Contract With a Succubus Pt. 02

The hand on Azalea's nipple had the easier job in my estimation. There were only so many things that could be done there. Lightly pinch the bud and roll it between your fingers. Very gentle flicks. Pin it against the areola and have it bounce back like one of those springy door stoppers. Move the whole hand down to caress, support, and/or worship the boob. I'm sure nothing I did was new to her, but Azalea was responding positively to every pinch and flick, so I generally stuck to that rotation of safe options.

The hand lower down benefited from the experience I just gained with my mouth, but required further innovation and refinement. Stroking and playing with the labia seemed like it was getting played out. The clitoris was still an active hotspot, but I wanted something else I could switch to that would add variety.

To stall for time on that particular issue, I decided to use my mouth in a different way. At the risk of getting admonished, after a series of neck kisses, I whispered into her ear, "I love you, Azalea."

One of her hands moved to the back of my head, gently pulling me into her. She then rested her head atop mine, stretched herself out from an especially passionate set of shudders, and moaned back, "More."

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me," I said, punctuating each statement with a kiss to her neck. "You're so patient. And supportive. And you make me want to be a better person."

"Dirtier," she said. I could hear the mischievous smirk in her reprimand.

"You're so hot. This is all so hot! Your body is like a musical instrument. Every time you moan, every word you say, it turns me on so much! You're so far out of my league. Every person in the world should kneel before you, worshiping you. Paying their tribute to your eyes. Your lips. Your boobs. There's enough hotness in your little finger to drive a person insane! You are my queen, and you deserve every second of pleasure I can possibly give you."

Much of what I said was probably nonsense, but the spirit of the words came from my heart. I continued my stream of consciousness as my hands did their best to provide Azalea with the pleasure I had promised. As I kept up my handiwork and my raunchy words, I could feel Azalea getting more and more worked up. There came a point where I felt a tension inside of her, like a bowstring slowly drawn back. I recognized that as a herald of Azalea's first orgasm, so I did my best to do exactly what I was doing to coax her into a second one, trying to maintain my fledgling dirty talk.

Perhaps to show me how it was done, Azalea grew more vocal as I felt her climax draw near. "Are you proud of yourself? Hmm? You should be. The first time you get a woman under your hands and you set her off twice? You could just stick you dick in there and call it a day, but instead you're making me feel so fucking good! Here it comes again! Ohhhhh, Andrew!"

She had gone over the edge once again. Small tremors had escalated to serious ones, Azalea's hips thrusting to hump my hand. Her dirty talk also grew in volume, at times almost growling her way through her second orgasm. At one point, she brought my face in front of hers, both of us flushed and out of breath, and she pressed my lips to hers.

She did not hold back this time. It felt like all of her ecstasy had routed itself directly into Azalea's mouth, and it was desperate to ride out her climax however it could. Things were sloppier, things got wetter, tongues got more involved, and lips smacked more than they had before. Azalea often pulled away to say something dirty or to moan or to tell me to keep going. It could only be described as a kiss by technicality. It was a direct pipeline from Azalea's orgasm spilling forth through her lips. She simply overpowered my lips, much to my own excitement.

Azalea's descent from her climax took longer than it had, staying higher for longer. Several long minutes passed until her hips stopped rocking and her breathing leveled out. She pulled away from the kiss for a final time to look me in the eyes again.

"Andrew, I'm so fucking wet. Get me off one more time, and then it's your turn."

She took her hand off from my head and grabbed my hand that was between her legs. Her fingers took control of mine, guiding them toward her opening. I hesitated at first for a very silly reason. Since everything had progressed so smoothly, my mind was still in foreplay mode, and it didn't seem right to bring penetration into foreplay. That was silly, of course, for a variety of reasons, one of which was because if Azalea wanted it, I was absolutely going to deliver to the best of my still-limited ability.

Her movements were so much more precise and experienced than mine. She knew exactly how to hit her own buttons, and she shared that knowledge with me by coaxing my hand wherever she pleased. Exactly which parts to rub and which to pinch. Teaching me what speed and pressure she liked best. All the while, she fed me a stream of dirty advice, demands, and encouragement. She took her time, getting nice and ready before bringing my fingers to their ultimate destination.

She pressed one of my fingers to her entrance, leaving the final push to me. I couldn't resist giving her inner lips one final, slow stroke, drawing it out for one last, tantalizing moment. "Are you sure you're ready?" I asked. Every possible indication let me know that she was, but asking for permission was such an ingrained habit that I just had to be sure.

"I'm ready, baby. You've made me so, so ready! Do it! Finish me one more time!" Her tone was still commanding, but her need was bubbling from under the surface. Even her other hand joined in the fun, grabbing and tugging at her nipple that I wasn't teasing.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I pressed my finger into Azalea, her lips giving way to her most sacred tunnel. As soon as her passage was breached, we both swooned in unison. I couldn't speak for Azalea, but to me it felt incredible! Her soft walls pressed into my finger from every side, seemingly eager for more. They would clench slightly every time she tensed up from pleasure, and I challenged myself to make her do it on purpose from time to time with a flick of her nip or a rub of her clit.

My finger carefully made its way through Azalea's depths, mapping out which areas to focus on. It was surprising to learn that some spots were more sensitive than others. I guess I always assumed that everything would be more or less the same in there, but I learned differently as things kept going. The same stroke that sent her shuddering just an inch ago didn't have any effect on the next point, but rubbing it firmly brought a heavy moan from her throat. More than anything, it reinforced that I needed to feel for her reactions and adjust accordingly.

To keep things from stagnating, I removed my hand from her breast and began stroking her hair, combing through it and letting my short nails barely scratch her scalp and neck. Why in the world hadn't I done that earlier? After just one stroke, Azalea let out the cutest little squeak, pressing her head harder into my hand and sighing deeply. I noticed that a strand had fallen in front of her face, so I brushed it out of the way, tucking it gently behind her ear. The loving look she gave me for that melted my heart, and she brought her lips to mine in a kiss that I eagerly accepted.

As we shared a kiss, my free hand explored her body. There was no ulterior purpose for it: she was hot and I was horny and she was pressed up against me and it just felt right. Every curve of her body, every slope, valley, and crevice that looked so, so beautiful felt even more so beneath my hand. I could feel her bones, her muscle and fat, her strength, her softness. I could have spent forever worshiping her, and would have done so happily if she asked.

Instead, she asked me for something else. "Come on, Andrew. Really get in there! You won't hurt me, I promise. Fuck, you're doing so good!" Her lower hand pressed against another of my fingers, telling me to add it to the one inside of her. This time, I didn't stall or argue. I slid my first one out to just the first knuckle, then added a second one in. Unsurprisingly, she was even tighter around two fingers than one. I made steady progress, reclaiming lost ground as Azalea played with herself.

Something felt off about using my first two fingers. I could tell that my hand would cramp after a short time, so I gently removed myself from Azalea's glorious confines and tried again with my middle two fingers.

Immediately, I could feel a huge difference, both for me and for Azalea. On my end, it was a much more ergonomic position that gave my hand more freedom of motion. Azalea voiced her appreciation of that added range of motion, letting her head roll back and moaning about how I should keep going. The new position also freed up my thumb, allowing it to get into all kinds of naughty trouble. Her clitoris was exactly one thumb length away, so I moved there, stroking it in a gentle dance with Azalea's own fingers.

To share in the sharing, my other hand abandoned its general worship of Azalea's body and instead settled on a more permanent location. Specifically, I brought it over to the same breast that Azalea herself was groping, adding what I could without getting in her way. Once I arrived and made my intentions known, she placed her hand on top of mine, once again guiding me through what she liked. There was a lot more squeezing than I would have been comfortable with if left on my own, but with Azalea encouraging me every step of the way, I let go of my inhibitions and squeezed away, much to her wriggling pleasure.

Neither of us seemed eager to move on from that arrangement. I was paying attention for Azalea to move me onto the next position, but that move never came. Instead, I worked my fingers slowly further into her depths, lavishing more and more attention on each section that came within range of my probing digits. The two of us got into a rhythm around her clit, an intricate dance beyond the scope of words, sometimes moving together and sometimes apart, but always moving in time to draw more gasps and moans from her. Our hands on her breast danced to a much simpler rhythm: she led and I followed. Not to say that I was incompetent at this point, but when her hand on top of mine nudged me in a direction, I followed eagerly. And all the while, the two of us maintained a conversation of sorts, moaning and whispering into the ears of the other. For what felt to me like a very long, very enjoyable time, we coexisted in a state sexy equilibrium.

And then I found the spot. I knew it instantly. Azalea's reaction was unmistakable. Even if her coo of "Right there! Ooooooo, right there" didn't give it away, her sharp intake of breath and the way her knees shook would have been enough. The spot in question was a slightly bumpy, rougher patch inside her, about the size of one fingertip.

There appeared to be no wrong way to stimulate that spot. Everything seemed to work. Light strokes brought little gasps and shudders. Moderate rubs resulted in moans and involuntary kicks. Heavy petting? Arched back and throaty growls. Only by actively looking for the upper limit did I find it, bringing a wince and a stern reprimand when I tried to really dig in there. I did my best to stay just under that threshold, sensing that the end was drawing near. Azalea's words and movements were becoming less and less coherent. I took a risk, trying to send her over the edge.

"Please, Azalea. Please cum for me."

The levee broke. Every muscle in her body seized tight. No sound escaped her lips. Her eyes were squeezed shut, head thrown back in a silent scream. For a brief moment, I was the only thing that moved, determined to continue no matter what.

Everything came back all at once. Azalea released a moan that sounded like a scream, a wordless howl to vent her pleasure. She brought her lower hand to mine, forcing me to stay in her like my hand was nothing but a toy. A toy that she thrust her hips into, trying to force me deeper and deeper, maybe hoping that I'd find another vein of orgasm in there somewhere. Her tunnel made that search difficult, erratically squeezing and releasing my fingers, spilling forth liquid arousal that coated our hands.

All throughout her climax, I maintained my exact technique and rhythm, hoping to keep her at the summit for as long as possible. I even kept up my hopefully-dirty-enough talk, gently encouraging her to let it all out and telling her how well she was doing and letting her know that she was the hottest person of all time.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes gathered together and formed several minutes. Azalea's orgasm seemed to have identifiable phases, which transitioned into each other with no clear pattern. The all-out phase was simple enough, a total release of ecstasy through loud moans and gyrating hips. The shaking phase was much quieter, but her body did more talking (so to speak), every limb rocking uncontrollably. The vocal phase was interesting, every muscle in her body frozen except for her snatch and her mouth, complete sentences moaned to me or to herself or to nobody in particular. The bottled-up phase caught me by surprise, Azalea becoming still and quiet enough that I thought she might be finished, but it was only a temporary calm amid the storm before her orgasm swept her up once again and whisked her away to another round of pleasure. After what seemed like every permutation of every way her body could revel in its sensations, Azalea at last settled into a relaxed, panting position, tiny shivers only occasionally running down her body.

"Fuck. Andrew..." she trailed off, panting. Azalea brought her hand to the back of my head, turning me to face her again. One look into her eyes was all the encouragement I needed to lean into a silently-offered kiss. Not one filled with the unbridled passion of before, but one of mutual appreciation, a thank-you and you're-welcome expressed through our lips. Neither of us felt any rush to move on from that kiss, holding each other and basking in the feelings between us.

Eventually, Azalea removed her lips from mine and stared at me with her game face on. "Now it's your turn," she said, reaching for my penis. It had been poking into her thigh or butt the entire time, my hard-on not flagging even once since we began. "Are you ready to experience pleasure as you never have before?"

"I'm ready, Azalea, but I'm pretty close already."

"Then you had better prepare yourself," she said, slowly stroking my modest length. "Few enough have ever been graced with the soul shattering ecstasy I have in store for you. Hours of bliss await you, an eternity of ecstasy under my ministrations. Everything you thought you knew about pleasure will collapse under the new paradigm of - eeeep!"

I had warned her that I was close, and her gentle playing was all it took. A few jerks of my hips, maybe three quick shots and a dribble, and it was all over. I sighed contentedly and nuzzled further into Azalea's neck.

"No! Oh fuck, no," she said, clearly flustered, completely breaking her authoritative character, "no no no! I meant to keep you going longer like you did for me! Hold on, I'll jus-"

She couldn't continue because I cut her off with a kiss. Her balled fists lightly battered my chest, whether in frustration or indignation I couldn't say. When I pulled away, she started to give an apology or offer to "fix it," but I placed a finger on her lips to quiet her.

"It's okay," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Azalea shook her head and evaded my finger. "But it's not fair that you've been going for hours on me and then you only get a minute! You deserve to get something as amazing as you gave me!"

"Azalea. That is not how this works. I don't 'deserve' anything. You wanted me to go down on you, so I did, and I hope I don't overstep our boundaries when I say that it was amazing for both of is. I thoroughly enjoyed hours of hot, sexy sex, and I'm completely satisfied with that. Both of us don't need to give and take in equal amounts all the time. If you want to keep going, then I'm ready, too, but I can stop now and that will truly be just fine with me."

Uncertainly, she asked, "Do you mean it? Are you sure?"

I could not have been more certain. "I mean it one hundred percent. You know, there's a ritual I hear about that people can perform right after sex, and I'm pretty interested in it, myself. I believe they call it... cuddling. Would you like to perform this 'cuddling' with me?" I asked, doing my best to wiggle my eyebrows.

That brought an adorable little snort from Azalea. "You're such a dork," she said, holding me closer to her, "but you're my dork. Here, let me clean us off."

With the smallest flick of a finger, all of our combined fluids vanished. No messy sheets, no messy people, no need to disengage from the warm softness of Azalea next to me. She took my hand in hers and draped it across herself. With my other arm already meeting it on the other side, she pressed my body closer to hers, designating herself as the little spoon and me as the slightly-shorter big spoon. We passed the afternoon in comfortable bliss, talking and dozing in turns, both content to bask in each other's presence, enjoying the moment for as long as it could last.