Just when I think it’ll never end, she pulls out of me completely. She needs more of her inside me. So she smears thick lube across her entire hand, up over the knuckles, all the way to her wrist. I gasp in anticipation. I don’t think I can take that much. But she proves me wrong; of course I can, four fingers are sliding inside me with ease and it’s only a matter of seconds before she curves in her thumb and my pussy swallows her fist whole. Surprisingly quiet, I’d have expected screams to be tearing through my vocal cords now. Instead my diaphragm drops and I feel another opening up from deep inside. My rib cage expands and the back of my throat dilates as I wish it would when I deep-throat her cock. With the sharp twist of her wrist, she forces me to hit a pitch so high it’s barely audible and I shudder as the orgasm echoes throughout my entire body. I feel a sound escape my chest, originating from lower still. The purest note that ever graced my lips, it sails right past them and floats up in the air. I imagine an opera singer hitting her highest note.
When I go in for her well-guarded pleasure, I’m careful. I read every last cue of her body; initiating as though it’s about me. It isn’t. It’s about her. And us. But I’m good at making it seem like it’s about me, at burrowing down somewhere sacred. I straddle her leg, grind my wetness against her thick thigh, moan in her ear about how good she’s making me feel. As my tongue searches out her tragus piercing, she groans, and I can feel the reverberations making their way through her body. Knowing how erogenous this spot is—this tiny flap on the inside of her ear—knowing just what to do with it, is a powerful blessing. I take the ring between my teeth and tug, gently at first, and gradually work my way up to the point where it’s either going to rip out of my teeth or her ear. It’s one of my favorite ways to get her going. And one of hers.
Fucking her is a precious gift and I honor it, giving this intimate interaction the reverence it deserves. Her desire is tangled up in mine and it’s impossible to separate the two. So I treat it as one. Make it about how she’s getting me off while I’m edging my way in, down to the place inside her that calls for me and has been secured, sentry protected.
I move my hips in a tight figure eight and grind harder against her thigh, my juices gushing down her leg. She begins to grunt, “Oh, god…” but before she’s even made it to the second word, I’m pressing my hip into her sex, and then she’s adding a few syllables to a monosyllabic word, elongating the moan buried mid-oh while I draw out her pleasure. I wrap my mouth around her tit, my tongue delighting in how its efforts are rewarded by the feel of her nipple tightening, beginning to rise, pleading for more. I graze my teeth against it, reaching over to pinch and slightly twist the other one, bite down and then release. I bring my free hand to my lips and slip two fingers into my mouth. After a slow, deliberate extraction, they glisten prettily with my spit in the low light. I lower them between her thighs, as I watch her face. Easing my fingers into her ass first, working them against her G-spot until she’s wordlessly begging me to slide into her cunt.
I delve in heart-first, straight down to a deep, well-hidden place. It scares her to no end, yet she grants me access. I know even before her tears surface, that I have found her inner aquifer. I have reached the place inside her and saturated it with love and all things beautiful, filling her in ways she didn’t think possible; making it known that I treasure and adore all of her: her multilayered, gorgeous self; her powerful presence; her soft underbelly. No matter what the world has told her—I have delivered the message that she is strong and sweet and capable and good. And right. So very, very right. In all of who she is, in exactly how she makes her way through the world. She is praiseworthy and perfect. Which is not to say she is unflawed. There are fights in our future about toothpaste and how she wasn’t there for me that time. But now, in this very moment, I am loving her so completely: every drop of her, prized and celebrated.
Something about her sparks my overwhelming need to protect her. She learns that she can stay here, nestled deep inside me. I’ll squeeze my thighs together, holding her there, letting her fill me; I’ll protect her from the outside world, not letting go. This is the place where she can cry and feel safe and overcome by it all and she can just be.
When the deluge gives way to drizzle and then dries into traces of salt on her cheeks, she runs her fingers between my lips. “So. Fucking. Wet.” We float somewhere above this tangible world, we vibrate internally on a higher plane. Grinding against each other with a deep-seated fury, we amplify our envy of that other world where our souls are melded together without seams.
We writhe against each other, knowing we are stretched to our physical limits by each other’s fists. We tear into each other, wanting to emulate the amaranthine nature of the other plane, where all of her is consumed by my sex, my soul. And her fervor devours me. Anything is possible; there are no laws of space or time. Our ardor set ablaze, we are a mess of twisted limbs, cum–and sweat-drenched flesh, pushing into each other with desperation. Where everything within and beyond our imaginations is granted. Deeply rooted in our bodies while pushing them to extreme edges. A chaotic whirlwind of ohhhs and yeses and begging and panting swirls around us as the floodgates give way to our frenzied lust and I’m clamping down on her fiercely, she’s shuddering against me, we’re crying out into the heavens, drowning in each other.
She takes me there.
REBEL GIRL
Kirsty Logan
He grabs a fistful of Evie’s hair as he comes, pulling her close to his chest, whispering guttural curses into the side of her neck. His cock thrusts deeper into her, the ridge of the head rubbing her in just the right place, and she’s so close, just one more… but he’s already growing soft inside her, the condom puckered and wet.
She rolls off him, starts digging through her skirt pocket for her lighter and tobacco. He’s wriggling back into his clothes, all elbows and legs in the cramped backseat. Evie rolls her cigarette expertly, fingers twisting and tightening like a magic trick as she looks out of the sweat-blurred windows at the car parked next to theirs. She hopes Katia is having more success with her man.
She can see vague shapes, knees raised and palms pressing out for balance. She imagines Katia, head thrust back and tits pushed out, sliding her slick cunt up and down on the endlessly hard cock. She tells herself she’s only thinking these things because she’s jealous, because Katia gets to ride her way to an explosive orgasm and Evie does not.
Katia has a mouth on her nipple and a cock in her cunt and she’s moaning, “Oh, yes, oh, fuck, oh, yes.” She’s so close, almost cresting the wave, almost crowning the hill, and she feels the blood drain from her brain to her clit. He comes, grunting out an approximation of her name, and collapses with his head on her chest. She squirms under him, trying for release, but he’s wrinkling away to nothing and the feeling has gone.
The backseat is sticky with sex and sweat. Katia feels around on the floor for her bra, wishing he’d wake up and get off her so she can get some air. The summer is humid, so hot she sweats in a bra and shorts, her skin always reddened and slightly swollen from the heat. Over the top of his head, the sweat-dampened curls behind his ear, she can see the car parked beside theirs. The windows are opaque with smoke, and it’s stopped juddering on its chassis. Katia imagines Evie, sated and soaking into the leather fabric of the backseat, a slow smile on her face. Katia is sure Evie just had the best orgasm of her life; she is sure every single one of Evie’s orgasms is the best of her life.