(continued from “uncensored #2- this far?”….
….. “His hands rested lightly upon my aching hips, and as he did so I found that despite such an orgasm I was still caught in a state of crazy-high sexual desire, more than I had been earlier….”)
His hand was there again, between my now warm, moistened thighs having been brought to orgasm in the most ecstatic way. He seemed to enjoy giving me pleasure, as much as I enjoyed receiving it. Who knew a simple game of strip poker could lead to this. If I was asked to play again sometime I would almost certainly say yes, yes, yes.
Not only his hand but also something else, hard but not hard, soft too. His erection? How far? No, not that, something else, I tried to turn to see but he prevented me by being so close behind and all I could do was feel, imagine, conjure what was coming. I felt whatever it was slide between my thighs it throb as his erection would have, no, but it felt so similar.
He whispered again and then pushed not himself into me but a dildo, I somehow knew it even though I couldn’t see, the way his hands manipulated it, controlled it, controlled me, the way he parted my sex, its initially cold lubrication soon warming as it entered, as he forced it into my thighs slowly and surely giving way. As I allowed this far to become this far, going ever further into his kinks, his desire to enjoy mine, to entice mine from all of its hiding places, unravelling my nature for his own ends, for this whatever kind of parlour game we were now playing, I had earlier agreed too, promised to honour. I remain true to my word, whatever the consequences.
I looked down to see him pull it from me and move to between my legs against my sex antagonising my arousal to febrile degrees. I felt flushed across my face, down my cleavage over my tummy. I tightened as he rubbed I guessed was maybe 8 inches length, so it parted my folds and teased my clit. Instinctively I pushed back easing m back which now ached with the tension I experienced. He wasn’t done with me, and nor were my orgasms as I felt I would surely come again and maybe even again.
Once again he slipped its realistic silicone tip, as it looked very real, even moulded to replicate an actual penis. So real it looked and so real it felt every second it was in contact with me. He slipped it inside me and again I pushed back which opened me to ease the stretching. It moved easier with every inch but he didn’t go all the way but pulled it party out again and then in, just an inch, then two, then three, no more, over and over. Even this much felt like it filled me, parting my inhibitions as much as it parted my sex with its intimate probing. With his other hand he reached around and grabbed my breast and worked the dildo further, turning it, twisting it, as he did my nipple between two fingers, His fingers dug in, his breath washing over my neck and shoulders. I still held gripped to the headboard caught in this fantasy which was no longer fantasy but very, very real.
More inches now, faster too, I couldn’t help but moan with each thrust, twist, turn of the dildo, his hand brushing my thighs and buttocks. How bare I felt, exposed, submissive, not just to him though but to myself, my own uncontrollable urges. Another inch and another, I was feeling like I could take no more until another inch and faster now until my legs started to shake, still on my knees I didn’t know how long I could hold on and then I couldn’t. My orgasm was stronger this time. I’m sure I blacked-out momentarily and found it was only his other hand fondling my breast which held me up. He didn’t stop thrusting it into me even when I begged to stop for a moment, my body struggling with the cacophony of emotions all funnelled into one threatening overload.
Finally he stopped and I collapsed onto the pillows, still he kneeled behind and held my hips against his. He put the dildo on the bedside table, only then did I see how big it was and now how slick and shiny it glistened with my juices smearing it. I buried my face in a pillow and placed my hand between my legs to ease to tenderness, the beautiful tenderness from my orgasm. His hand appeared and joined mine and pushed two of my fingers inside myself along with his.
He made me finger myself while joining in as I felt both our hands parting my increasingly tender sex. He rubbed my clit and made me do it with him. I didn’t object. I clearly was depleted and he knew it, he seemed to know he could push me further, further, further still. Just when I thought I could take no more without yet another eruption in my thighs he removed his fingers and quickly replace them with what I knew for absolute certainty was his erection, now feeling incredibly excited. I inadvertently felt it as he slipped himself between my legs until his tip touched my sex, bare as it was, as he was, skin teased my skin. I shuddered.
I felt all choice had been taken away by now. I’d come this far and it seemed further was the only direction I and he were heading. Further. His cock easily now forced itself into my thighs, pulsing, unlike the dildo this felt and was the real thing. A little clumsy for a few seconds but finding his way further, further, almost into my soul.
My face was still part-buried in the pillow with the first proper thrust, the first naked fuck between us. His cock now feeling its way I took it willingly, almost greedy for it by now.
Each penetration made me gulp, a swallow, as though it was there except it was inside my hips fucking me deliberately but still the urge to swallow, my head now lighter than the air in the room, I was almost floating up into the ceiling to find myself watching myself, me and him, and feeling even more aroused believing I had somehow become the subject of porn. I felt the eyes of others, countless others, watching too, our exhibitionistic act. This man I hardly knew and but now knew more than ever enjoying a side of me so few ever see. There was no love here though, just lust, unbridled, unleashed, unashamed. My body rocked by a combination of him and the mattress which moved uncertainly beneath our limbs. The backs of my thighs feeling red, sweaty, sticky, sensitive to each time the front of his bumped against me, such vulnerability felt addictive, dizzying.
Once more I cum not even realising I would, so sudden it ignited, soon after which he also came to the edge of his edging and what felt like emptying his thighs into mine, first by holding fast like still-life then in a few final thrusts then still again, throbbing each last drop of semen from his body. I was spent. He was spent.
We’d come far enough, colliding, confiding and colluding, this private investigation into each other’s limits and beyond, unimagined but a few hours before now come to pass. He pulled aside. I fell into the duvet. He toppled to lay beside me. I curled up. He grinned. I smiled. I don’t even know his last name.