Whispers In The Dark

We started by just lying next to each other and casually stroking the other’s genitalia. Soft whispers of appreciation for the touches passing between us. He easily could have finished me off with nothing but those magical fingers of his, strumming a tune across my body. I wouldn’t have complained.

Funny, though I was strumming my own pretty little tunes on him-as evidenced by the rigid cock pressing against my thigh-the more deftly he plays me, the less deftly I seem to be able to play him. My hands start to fumble and jitter until, defeated– but what a way to lose!– they stop and I’m lost in what he’s doing.

With a simple shift of his body, and without missing a note, he entered me. Slowly, smoothly. We formed a “T”, lying on the bed, with me as the leg, on my back, my legs tossed over his hips and he was the cross, on his side, pelvis to pelvis. Those soft whispers of appreciation turning into fervent murmurs of need.

With his free hand, he mauled at my breasts, clawing pinching squeezing. Alternately, I whimpered at the pain up top and moaned with the pleasure down below. My first orgasm came, stuttering, sharp, tiny explosions inbetween the surges of pain.

Then he shifted again, kneeling up and rolling me to my side. He straddled one of my legs, tucking the other securely up by my chest. From this position, he entered me deep, so deep that I gasped at the first thrust, a dull ache settling in my insides as he pressed into me. Leaning forward to find even further depth, he trapped a nipple between his powerful fingers and, crushing it, pinned it -and me- to the mattress.

He rocked against me, my hands fisted around the bedposts, those fervent murmurs of need shifting into heated grunts of lust. This time there was pain up top, sharp and consuming, and pain down below, dull and achey. Scream, he said to me, scream if you have to, and I knew he was going to batter me inside and out. That truth being just the aphrodisiac I needed, I lost the need to scream at the pain- and gained the need to scream through another, more powerful and much sharper orgasm, spasming against his thrusts.

Then he flipped me again, this time all the way over to my stomach, lifting my hips just enough to slide under them and take me again. There was no pain, not up top or down below, nothing but pleasure as he gripped my hips, long, hard, even strokes, finding his rhythm. Those heated grunts of need ratcheting up into frenzied groans of urgency as his pace quickened.

Just as I started to move with him, intent upon pulling his own orgasm from him, satisfied with my own, he dug his claws into my back and raked his nails down the tender skin along my spine. He grunted as he clawed, the sudden sharp pain leaving me breathless, shocked. He continued to scratch and claw down my ass, my hips, up my sides. There’s something my cunt does when I’m in pain that pushes him over the edge far far better than my worthless attempts to match his rhythm will ever do. Should I ever think that I know how to move to make him come, he’s only to knock me for a loop with a hard dose of ouch to show me that he knows exactly how he wants it.

That another orgasm came shooting up out of nowhere as his nails dug red rivers in my flesh shows me that he knows exactly how I need it, too.

Sure enough, just one shaky, whimpering breath later, he was pulling out, grabbing me by the hair and emptying himself into my mouth.

And then we were as we started, lying next to each, whispering.

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