We laid in bed, the sheets and our limbs in a tangle, the cold rectangles of light from the uncovered windows by turns illuminating and throwing shadows across our bodies. A sheen of perspiration coated our skin, testament to earlier exertions in that very bed.
Earlier we had played in the new basement. It wasn’t the first time we’d played there, but it was the first time we’d orchestrated a “scene” rather than have it happen randomly, organically.
I’d gotten some whacks, felt the blunt trauma of steel sex toys shoved inside me, ass and cunt, felt the brutal impact of the Viper against my flesh.
Honestly, I don’t exactly remember the first fucking. The last time we’d fucked he had denied me release, over and over again, while I begged and pleaded, all the while knowing he wouldn’t give in. This time? I’d have to ask him. Memory is ephemeral for me, especially in the throes of sub space.
Return to now, laying tangled together, smelling of sleep. I nestle against him, pressing my backside into him, not teasing, settling into the comfort of his body.
It can’t have been more than 15 minutes later when I feel him pressing against me, a little more insistently. Then he is pushing against me in earnest, his cock hard against the cheeks of my ass. My pussy is still slick with lube and his juices and mine, and when he rolls over on top of me, pushing me face down into the mattress, his cocks slides easily into my soft, wet folds.
I don’t participate much, except to open my legs to him, to arch my back to give him better access, to thrust back against him when I can. But this is all him, it is his need, his drive. I am merely a vessel.
He comes, shuddering over me, then collapses next me. We lay silent for a few moments while I trace my hands over his body and catch my breath.
He cocks an eye at me as I look up at him questioningly. I feel him shrug. “I guess I wasn’t done.”
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