She begs for sex erotic story. He Made Us Beg To Cum.



She begs for sex erotic story

She begs for sex erotic story

June 27, In the middle of the streak. The Neighbor lay across my bed, his arm wrapped around me as I splayed my fingers through his silky chest hair. I was relaxed, sleepy, sated from a long weekend of adult frolicking on roller coasters and in our beds.

I gently squeezed it and it pulsed hotly in my hand as he stretched out like a cat beneath me. I slipped it out and he shimmied out of his shorts and I took the big head in my mouth, tasted the salty drop on top, and thought about how lucky I was to have this man in my life. The past month and a half have been brutal: And through it all, he was there holding my hand, driving me to the funeral, the hospital, watching my tears fall, soothing my heartaches, and alleviating my fears with hugs, all the right words, and with his magic cock.

That first night of deliberate sex was no less titillating because we agreed on it than any other spontaneous night. He purred under my ministrations and pounded into me like a colt rounding the last corner on the track. My pussy squelched its juices, my orgasm bloomed through me, I gripped his arms, his thighs, cried out and hung on again and again as I lay a helpless, humming vessel below him. Night after night, no matter how exhausted we were or where we were, we connected.

And it being entirely his idea in no small way exacerbated the thrill for me: I was his slut and he finally had the opportunity to coax me into something. He was full of bright ideas. He pulled my ruffled pajama shorts down to my knees and spread my legs and motioned for me to bend over. He pulled out his erection and I felt it bob against my bottom then butt against my folds. I arched my back a little and bore down as we engaged like one of those flying fuel jets and a cargo plane.

He sunk in till he hit my throat, then gripped my hips tightly as he began to move. My face was pushed into the pillows and my body thrummed the instant we joined like a faking porn-star, only I was for real. His thighs slapped against the backs of mine and I heard him grunting his satisfaction and pleasure.

I lifted my head to look at the sliding glass door, its long, vertical blinds pulled back half way and creating a sliced reflection where we were, but also a clear view to those below. My haunch looked round and firm, his big paw laying on it gentle. I heard laughter and splashing as I watched the man and woman in the reflection move together. He almost never cums anymore or even tries. Not cumming with me, we both realize, though never verbalize, keeps us apart as the rest of us smash up against and into each other.

Sex ends when I am exhausted and pleasured to the point of stupid, not him. He gives a lot to me, how could I possibly complain? On the last day of our sex spell, Day 9, as he pulled aside my black lace panties and sunk back into me I teased him for being so spoiled. For never having to warm me up, for always having a warm, wet, receptive cunt to slip into with virtually no prep time.

He was looking down at me intently, a slight smile on his bow-shaped lips, his whiskers a light shadow on his boyish face. He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders, a favorite move of his, and he kept his unbearably slow rhythm. I started to panic as the pleasure lay out of my reach and I feared its crash upon me, my dependency on his tempo, and my inevitable loss of control. I felt a trickle of juice spill out of me and run down the crack of my bottom.

I tossed my head from side to side. My hands pushed and pulled at his hips, gripped his broad shoulders, poked at his belly, but his slow, steady pumping, like a dogged Freddie Kreuger stalking his next victim, kept at me and I began to unravel. I burst into sobs immediately, as I knew I would, and came and came and came like my tears were orgasms and my soul a stuffed and pulsing pussy.

I hung onto my laboring steed and watched him watching me as I melted under his care. Minutes melted into each other as I convulsed and tumbled down the rabbit hole.

Too much, so much, just right, enough, enough, enough. He sat up and stopped then and reached for my Hitachi. He swung around so he lay on his right side and my legs hung over his hip, his cock still inside of me. I placed it gently on my shaved mound and climbed the stairway to motherfucking heaven. He squeezed my breasts with his free hand and moaned approvingly as he gazed at his favorite thing: I cracked myself open for him and slammed back into my body, the explosion of orgasm curling through me, then waning quietly away.

We lay entwined as we always do, nestled within each other. It was calm and quiet in the room. I wondered how many ways over the months I had expressed my love for him and he for me without ever saying the words. You truly have no idea how amazing this is. I nodded hopefully, too, my mind whirring with ideas.

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She begs for sex erotic story

June 27, In the middle of the streak. The Neighbor lay across my bed, his arm wrapped around me as I splayed my fingers through his silky chest hair. I was relaxed, sleepy, sated from a long weekend of adult frolicking on roller coasters and in our beds.

I gently squeezed it and it pulsed hotly in my hand as he stretched out like a cat beneath me. I slipped it out and he shimmied out of his shorts and I took the big head in my mouth, tasted the salty drop on top, and thought about how lucky I was to have this man in my life. The past month and a half have been brutal: And through it all, he was there holding my hand, driving me to the funeral, the hospital, watching my tears fall, soothing my heartaches, and alleviating my fears with hugs, all the right words, and with his magic cock.

That first night of deliberate sex was no less titillating because we agreed on it than any other spontaneous night. He purred under my ministrations and pounded into me like a colt rounding the last corner on the track. My pussy squelched its juices, my orgasm bloomed through me, I gripped his arms, his thighs, cried out and hung on again and again as I lay a helpless, humming vessel below him. Night after night, no matter how exhausted we were or where we were, we connected.

And it being entirely his idea in no small way exacerbated the thrill for me: I was his slut and he finally had the opportunity to coax me into something.

He was full of bright ideas. He pulled my ruffled pajama shorts down to my knees and spread my legs and motioned for me to bend over. He pulled out his erection and I felt it bob against my bottom then butt against my folds. I arched my back a little and bore down as we engaged like one of those flying fuel jets and a cargo plane.

He sunk in till he hit my throat, then gripped my hips tightly as he began to move. My face was pushed into the pillows and my body thrummed the instant we joined like a faking porn-star, only I was for real. His thighs slapped against the backs of mine and I heard him grunting his satisfaction and pleasure. I lifted my head to look at the sliding glass door, its long, vertical blinds pulled back half way and creating a sliced reflection where we were, but also a clear view to those below.

My haunch looked round and firm, his big paw laying on it gentle. I heard laughter and splashing as I watched the man and woman in the reflection move together.

He almost never cums anymore or even tries. Not cumming with me, we both realize, though never verbalize, keeps us apart as the rest of us smash up against and into each other. Sex ends when I am exhausted and pleasured to the point of stupid, not him. He gives a lot to me, how could I possibly complain? On the last day of our sex spell, Day 9, as he pulled aside my black lace panties and sunk back into me I teased him for being so spoiled.

For never having to warm me up, for always having a warm, wet, receptive cunt to slip into with virtually no prep time. He was looking down at me intently, a slight smile on his bow-shaped lips, his whiskers a light shadow on his boyish face. He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders, a favorite move of his, and he kept his unbearably slow rhythm.

I started to panic as the pleasure lay out of my reach and I feared its crash upon me, my dependency on his tempo, and my inevitable loss of control. I felt a trickle of juice spill out of me and run down the crack of my bottom. I tossed my head from side to side. My hands pushed and pulled at his hips, gripped his broad shoulders, poked at his belly, but his slow, steady pumping, like a dogged Freddie Kreuger stalking his next victim, kept at me and I began to unravel.

I burst into sobs immediately, as I knew I would, and came and came and came like my tears were orgasms and my soul a stuffed and pulsing pussy. I hung onto my laboring steed and watched him watching me as I melted under his care. Minutes melted into each other as I convulsed and tumbled down the rabbit hole.

Too much, so much, just right, enough, enough, enough. He sat up and stopped then and reached for my Hitachi. He swung around so he lay on his right side and my legs hung over his hip, his cock still inside of me. I placed it gently on my shaved mound and climbed the stairway to motherfucking heaven.

He squeezed my breasts with his free hand and moaned approvingly as he gazed at his favorite thing: I cracked myself open for him and slammed back into my body, the explosion of orgasm curling through me, then waning quietly away.

We lay entwined as we always do, nestled within each other. It was calm and quiet in the room. I wondered how many ways over the months I had expressed my love for him and he for me without ever saying the words.

You truly have no idea how amazing this is. I nodded hopefully, too, my mind whirring with ideas.

She begs for sex erotic story

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