Sometimes it’s so good it goes bad. Today was a thrill gone teary.
We had rolled in our underwear in the morning. We were at my sister’s for the night, so anything other than cuddling was out of the question. The morning was perfect. He was hard and I was happy. The anticipation was so energizing we fell into a gibberish laugh and silly talk. The sky was grey and it was chilly, unlike the night before, but we didn’t notice it.
When we finally got home the tension had been building up the whole day. Usually a good sign. Right?
He came on top of me and started to undress the silk nightgown I bought earlier today from a second hand place. When he was rolling it over my head he suddenly reached his hands behind my head and restricted my face in the twofold silk prison. Then he pretty straightforwarly started to fuck me. Later I could smell shea butter on his hands, so at some point he probably lubed himself with it. He was so coy that I didn’t notice it, so the forcefulness of his actions felt more intimidating to me. In a good way. He forced himself inside my labia, inside me, which is not easy, if I’m not properly played with first, him being big and all. When his cock was halfway in and dryly scraping against my insides, I suddenly started pulsing and got really slippery really fast. It was just that he did it so fast with no regard to where I was.
By the way, this might be a good time (good as any) to state that this is my real life. I’m not making this up. That’s why it’s not perfectly articulated, it’s full of repetition and over the top emotional descriptions. So.
Him entering me. That’s where it’s at. He fucked me and it was great, I fell so extaticly to a space of no control that I didn’t even make a sound. I just focused on feeling him inside my pussy, on me, his hands on my throat or face, the silk pressing against my face, between my lips.
He just lay there on top of me. His cock grew bigger inside me. Softly engorged like a living thing. I was about to come. But I didn’t.
Somehow I couldn’t get to an orgasm. I was so close the whole time. I was on the verge of total surrender. My skin felt like the same silk that was wrapped around my head. So fragile and light. Sometimes I just feel I might break. And then when he takes me down hard, the fragile me opens like a flower. Suddenly blooming with no end in the horizon. It’s like. A plateau of orgasm that won’t go away and won’t reach the climax. I’m shivering, my whole body is verging on something.
He reaches his, first. Pulses and cramps.
I know his not happy. He’s worried, like he always is, when I don’t come immediately. He doesn’t want to lose me, he wants to fuck me to an orgasm. It ruins his, if it doesn’t happen.
But I am. Immensely happy. Teary-eyed, fragile, over the top happy. I smile lovingly at him, brush my fingers against the stubble on his cheek, gently. I’m in the same state. I feel fulfilled in a new way.
He asks me what happened and can not be persuaded to not go down on me. So he does and it’s wonderful. It takes longer than usual, but the orgasm makes me forget who I am. My limbs forget they are tied to my body, my body forgets it only has a limited amount of liquids to waste. The whole bed is flushed with the gush. He is wet and happy and comes to kiss me. I taste myself on his face and it makes my pussy pulse deeply. It tastes almost same as him. The smell is the same, chlorine like, tasteful scent. I sob a little on his neck, draw back a few tears of happiness mixed up with a sense of how fleeting everything is, how it can never last.
We start to cook the dinner and I’m on the verge of tears the whole time. I ask him to hug me while I’m shimmering the onions.
I want to cry, I say. It’s mistake. It ends up with us in the bed again, hugging, and him talking to me in a gentle voice first that I’m not probably pregnant, and then when I disclose the fact I want to be, that it doesn’t matter if I’m not pregnant now, I will be. It will happen soon.
The I realize something. I say But it’s a good thing. Crying’s not always bad. Sometimes I’m just so happy I want to cry. He looks at me kind of disheartened. I thought you were really sad, he says. No. I was just. Fragile. I’m perfectly happy. Sometimes it’s good to feel like you’re about to cry.
This was written mostly on last sunday, but I couldn’t get it done, because I was still so fragile and that doesn’t make for good stamina in writing. Today was the first day I got some free time to finish it. It’s been a slow week so I haven’t got much else to add. We are taking some time to think, why it’s not been on our mind this week. Perhaps because we both speculate I’m pregnant. Wonderboy’s even sure of it, and is already deep down in worrying about where the crib will fit in our one room apartment. He suggested today that couches are really a luxury and we don’t really need ours do we?
More on the disappointments of combining trying to conceive and have wild, d/s sex later.