A Lasting State of Pleasure

Kris--that's my girlfriend--is a few steps ahead of me in the hall. In the bathroom, she sheds her clothes. By the time I get my clothes off, she's already started the shower and stepped inside.

I follow her in. The spray is almost too hot. That's how she likes it, though, so I'm okay with it.

She smiles, pulls me close. I hold her lean, narrow body. She leans down and we kiss.

Yeah, she's taller than me. I'm okay with that, too.

She's turned on. Her little girldick is thick and full. The head of it throbs against my big, hairy belly.

I'm turned on, too. My cock grows its way to full erection against her slender thigh.

("I shouldn't be falling in love with such a big boy," she ruefully texted me, the morning after the first and only time we attempted anal sex.)

We make out awhile under the spray. She squeezes my ass, I make circles on her tiny tit with my thumb. Then we playfully wash each other's bodies, taking extra time on the fun parts.

As usual, she rinses first. She slips out, takes her towel, and heads to the bedroom to dry off while I finish.

I hurry. With my goddamn body hair, I always need at least two or three passes with the towel to not get water everywhere. But I love watching her get dressed, so I try not to miss it.

When I get to the bedroom, what I find is even better.

Kris is splayed out on her back, stark naked, her knees up and apart, displaying absolutely everything. When she sees me, she can't help it--her smoky, seductive expression splits into a silly grin.

I drop my towel and dive right in.

I push the tip of my tongue against her clean, hairless anus, then lick her from the backside of her scrotum to the head of her girldick, making her whole body shudder before me.

I crawl over her, dragging my tongue upward, her navel, her taut tummy, her tiny tit, flicking her hard nipple, leaving broken strands of drool that cool quickly in the fresh morning air.

This, too, makes her shudder.

I lie atop her. I'm careful not to squeeze the air out of her with my weight. Our hot cocks are sandwiched side by side between our bellies. She eagerly accepts my tongue into her mouth.

As we make out, her hands roam my back, then my buttocks, then the crack of my ass. I'm still quite damp back there; her fingers play with whorls of body hair that holds water like a sponge.

I feel her gathering the moisture with little playful movements, then gliding playfully around my asshole, and it's my turn to shudder, being touched in so vulnerable a place by someone I trust so much.

Some unspoken change comes over her. Suddenly, she's aggressive. I don't sense the hold coming until her limbs lock around my body and flip us over, her on top of me, pinning me helplessly underneath her.

She wrestled in high school, many years and another life ago. I asked her once if it felt good to grapple with all those sweaty boys, but she changed the subject.

I'm on my back. She's straddling me, her ass resting in the divot between my lap and my belly. Her naked private parts are so warm. My cock, panhandled against her ass, twitches its demand for attention.

"Go limp," she says. It's a command.

Obediently, I relax into the bed. My erection protrudes out of my lap like an awkwardly leaning obelisk. She gets off of me and positions herself next to me, propped up on an elbow.

From above, she locks eyes with me, and she spits into her hand. It's a good one.

She reaches down and clasps me in her hand, wet and warm, enclosing me. She locks my gaze with hers. She's so intense sometimes. She starts stroking me with a loose grip.

She starts slow and low, taking her time, warming me up. I settle into her, my head against her breast. She draws me in, cradling me to her with her free arm, spits in my mouth, calls me names, goads me.

It feels so good. To be touched by her, the uncanny physical and psychological feeling of being stimulated by someone's hand other than your own.

I'm not sure when the noises start in the back of my throat. But, once I notice them, I roll with it. I wrap one arm around her--for stability, I guess--clutching at her back, then her shoulder.

She's jerking me fervently. I can feel the orgasm building, pressurizing, waiting to be released through my tingling urethra.

"Are you close?" she says, grinning.

I can only gasp, "Yeah."

"Are you gonna come?"

"Yeah..."

She stops.

In a split second, I feel despair, frustration, bereavement, but I look into her eyes and see her mischief and hear her spitting in her hand again, waiting just a moment for my condition to subside.

Then she starts again. Slow and low, building me up, teasing me, her hand finding its way slowly but surely up to that sweet spot where I love it the most, where cum is a guarantee, and gets me close.

And she stops again.

And she starts again.

She keeps doing this until I'm on the verge of tears. My face is burning, and my erection is visibly larger than ever and angry and dark and trembling and slathered in drying saliva.

"Get up," she says. "Be a man."

She lies down, legs open to me, splayed much as she was when I found her in here, fresh out of the shower. Her own dick is soft, but fat with arousal, her little balls drawn up into a tight little pouch.

In a hurry, so as not to lose it, I get up to my knees, kneeling between her feet, my cock aimed in the general direction of her long, lean tummy. I start to jerk off.

It only takes a few seconds.

The first shot misses her entirely, striking the sheets somewhere above her right shoulder. My body is locked; the madness spreads through me. I couldn't stop now if I wanted to.

The second splashes off her ribs and lands on her tit. The rest hits with reliable precision in and around her navel, a pearly white pool on pale, clean-shaven skin, a token of my irresistible lust for her.

She sighs appreciatively as I decorate her long torso with sturdy ropes of hot cum. I asked once why she loved it so--being sprayed with jism--and she told me it made her feel beautiful.

As my brain starts working again, as the burning in my belly subsides, I realize that I've been crying out, and so has she.

I crawl onto her, hot and sweating, heedless of the cum mingling with my matted body hair. She grasps me with all four limbs and squeezes me tightly to her. We kiss, a slow, lazy, sloppy kiss.

I roll off of her and cradle her to me, much as she did me. She spreads her legs, her knees up. I'm as anxious to please her as she's anxious to be pleased.

Now it's my turn to spit.

I drool on the tip of my middle finger. I reach down and find her anus. It eagerly accepts my slicked digit, each knuckle sliding through with minimal resistance, an ease brought on by many years.

It's so warm and soft inside her. Her sphincter grips at the base of my finger ineffectually as I curl my fingertip up against the tough lump of her prostate and thrust into her with deep, short strokes.

She breathes in herky jerky little breaths, her chest heaving, her face flushed. With the fingers of one hand, she plays with herself, not jerking off, but teasing her frenulum and her delicate glans.

My finger is making wet sloshing noises inside her. My thumb presses into the underside of her scrotum, the flat of it against her perineum. The air is perfumed with the tang of spit and fucked ass.

I lean down. My face is inches from hers. She looks into my eyes. So intense. She's high, so high in that liminal state of pre-orgasm, her pupils big and clouded with tears yet to be unleashed.

Soon, she sighs with gratitude, and that's my signal to release her. Not instantaneously--I let myself out slowly, letting her feel each knuckle, feeling her sphincter open and close over each one.

And she releases her cock, red and heavy with arousal, giving off the warm funk of genital secretions from beneath its purple crown.

This is how it usually is for her.

No fireworks for Kris. No definite orgasm. Very seldom an ejaculation of her glistening, translucent girlcum. Instead, a lasting state of pleasure for her to linger in, to which I gratefully look on.

A final wet kiss releases the last of our sexual tension like the unknotting of a taut rope.

We lie there in the middle of the bed, collapsed and limp, a puddle of people and cum and sweat that shimmers in the light of the rising sun through our open window.

We end up in the shower again. Neither of us minds.