Apartment Stories Ch. 04

"I'd better get an A for this."

In response, he pushed a little harder and I felt that tight ring of muscle begin to capitulate. My fingers worked steadily between my legs. This was the best and worst part -- being claimed in a way that wasn't meant to be but deriving the most insane pleasure from it regardless.

I gasped when he finally breached the ring. Then a deep breath. It would go easier now.

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

I wished that I could see it as he could. This rod of flesh embedded in my ass. Though I couldn't see it, I could certainly feel it. The discomfort faded and I drifted on the pleasure of being filled, occupied.

"Go easy," I whispered.

He applied more lube to his cock and returned his hands to my hips.

The first several strokes were long, slow, and shallow, but deeper each time.

I felt myself relax into my surrender and gave my full attention to the various sensations that cascaded through my brain. My fingers, my ass, his cock.

At last I felt his skin on my warm and burning cheeks and I knew that he'd buried himself completely. "Thank God" gave way to "Why don't we do this more often?" because it felt so good. I'd never admit it to him, fearing that he would add this to the regular menu. And yet, there was nothing quite like it.

Because it was such a rare treat, he took his time, sliding deliberately in and out. This I could take. This I would want again soon.

From behind me I could hear his breathing. I knew him well enough to suspect that he was taking his time to draw the moment out.

I drifted to his rhythm. In and out. Smooth, steady, and slow.

Eventually, the cadence of his thrusts increased.

His hands bracketed my waist, pushing me into the armrest. I was pinned. By this point, I was probably nothing more than a hole for him. A hole that held him tight. A hole that promised bliss.

Flesh slapped with each thrust now and I had to moan. Not out of discomfort exactly, but something else. A reaction to being so close to losing myself.

My sphincter clenched around his base and I groaned into the pillow that I'd gathered to my face. It became a blissful, uncomfortable, mind-blowing feedback loop. Clench, spasm, moan. Try to relax. Fail. Clench again. My fingers danced wetly on my clit, prodding me to the edge.

Then finally came the surge. The tingling mindless rush of release, the moment when nothing else mattered and all sensation became a blur, an exposed nerve that you couldn't help but to touch.

The pillow muffled my moans and whimpers and gasps.

He abandoned the gentle strokes of earlier. Now he crashed into me with barely restrained violence. Any consideration of my comfort fell by the wayside and that was okay. I rocked on the armrest as he pummeled me.

My ass burned under the onslaught and I prayed that he would soon come.

His rhythm faltered. He gasped. Then swelled. Then swore as he unloaded into me.

He stayed buried within me for several minutes, though it felt like much longer. After the endorphin rush of release, I became more aware of how much he'd stretched me and how abused my poor hole had been.

"You really need to get out now," I said.

I held my breath as he withdrew. His cock felt impossibly long. I'd recover, of course, and set my internal timer for a reprise.

Later, we drank some more port. I nestled into him on the sofa, no longer dressed as a schoolgirl. Flannel PJs. Less sexy but more comfortable.

We looked for something on Netflix, getting the Netflix and chill all backwards.

"You said the girl had a photograph above her bed. Impressions of a rope on an arm."

"Uh-huh."

I smiled. I had my idea for my play day.