BDSM, Craving for more, Love, Submissive tendencies, Wonderboy

I Always Cry In The End

I do. If it’s good. If it’s all there, the love and devotion, the dominating will, the certainty of him knowing the way, feeling me submit to him like we are one and the same. It starts deep in my chest, the sobs start coming out before the tears. He’s still fucking me, looking down on me from up there where he is, holding my head and my neck and my face, my face! With the purple scarf. I’m wrapped inside it, see his shadow towering over me. He is so beautiful. He is full of love. I feel his cock mold me, push me harder. It’s a happy cock, it’s so wet, so full, so wonderful.

It’s so tender and loving, fragile and overwhelming that the emotions just won’t stay inside. They build and burst after the orgasm. I cry, tears well in me and draw their streams on my face. Wonderboy doesn’t stop, he knows better than to stop now. He savours my tears. They are a heartfelt thank you, a love song, a plead to stop it, to never stop it, please. Take me. He sees his power in the salty water. He sees his control, his will and mine, overpowered.

He fucks me. He fucks me. He fucks me. I can’t help but to come again, silently, whimpering, the scarf pressing against my open lips, drying them. He places his hand firmly on my neck, oh my neck, already covered with the scarf, gently tied and strangled with it. Now he is wilfully suffocating me. He is pushing me against the bed. He is so much more powerful he doesn’t even need to use force. He’s keeping me there with ease. I come again. I explode. I’m gone, gone, gone. But I feel him. I’m pulsing around him, drawing him into me.

When I come back he’s still there. His cock’s pounding me, reaching spots in me that usually feel nothing or just pain. They feel him now. The sensation fills me, but it’s not pain, it’s not enjoyment. It’s different. He reaches me, all the way, everywhere. I am unbound, there is no line between us. I see him, I taste him, I smell him, I am inside of him. And I am nowhere to be found.

He pulls his cock out and cramps over me. He comes, he comes, he comes. He spasms, holds his weight not to crush me, not to suffocate me in my purple prison. I pull him to me, on me, I go to him, wrap around him, kiss him, breath him in, keep him so close I feel the spasms of his cock, the streams of sperm on my tummy, my pussy, my skin. His heart’s tum-tum-tum. I feel his lips though they are nowhere close to mine. I feel them, full, soft, so tender. My lips against the scarf, against his skin, so wet. I suffocate, I’m under the weight of his body, his warmth.

He rises a bit, pulls and turns the fabric until I see his face. I breath and my breath is like laugh without a sound. Happiness I can’t describe. Did you have fun? he asks and kisses me before I can answer. He swallows my mouth whole, pushes my tongue aside, moves his tongue in the wrong direction, criss-crosses, keeps my lips apart, apart, apart still so he can sweep with his tongue, make me feel the same I did a moment ago. He takes me, just like that. And smiles.

I love you.


6 thoughts on “I Always Cry In The End

  1. ranat says:

    Wow, this is really powerful. It’s amazing and inspiring to find these examples from people’s lives. Thanks for sharing it!

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