Insatiable Pt. 02

Laurie had to admit that his lips and tongue were just as skilled at arousing her as his fingers had been on that incredible Sunday afternoon when he'd first invaded her body. Seizing her bottom with both hands, he worked her labia and clitoris over until they were pouring out a veritable river of her juices. He licked it all up and continued nuzzling her—and when her climax burst over her, causing her to gag and choke while clutching the sheets spasmodically, he continued to nurture that orgasm until it enveloped her entire being. The pleasure was so intense that it was almost painful—almost, but not quite. She squeezed her own breasts shamelessly, but he was hardly paying attention, fondling her with his mouth until she was forced to shove him away and roll up into a fetal position, trembling all over.

Gasping and dizzy, she watched him slowly undress, then climb onto the bed. In her condition she realized there was not much hope that she could regain any sort of control over the situation; so she just lay on her back, spread her legs, and let him plunge into her.

He started slow but soon picked up the pace, pummeling her so hard that their bodies came together with sharp slapping sounds. Sometimes he raised himself up with arms extended, looking down at her with an almost blank expression, as if he was an objective observer watching two people in the midst of coitus. And when he came, he poured a massive amount of his seed into her while plugging her up to the very limit: his pubic hair mingled with her own as every centimeter of his cock lay embedded into her crevice.

When he pulled out, she felt such a sense of emptiness that she was almost stunned. His orgasm, intense as it appeared to be, didn't have the enervating effect that hers had on her. When he rolled off of her, he placed her on top of himself—but even so, she didn't feel any sense of dominance: the act was so obviously a kind of patroizing gesture that perpetuated his own control of her.

To say nothing of allowing him to massage her bottom—more for his than her benefit, although she wasn't complaining. But it didn't surprise her when he spoke into her ear:

"I want to go into your bottom."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Is this your way of asking?"

He didn't reply, but continued to gaze intently at her.

"Oh, all right," she said with a sigh. "Better get some lube."

He heaved himself off the bed, trotted to the bathroom, and came back with the same jar of cold cream he'd used before. She made a mental note never to use that particular jar on her face.

After lubing her up, he did something she didn't expect. Instead of draping himself over her as she lay prone, he took her legs and placed them over the edge of the bed, so that her feet were touching the floor. Then, standing behind her, he entered her bottom.

This second entry into that previously forbidden area was a little less painful than the first time, but it still hurt a bit—and matters weren't helped by the fact that Patrick forged farther and farther in with each thrust. After a while it felt as if some hot poker was being rammed up her butt, and she again lapsed into a kind of brain freeze as he did his business. Even more than before, she felt utterly at his mercy—and this time he didn't trouble to produce a simultaneous climax for her and himself.

Instead, he pulled out abruptly—and painfully—and spattered her bottom with his second emission. Some of the hot liquid shot up all the way up her back almost to her neck, while other dollops dripped down to join his previous emission, now oozing out of her vagina. Then he actually re-inserted his cock into her bottom, so that the final remnants of his discharge were deposited into her rectum.

He quickly retreated to the bathroom to wash himself. As he climbed back into bed, lying comfortably on his back, she glared at him.

"You really pounded me that time," she said while rubbing her bottom.

"You can take it," he said blandly.

Was this some backhanded compliment?—some twisted acknowledgment of her "strength" as a woman, which allowed her to endure this kind of punishment as a point of feminist pride? She almost wanted to order him from her bed, but in resignation she acquiesced to a little more post-coital cuddling.

Somehow she didn't think they were done for the night. So it wasn't entirely unexpected that he said to her, "How about some sixty-nine?"

She was close to rolling her eyes. Doesn't this guy ever get enough? "All right," she said without enthusiasm. "But I'm a bit of a mess down there."

"I don't care about that."

Once again, he magnanimously let her get on top—and, as a matter of fact, this was in her mind the best position for the act. As she clambered on top of him, her face now facing the cock that had miraculously hardened almost before her eyes, she at first just gave it a few licks and nibbles. The fact that this nine-inch rod had just been in her anus made her a bit queasy, but she had to admit that he had washed it pretty well.

And when Patrick himself began licking her sex with enthusiasm, she was struck by how he was the first man of her acquaintance to have no problem swallowing his own come. That thought also made her queasy, especially since she was facing the prospect of having her own mouth filled with his seed, assuming he could actually come a third time. Yuk! How slimy and salty! It wasn't the pleasantest substance to have on her tongue or slide down her throat.

But, as he again seized her bottom (he clearly had a fetish for women's posteriors) and used his lips and tongue to cover the entire area, she had to admit that he knew what he was doing. In fact, as she herself got down to the serious business of stuffing as much of that big cock into her mouth, she began sensing that he would give her multiple climaxes before he finally exploded with one of his own.

And that's exactly what happened. His energy was tireless, and he was already gaining a sense of exactly when an orgasm was coming upon her—and when it did, he let up a bit in his ministrations to let her enjoy her paroxysm to the fullest. Then he resumed, intent on coaxing yet another climax out of her.

Meanwhile, she became so fixated on the phallus looming gigantically in front of her that she memorized every ridge and vein of it, from the bulbous head to the thick shaft to the forest of hair out of which it emerged from his groin. His balls were also a source of fascination, large and loose and seeming to tighten or quiver at times. But he didn't come, even after thirty or forty minutes of her dutiful attention. She was just on the point of thinking—as her third climax in this position, and fourth overall, coursed over her—that he had reached his limit, when that telltale light grunt of his signaled the onset of his long-delayed orgasm.

The fluid shot into her mouth, hitting the top of her palate with some force, while other jets of it struck her teeth and landed on her tongue. Certain that he would be displeased if she spit the stuff out, she worked hard at swallowing some of it while more dollops filled her mouth. One small stream did trickle out of her mouth and down his shaft, but she scooped it up with a finger and put it back on her tongue, and it slid easily down her throat.

She flopped off of him onto her back, staring up at the ceiling in utter exhaustion.

"Omigod," she breathed, "I thought you'd never come."

"Were you in a hurry?" he said, calm and collected as ever, although his face was messily smeared with her own juices.

"No, I suppose not. But I'm so tired now. Can we go to sleep?"

"Of course, dear."

It was assumed that he would spend the night; anyway, she had no desire to be deserted by him the way he'd done on their second date. She was too tired to put on a nightgown, so she just curled up on her side of the bed and, giving him a light kiss on the mouth, turned her back to him and fell asleep.

Or tried to. For all her weariness, her mind was racing. She was certain she'd never had a sexual encounter like this in her whole life—not even in her wild college days, when horny undergraduates had tried to poke her every which way to prove their virility. At that time she'd icily rejected any invasion of her bottom, and the guys had had to settle for multiple probings of her pussy and mouth. But none of them had exhibited the insatiable lust that Patrick Williamson had shown.

How did she feel about him? She was too confused to tell. In some ways he angered the hell out of her: he had such a matter-of-fact sense of his own superiority that she was constantly—and vainly—searching for some way to pop the bubble of dominance that he continually demonstrated. And yet, another side of her was attracted to him in spite of herself—and attracted in a way that had a horrible element of self-abasement in it. No matter how much she struggled against him—physically and emotionally—she could never win. She might as well be some captive of war, chained to the wall of a dungeon for some randy soldier to satisfy his desires on over and over.

But she'd have to wrestle with these issues later. Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep.

But that became difficult when Patrick slid over to her and, placing a hand on her breast, stuffed his cock into her butt.

She was barely aware of what was happening. To her surprise, she felt no pain—and then remembered a friend of hers telling her that the anus remains "open" quite a while after a penis has entered it, so that a second invasion is almost always less uncomfortable than the first.

She was too tired to complain—and, in fact, rather liked the warmth that radiated from his body and covered her backside. That hand grabbing her boob did seem a bit proprietary (he doesn't own that part of my body—or any part!), but even that felt rather nice, all things considered. What he thought he hoped to accomplish, she couldn't for the life of her understand; there was simply no way he could actually come again. Four times in one night? It was unheard of! What was he, a porn star?

So she just lapsed into a kind of semi-coma, dimly sensing the relatively gentle and smooth thrusting of his member in and out of her anus. After what seemed like fifteen or twenty minutes she thought a mild mini-climax came over her, but he was nowhere near finished. The action of his cock seemed so rhythmically mechanical that it was actually soothing, and she felt herself drifting off to sleep again.

Then, seemingly to his own surprise, he came, flooding her anus yet again with a discharge that seemed never-ending. His grip on her breast tightened; then, with a sigh, he pulled out of her and rolled away, leaving her with such a sense of vacancy that she suddenly seemed incomplete.

But before he himself fell into a heavy sleep, she heard—or thought or dreamed or hallucinated that she heard—him mutter, almost absently, "I love you, Laurie."