He demanded that I cum for him; as if I was in control of my own pleasure with such a masterful lover in my bed. Being multi orgasmic is an advantage when a man knows how to manipulate a woman’s body to inspire her loss of control and he was definitely that type of man. He wanted my pleasure quantified, challenged and announced so it would hold me accountable. But he also enjoyed using my response to his advantage.
My body suffered repeated pangs of sexual hunger, my voice cried out into the musky weighted air, with a strident urgency. I took with authority that which my body demanded and used the available resources closest to me to achieve what I wanted to give him; my splendid and ultimate release of submission with the powerful gift of my orgasms.
My body heaved and buckled as sweat beaded and slickened my body. My thighs were creamy with the muskmellon dew which seeped from my quivering, pleasure filled center. Hard, fast, demanding thrusting alternating with slow, soft stroking, drove me higher and faster, edging me towards the swirling stars and roaring darkness. Hands, first his and then my own. His cock, our toys. I arched, I writhed, I thrashed and whimpered.
I pulsed and grunted, quietly screaming through the spasms wracking my body, as toes curled and neck pushed back against the pillow. Every ounce of my effort, every ribbon of billowing sweetness, all delicious cramping muscle movement was the result of his hands, his body and his eyes pushing me to touch myself and allow him full access to render me senseless with his body and toys.
I begged him to stop, whimpered for him to stop, and pleaded with him to stop, just to give me a moment … to breathe, to collect myself, to calm down from the heights of endless pleasures I had just endured and he had just shared, watched and created. My satiation left behind in puddles and smears of over the sheets and skin so that the heavy sex scent hung over us and shrouded us in spent female lust.