Oversexed

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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,017 Followers

When he pulled me up onto my feet in front of him, he took my mouth with his in a deep, possessive kiss, while he pushed my shorts and jock off my hips. I let them shinny down my legs and stepped out of them.

"I'm Luis," he said, after he'd freed me from the kiss, if not from the gaze of his incongruously blue eyes.

"Chris," I automatically answered. I rarely gave a man my name, and never my real one—at least not before now; not since Pete. That I'd given him my name somehow bound me to him. To that point, some part of me had wanted to pull away and escape, even though this was the type of encounter I dreamed of and had entered before, only to be disappointed in the domination of the man and his insistence on a fast fuck centered only on his own need. Once I'd given him my name I was bound to him, though.

"Do you live near here? Is here someplace we can go?" he asked.

My home, nearly within sight of where we were, was my private retreat. I had decided it was sanctuary, no matter what. I instinctively answered, "No, sorry."

I immediately was afraid this would change everything, that it would put him off. But it didn't. He merely stood, lifted me—being taller and heavier than I was—lowered my back onto the fir branch, and took me there.

I grabbed the branches over my head and swayed in the branch my back was lying in, as he wishboned my legs and attacked my cock and balls and hole with his mouth until he had me hard, open, and begging for his cock. He'd gotten protection from somewhere and somehow got it rolled onto his monstrous snake of a cock and hunched over me, still wishboning my legs, his face close to mine, his eyes boring into mine, holding me in thrall and controlling me, as he entered, entered, entered me and penetrated me to a depth no man had reached before.

When he was fully inside me and I felt his balls against the tender skin of my inner thighs, he held, as I gasped, close to hyperventilation and eventually whined, "Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

As he pumped me then, big balls slapping rhythmically against tender inner thighs, I felt myself slowly rising to the Nirvana zone. He continued, a slow, steady, deep thrusting and I was there—in the zone, where I hadn't been since the days when Pete and I were clicking along on all cylinders, early in our relationship.

"Yes, yes, like that. Don't stop. Take me higher," I whined, gasping and melting to him. He didn't stop. He was a veritable fucking machine, pumping me interminably. "Stay with me deep," I whined, and, as if he understood exactly what I needed, he moved deep inside me and held there, as I went to Nirvana, exploding again and again on his rock-hard shaft holding steady deep in my gut.

I went from happy to melting to melted and shimmering, firing off twice while he was still inside me in that position, burbling meaninglessly, crying, sobbing, begging him to finish me, and, after he had, begging him to stay inside me. Begging him to finish me again, and, when he had, purring and sobbing at the same time. I went soft and vulnerable for him. He conquered me, tortured me, slayed me, giving me no mercy, taking me more completely than I'd ever been possessed before—and forever, fucking me in waves and waves of surrender and pleasure—a death by cock.

I knew when he came, as it was with his body tensing and shaking, and his cock thrusting up deeper inside me then it had ever been. He didn't withdraw, though. He pulled my legs into his side, causing my shimmering channel to sheath his throbbing cock closer, and he leaned down and kissed me—on the lips, all over my face and throat, on my nipples, to return eventually and fully possess my mouth. I was clutching his shoulder blades with my hands, digging my fingernails into his back. But he didn't complain.

I felt his going hard again and tore my lips away from his, and cried out, "Fuck! Shit! Yes, yes!" as he turned me on his cock, face down into the needles of the fir branch and took me into the Nirvana zone—and beyond—again.

When he pulled out of me this time, I was barely conscious. I was dancing on the clouds and barely aware that he had withdrawn and was standing and pulling his jock and shorts back into place.

"I hope you're OK, that I didn't hurt you."

Of course you didn't hurt me. You fucked me like no one has fucked me before. That's what I wanted to say, but I was in no condition to say anything. I was still moaning deeply—still in the Nirvana zone even though his cock no longer was inside me. I tried to vocalize that I was lost to him but nothing came out but drool and whimpering.

"Pity there's no place for us to go," I heard him say. "I'd like to do you again. You're a sweet lay. It just isn't safe here. They patrol the park."

I wanted to scream that I lived just over the hill—that I'd take him there—that I'd open my legs to him all night, all weekend. All month. But, by the time I was able to form the words, "No, wait," I was alone. I walked the entire system of Brandywine Battlefield Park paths, but I didn't see him again.

I dragged myself back to the cottage. It had been wonderful while it was happening, but it left me bereft. I hadn't been wrong. I was capable of being fully satisfied by a man. And the yearning was still there—now more than ever. Nothing I'd done had been able to change my need and want. I couldn't handle this alone. It almost would have been better to have decided I couldn't be satisfied fully.

The next day, I started calling around for a recommendation of a shrink to go to to help me do something about this craziness I had. I got a referral and called for an appointment. I would go into Philadelphia the next week.

* * * *

I had signed up for Dr. L. Phillips's last appointment for the day. I would take advantage of already being in Philadelphia to hit the bars and hope for a hookup that would be satisfying, but after Luis in the park I didn't think any man ever again could satisfy me.

I did a double-take when I was ushered into the therapist's office. I could swear that . . . but he wasn't showing any recognition, so maybe . . . He didn't have the earrings and was quite professionally dressed, so maybe it was just the familiarity and me remembering a man who wasn't really that similar. I wasn't paying all that much attention to Luis in the park after he'd begun fucking me. Just the eyes. The therapist had glasses on—with yellowish lenses.

I certainly wasn't going to say anything if he didn't. I wasn't going to be the one to suggest that he was the man who . . . who had fucked me so fully, totally manhandled me and conquered me. Who had made me his willing, malleable slave, if only for an hour in the woods.

"Come, lay down on this couch over here and tell me what's bothering you, Chris." The voice. A smooth, low baritone. And he called me Chris. But he would have known that from his appointments book. I wouldn't be the one to make the connection if there was one to be made. Phillips. That wasn't an Hispanic name. But blue eyes. There would be some sort of mix there.

I stretched out on his couch. He was standing beside a wing chair that was a good ten feet away from the couch and pointing to the side. A therapist's positioning, I guessed. The therapist could be there but not directly connected.

"Tell me why you have come to me," he said. He wasn't sitting in the chair yet. Shouldn't he be sitting in the chair with a pen and a notebook?

"It's about . . . it's about . . ."

"It's about sex, isn't it?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes," I answered. "I can't be satisfied . . . well, other than once, recently . . . I'm oversexed. That's what my last partner said. I thought we could make it work, but he said that our problem was that I could never get enough . . . that I was oversexed."

"Being oversexed is a condition, Chris. It's not a problem. Or it doesn't need to be a problem."

The voice was coming from farther away. I turned my head and saw that he was at the door, turning the lock. Then he was walking toward me, unbuckling his belt, slipping his trousers off his hips.

"The answer to satisfying being oversexed is to match up with a partner who also is oversexed," he said as he pulled his trousers off his legs. His cock, hard, black, thick, and long poked through the part in his dress shirt.

Luis. Luis of the park. It was Luis from the park.

He was standing at the foot of the couch, rolling a condom on his cock, slipping my loafers off, reaching up and undoing my belt, unzipping me, pulling my trousers and briefs off my legs.

I was frozen to the couch, already moaning. He climbed onto the couch, hovering over my body. Grasping my ankles and hooking them on his shoulders.

"Being oversexed is a gift, Chris. An oversexed submissive is a rare gift for an oversexed dominant. It isn't a problem. It is a glorious gift." He reached up, taking my wrists in the grip of one of his strong hands. His other one was fingering my hole. I winced and gasped as he entered me with two fingers and then a third.

"I lied," I whimpered.

"How so?"

"I did have someplace we could go. My house is next to the park. This weekend, you could—"

"Of course. But we may be here through the weekend," he said. Then he gave a low laugh.

I moaned as his fingers withdrew and then gasped, arched my back, and cried out as he entered me, going deep with a strong, fully possessing thrust, holding there, waiting for me to adjust to him before he took me to the Nirvana zone, still hard and deep inside me, motionless until I had exploded on the hard cock again and again, and then he would start taking his pleasure of me.

I wouldn't be barhopping in Philadelphia tonight. I wouldn't be in the condition to bar hop anywhere for some time to come.

sr71plt
sr71plt
3,017 Followers
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4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
Only issue

I found the term Nirvana Zone somehow off-putting, and was a bit over used in the beginning. Other than that was a good read, though I do normally prefer a bit more foreplay 😉

63lsmith63lsmithover 6 years ago
A NICE READ

Your not alone.

AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
That was so good

Some of the best jerk off material on this site

AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
As usual

Well written as always. I can tell you are writing from real feelings. Hope you find the man you need.

Bet you were really an RO not PIC. Doesn't matter, you are good.

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