The Bloom of the Rose

I was impaled, my pussy held inside and out by Andre's knowing hand holding me tight. Tears trickled from my eyes, the final release of my orgasm mixing with the pain from his grasp and my surrender to the needs that had been hunting me for so long. I'd never experienced anything like it. It was almost as if the wait had been worth it, as if all of the sex I'd ever had was nothing but a precursor to this moment. I was pinned between Andre's hands, one in my hair and one in my pussy. I writhed and cried and splashed wet cum all over his fingers.

Finally the train pulled away from the station and I trembled as my orgasm departed. I took deep breaths as sporadic after-cum waves coursed through me from tip to toe. Andre's touch became softer, matching his caresses to my receding cum and lightly tickling my sensitive pussy in little circles.

I was too exhausted to object when he finally he slid his thumb out of my dripping slit. My eyes were still closed, but I could hear him walk around until he was behind the sofa, which put him standing in front of me. My chin was resting on my cuffed hands on the back of the sofa.

I don't know that I actually saw or heard Andre take out his cock, but he obviously had because he was pushing the swollen tip of it into my mouth.

Grateful that I finally got to feel his sex, I sucked gently and it slid into me as if I was drawing it in with my breath. Andre was too eager or too lazy to get undressed, because through my slitted eyes I could see he had pushed his jeans down just enough to free himself. He popped the big head of his dick quickly in and out of my mouth, using short little strokes that made me wish he would push it deeper into me so that I could caress it with my tongue. After a while he did just that, sliding into me deeper and slower.

I love giving head, and I knew that a load of hot wet sperm shooting into my mouth would be the perfect denouement to the earth-shattering orgasm I'd just had. With a little gentle sucking Andre would shoot his cum into me, finishing our remarkable tryst in the best of all possible ways.

Andre had always let me control how deep I took him into my mouth, but this time he held my head in his hands and started pushing himself so far into me that I was starting to gag. It was getting to be too much, and I tried to move my head back, to dislodge the shaft that was threatening to choke me.

"Oh, no you don't, slut," Andre said. He grabbed my hair harder in his hands, using it as a handle to pin me in place so that he could start to fuck my mouth in earnest. I was still kneeling on the sofa, my legs spread wide and tied to the fireplace poker, my head resting on my cuffed hands on the back of the sofa, and I was dismayed to learn that I didn't have enough leverage to move away. I was choking and scared and a little mad that he was fucking my mouth this way. Still, if this was what my lover wanted, then I was determined to give it to him. After all, didn't he just give me the orgasm of a lifetime? I tried to relax my throat, but it was very hard with Andre's shaft making me gag over and over.

"Do you want me to cum in your mouth?" Andre gasped and lengthened his strokes. The dirty words did their usual magic on my slit. It was still buried in the aftermath of its cum, but shivered and hinted that it wouldn't object to another one. I could feel Andre's shaft swelling even bigger in my mouth, and the salty pre-cum he was streaming into me made me swallow over and over, which was difficult to do around his cock.

"Do you want me to cum in your mouth, you bitch?" Andre gasped even harder, and I recognized that tone in his voice - Andre was too near to cumming to even know if I'd answered him.

The fucking he was giving my mouth had somehow become a part of my needs too, in spite of the discomfort and the gagging. He knew what he wanted, and he held me so tightly that I had no choice but to let him give it to me. It wasn't like I could answer him anyway, with my mouth as full of cock as it was. I resigned myself to his needs, which had somehow became my own.

My chin was still resting on the backs of my cuffed hands, and I realized that even though they were restrained I could still move them a little. While Andre was losing himself in the pleasure of fucking my mouth I was able to wiggle my hands into place and gently cradle his balls in my palms.

My reward was immediate. With a low moan, Andre thrust himself into me as far as he could. The tip of his cock tickled the back of my throat, and I was forced to swallow frantically over and over as he squirted warm jets of sperm straight down my throat and into my tummy. He bucked in my mouth, and the fact that I wasn't able to guide his shaft with my hands made it wild and wonderful. I was nothing more than a senseless vessel to the feral animal spending its will in my mouth, venting hot life into me. The frightening intensity of his orgasm made up for the fact that I didn't get to taste his salty jizz, which I loved so dearly.

Slowly his bucking lessened and his spurts became farther apart until finally they stopped. Andre took his fat cock from my mouth. I still had to swallow over and over, fighting the remnants of my gag reflex and finishing off the sperm that had splashed onto my tongue, my teeth.

I closed my eyes and savored the taste and the sensuous feeling of being worn and used. I realized that my legs were starting to hurt from the ropes and the strain of having been bound to the poker.

I could hear Andre's zipper as he put himself back into his pants. He roughly mussed my hair as if he was petting a friendly puppy dog. "Good girl," he said. And I felt like one. I had made his hot cum rockets shoot into my tummy where they belonged, and it made me feel contented that using my body as his fuck-toy had made him cum so hard.

Andre came around the sofa and untied me and took off the cuffs, and then he immediately plopped back down just where he'd been when I'd walked into the room. He picked up the remote control, pointed it at the TV and turned it back on. The halftime show was on, and Paul McCartney was singing "I'll get you anything my friend..." It seemed like an appropriate coda to our lovemaking.

I put my head on Andre's lap and curled into a little ball of used and tired naked girl. I could feel his semi-hard cock against the back of my head through his jeans, and I wished that he was naked so that I could take him in my mouth again. Andre tugged a soft comforter over me, tucking it in all around but leaving his hand underneath so he could gently rub my bare back.

Drowsy but more hopeful about Andre and me than I could remember, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. But this time instead of wishing that it had been different and chiding myself for not having the courage to tell Andre, I was content and thoroughly sated like I had never been before.

I remember thinking that I had been wrong about the bloom fading from the rose. It was as bright and vibrant as it had ever been.

At least for now.

*

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed my little tale of hope. Check out my other stories, too, and let me know what you think. Feedback and comments are always welcome. Rock on!