She's stretched thin between the precipice of pleasure and pain, receiving so much stimulation either way that it becomes difficult to parse through the two individually. When he fucks harder into the tighter clutch of her cunt, swiveling hips to grind against her clit, she moans, arching up into him, straining against his pinning of her wrists. When he pulls the taut bud of her nipple, drawing it out with a harsh pinch, she whines, writhing in his hold.
Her orgasm is an inevitability, with how long it's been building, but it still comes on slowly, gradually, beneath the onslaught of his hips, her sounds becoming desperate and more plaintive. Just when she thinks she can't possibly crest higher, she does, until she's trembling, right there on the edge, needing to succumb.
And then it finds her, that release, as she dissolves into spasming, her moans intermingling with fresh sobs, as if he's wrung it from her against her will, as if her body has betrayed the full depth of her want of him. But there's also an intense relief in it too, that she's done her penance, that she's earned absolution through the salt of her tears and her slickness on his cock. Yet it won't be complete until he comes too, whether he leaves it inside her or stains her skin.
Her crying shouldn't be sexy, part of him tells himself, but there's something in the pure catharsis, in his being able to be able to give her that, that has him throbbing inside her. Her tears mark her sincerity and her devotion, and he's drunk of the Sacrifice of it all.
When she finally clamps tightly around him, it earns her a trembling groan. She's so much in all the best ways. The sensation spurs him harder still, as if he's desperate to follow her over while he can still ride the ripples of her orgasm and feel her milk every last drop from him. There's no way he's wasting this on painting her. He's in her in more ways than one, as she is in him, now even more so, and he plans to make it so she won't forget it.
His efforts are rewarded, and with a gasp and a winced cry, he loses himself inside her with a shudder. The intensity of it makes his hand clench tighter on her wrists as he forces her up just a bit higher.
Yes. This. This is worth protecting, even if it requires sacrificing himself to do so.
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no subject
Her orgasm is an inevitability, with how long it's been building, but it still comes on slowly, gradually, beneath the onslaught of his hips, her sounds becoming desperate and more plaintive. Just when she thinks she can't possibly crest higher, she does, until she's trembling, right there on the edge, needing to succumb.
And then it finds her, that release, as she dissolves into spasming, her moans intermingling with fresh sobs, as if he's wrung it from her against her will, as if her body has betrayed the full depth of her want of him. But there's also an intense relief in it too, that she's done her penance, that she's earned absolution through the salt of her tears and her slickness on his cock. Yet it won't be complete until he comes too, whether he leaves it inside her or stains her skin.
no subject
When she finally clamps tightly around him, it earns her a trembling groan. She's so much in all the best ways. The sensation spurs him harder still, as if he's desperate to follow her over while he can still ride the ripples of her orgasm and feel her milk every last drop from him. There's no way he's wasting this on painting her. He's in her in more ways than one, as she is in him, now even more so, and he plans to make it so she won't forget it.
His efforts are rewarded, and with a gasp and a winced cry, he loses himself inside her with a shudder. The intensity of it makes his hand clench tighter on her wrists as he forces her up just a bit higher.
Yes. This. This is worth protecting, even if it requires sacrificing himself to do so.