. I want to make her cum. I worship at the altar that is her pussy.
So she rode me. She came. I think she came a couple of times.
I just remember one of those several times, the last time that she was on top—I kept bucking my hips. She leaned forward, and I just grabbed her, held her close as she came. She came hard, it seemed like she didn’t know when she was going to stop cumming. As far as I was concerned, I was okay with that.
Passion was the word that defined that time. I would have done everything I could to keep her cumming indefinitely.
Once she came down from her high, I told her what I wanted to do to her.
“I’m going to fuck you from behind now,” I said. “Get up on all fours on the bed.”
She did. I love that I can tell her what to do and she does it. I don’t think it’s an S and M thing, we just want the same thing for each other. We want to make each other cum, we want to have a good time, we want to explode for each other and make each other explode. The relationship we have defies categorization, and justly so.
She put that beautiful ass of hers in the air, and I slid my condomized cock into her. Still, I had not cum. Not because I didn’t want to, not because she wasn’t trying to make me cum—she was.
My cock went in and out of her. I am such an ass man, and I love her ass. The last time that I had been in her and fucked her from behind was the first time we were together. I was relishing the noise as my stomach and her ass came together—the last time was in a men’s bathroom, and we had to worry about volume. Not so now.
I think I made her cum a couple of times this way. I don’t remember, by now they’re all blending together in my head.
I do remember thinking “I haven’t cum yet. God, how good would it feel to pull out, take the condom off and slide back in, bareback, surprising her.”
I wanted to so much. I was so close to doing that. I had mentally imagined the motor skills needed, what I would say (I have since forgotten what I would say).
But I didn’t.
My need to cum was primal. I had to fucking cum. It wasn’t that she had cum multiple times—I didn’t begrudge her any orgasm she had. I wanted her to have as many as she wanted.
I just wanted to fucking cum. In her pussy. Mark my territory. Fuck her good, and cum. I was single-minded in my purpose. With each thrust of my hips, each time my dick plunged into her, I wanted to cum more, exponentially so.
“I want to get on top,” I told her.
She complied, splaying those beautiful muscular legs out, and I slid into her.
It wasn’t long before I felt the tingle in my toes.
“I’m gonna cum,” I said, surprised, happy, anticipating the release.
“Do it,” she said.
I was tunnel-visioned. I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. I needed to cum more than I needed air. I fucked her harder, faster than I have ever fucked anyone ever. I came—hard.
I collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and satisfied, proud of how many times I had made her cum.
We got dressed. Well, actually, she got dressed. She gave me my t-shirt and my boxer-briefs. She told me I could put those items on, but that was all.
She makes me feel sexy and desirable. No one has ever made me feel this way, to this extent—ever.
I’d like to think that I’m the one who’s in charge in this relationship, sexually speaking. I think I am, mostly. At this point in time, she was in charge.
And I was okay with that.