Symon & Michelle: Endurance

He realized that she was looking at him. She tried to glare, but she was too tired for it to be effective. Symon grinned at her as he walked back to the table. He picked up the clover clamps with the chain, another length of rope, and a cold bottle of water.

He took a swig of the water and then offered her a sip. At first she shook her head, but when he raised an eyebrow, she nodded, and took some water. He sat on the side of the bed, near her head, tying the rope to the middle of the chain connecting the clover clamps. She turned her head to eye him.

She knew what he was about to do. She cursed herself again. She'd told him about this, that before she met him, when she pleasured herself, she often pinched her nipples and pulled her tits up against gravity. That she would clamp her fingers onto her nipples so tightly that she could pull her breasts straight up, make them jiggle, feel the weight of her flesh straining. She looked at Symon, her eyes narrowed, as he finished.

He leaned down, clamped each nipple, and she winced, pursing her lips. He tossed the end of the rope over the spreader bar, taking up the slack until her breasts pull away from her chest wall. She rolled her shoulders and pressed herself into the mattress again. He yanked on the rope, watching her wince as the clamps pinched a little tighter. He tied off the rope.

Symon reached down, stroked her cheek, ran his thumb across her lips.

"You ok?" he asked, and she heard the sincerity in his voice.

She nodded. "Sure."

He trailed his fingers up and down the underside of her breasts, stopping to pinch near her areolas and flicking the thin skin underneath and near her ribs. He tugged on the clamps, and they tightened again.

She groaned. He laughed. Her eyes flew open and she glared at him again. He chuckled again at her impotent fury. "I should tell you to go fuck yourself," she said. "I should tell you to suck my dick." She let out a long, weary sigh.

"Go on, cunt. Tell me that." He sounded amused, but there was a threat under there too.

He reached back, switched on the Hitachi, and stood. She immediately started writhing, groaning, rolling her hips. The ropes held the vibrator in its place, and each jerk of her shoulders caused the clamps to squeeze more. She realized she had to lay still, forced herself to breathe smoothly. She turned to look at him.

"Sometimes I fucking hate you," she said.

He nodded. Then she shook her head. "That's not really true. I never hate you. But I hate this bullshit."

He took a breath, but she wasn't done. "It's ok though." She gasped as another orgasm started to build in her. As she was shaking. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then she forced the words out. "It's ok though. I know my hating this bullshit is at least half the point for you."

If she had anything else to say, it was lost in the long shuddering groan that glided out of her.

Symon took off his jeans and sat in the armchair, he'd moved it out from the table, so he had a good view of her. He wrapped the cock ring around his prick and behind his balls, adjusting it so that it was snug. He watched her rolling around, unable to prevent herself from moving. He relinquished control for a minute, let his body react to the sight in front of him. He got erect rapidly, his cock thickening, lengthening and the blood making his skin darker. He noted the different tension, as the cock ring trapped the blood, making his dick harder and heavier than usual. His glans reddening, his balls shifting, and he noticed the sensation of them being held in place. Almost like when Michelle sucked his nuts into her mouth, the feeling similar to her lips closing around them.

He stretched out in the chair, head resting on the back, his legs splayed open and hands loose on the armrests. He let her sounds and smells wash over him. He drank in the sight of her competing desires. He sat, watching, loving every second, loving every sound. She kept trying to buck the vibrator off of her clit, twisting and rolling her hips. But each movement of her legs also shifted her shoulders, which made her tits jiggle, swaying against gravity and the tension of the clamps on her nipples. He noticed the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

She was moaning softly, an almost constant keening as another in a long series of orgasms tunneled through her. As her tits and nipples caught fire. This was exactly what he needed. To set something up and be able to passively watch her torture herself. He'd left the vibrator on its lowest setting, so that the orgasms are a little unpredictable. He wasn't sure how much time has elapsed, how long he'd let this go on.

His cock was harder than he can remember, weeping precum, his head now purple. He got up, sauntered over and turned up the vibrator. Her eyes flew open and she grunted, "Bastard."

He casually slapped her pussy a few times, then swatted the underside of her tits, making them jiggle. He could fuck her as she lay. But he had another plan instead. He stroked her legs, gliding up and down her inner thighs, then wrapped his hands around her ankles. She watched him with her eyes half closed, searching for her equilibrium again.

He turned the vibrator up to its highest setting, and she let out a low, guttural scream. He walked away, got his last item out of the refrigerator and took his seat in the armchair again. He sat, watching, enjoying her show, enjoying her struggle. He looked for some indescribable signal from her that she was on the edge. That if he pushed past that edge she'll lose it; that she'd collapse in on herself, that things will have gone too far. He did that once. He missed the signal, missed that she was at her end, that she didn't have the wherewithal to tell him. She'd forgiven him, but it wasn't something that he would knowingly repeat.

She was twitching, and panting. Her breath came out of her in short bursts. The sweat had bloomed on all of her skin, which was flushed from arousal in overdrive. He picked up the last thing he got from the fridge, went to her, and shut off the vibrator.

"OH. Oh, thank you. Ohthankgod." She breathed, her eyes fluttering, and not quite open.

He lifted the vibrator away from her, untied the ropes and put the contraption on the bedside table. He untied the rope connected to the nipple clamps, lowering her tits slowly. When he unfastened the clamps, her eyes flew open, dilated and wild. He added that to the table and sat next to her. He stroked her cheeks, ran his thumb over her chin, over her lips. She opened her mouth and licked the pad of his thumb.

Michelle looked at him. She'd felt lost, had felt like she was floating in some warm ocean. She'd started to lose the edges of her body, the boundary between inside and out starting to blur. She blinked, rolled her shoulders, her torso, and bent her knees. Symon stroked her breasts, massaging the tips, watching her grimace as the circulation returns to normal. He patted her cheek.

He nodded toward her feet. "One last thing."

He reached around, untied the rope and lowered the spreader bar so that her legs were flat on the bed. She sat up, scooting back so that her feet didn't hang off. Symon moved to unbuckle one of the ankle cuffs, but changed his mind. He decided instead to twist the middle section of the bar, moving her ankles closer together, reducing the stretch on her legs. He massaged her thighs, making small circles with the heel of his hands in the meat of her quadriceps.

She flopped backward, groaning. "Ohmigod, that feels good."

He laughed, now rubbing his hands on her hips, the making more small circles on her lower abdomen, then her stomach, and her sides. Then rubbing quickly along her flanks, and down to her calves.

She sighed, heavily. Then she breathed in and sighed again. She gave a low chortle. "Ok. Right now I don't hate you."

Symon chortles in turn. "Just wait."

She startled, staring at him. Looking at him as though she's really seeing him for the first time that whole night. She took in the look on his face, the hard, bemused, predatory expression with which he regarded her even as continued to massage her skin, and get all of her blood circulating.

"You didn't think I was done, did you?"

"Um," she started to say something, but she's not even sure what she can say. Then Symon stood, and she sees the state of his cock. Her eyes widen farther, he was as thick as she's ever seen, red and looked like his cock is carved from solid steel.

She tried to smile sweetly, tried to bat her eyelashes flirtatiously. "Um, hey there. Want a blow job, or something?"

"No," he says softly.

He reached over for the bottle on the bedside table, the last thing he'd gotten from the fridge. It was one of those squeeze bottles that restaurants use for sauce. It would drip individual drops on her, or he could squirt out a continuous stream. He stood next to her head, and Michelle turned toward him. She scooted her shoulders over, trying to lick the head of his cock. She thought that she could distract him from this last plan, whatever it is. She thought she could encourage him to wind things down with a good hard fuck.

He let her lick him, let her think that he'd succumbed to her manipulations. He let her suckle his tip, let out a contented sigh. He was content, sort of. He was content, at least, to slow things down just enough that the ramp up will be even more contrast. He eased closer to the bed, and she scooted closer to him, twisting her upper body, closing her lips around his head. She hummed softly.

He looked down at her, waiting until she was distracted. Her breasts wiggled, her nipples still erect. Her nipples were swollen, still a little misshapen from the clamps and the stretching. Her areolas are redder than usual. She sucked the end of his cock, bobbing her head, taking in as much of him as she can, in the position she's in.

He held up the squeeze bottle, tipped the opening down, lets the first drop of liquid fall. It landed on her breast, just outside her areola proper. She jerked back, gasping.

"What the fuck?" she blurted.

He dripped more of the liquid on her, a line of small drops across the tips of her breasts. She twisted, lying flat on her back, staring at the bottle. He dropped more on her, hitting the other nipple squarely. She shuddered, squealed.

Her eyes wide, she asked, "What is that?"

Symon shrugged. "Massage oil."

"Bullshit."

"Massage oil. That I froze today. Then let it thaw out in the fridge."

"Frozen massage oil?"

He squeezed the bottle, and a thin stream splatters down her sternum and across her stomach. She shivered, shook. He reached down, smeared the oil around her breasts. Once in contact with her skin, it warmed. She smelled the faint sandalwood scent, breathed it in deeply. Symon sat next to her, putting the bottle on the table in easy reach. Then he smacked her tits, slapping at them, bringing her blood to the surface, giving her a taste of the impact pain that she preferred. He slapped harder and harder, until she gasped. Then he quickly picked up the bottle and randomly dropped ice cold oil on her again.

"Fuck. Oh. My." She panted each word.

He sat up, dribbled a long line of oil along her inner thigh, and across her abdomen between her hips. He dripped lower, across her vulva, leaning back and spreading her lips.

As she felt what he was about to do, Michelle started babbling, "God. God. No. God. No. God. No."

He dripped the cold oil directly on her clit, and Michelle almost screamed again. The sensation cut off her speech and she thrashed against his hand. He let more drops fall, then coated his hand in the oil and slipped his now chilly fingers inside her. She shuddered against him, crying out without words. Her chest heaved, her breasts shook as she tried to compose herself, and press herself into the mattress.

He stroked her clit with fingers slicked with yet more icy oil, while dripping more on her from above. She writhed under him; he can barely keep her still enough to torture. He watched her face, her eyes opening and closing, rolling in her head. She was shaking all over and letting out her breath in small puffs audible over the creaking of the bedframe. Her nipples were hard knots, and the flush was back over all of her skin.

He stopped everything. He pulled his fingers out of her. He dropped the bottle on the table. He unbuckled the ankle cuffs and settled her legs closed together. He put his hand on her stomach, his fingers spread wide, just resting there. He waited until she opened her eyes and focused on him.

When she does, he stroked her cheeks again.

"Roll over," he says simply.

She did, and once on her stomach, she sighed. He unbuckled the wrist cuffs that had held her arms behind her back. She stretched her arms, then folded them under her head resting comfortably. Symon stroked her back, down to her ass, kneading the meat of her glutes. As she felt him shift his weight onto the bed behind her, she spread her legs.

He settled behind her, kneeling, and lifted up her hips. She felt him leaning down, and arched her back so he can get to what he wants. He left the butt plug in place still, just tapping on it, as though she might have forgotten it was there.

When he slid his cock into her, she screamed low again, digging her head into the mattress, bucking up into him. He stopped moving, watching, genuinely surprised.

"Don't stop," she manages to whisper. "Please, don't stop."

He slid in deeper, slowly, taking his time. The sensation of her tight pussy around his throbbing, harder than ever, cock is intoxicating. She was slick with her own lubrication from the forced orgasms, and from the oil he'd just smeared all over her. The oil was still cool, and she was cooler than normal inside. Not a hot swamp he can melt into, but a cool shower that's invigorating. He wondered if that's what she's reacting to.

He pushed all the way in, and she clenched around him, holding onto him. When he started to withdraw, she pushed up on her hands, moved her hips back against him.

"Don't. Please, just stay where you are. Please."

"I don't understand," he started.

"My god. Your cock is on fire. Your cock is... it's... It's like you're fucking me with a goddamned sunbeam or something. It's.. I can't explain it. But, Jesus." Her head sank back down onto the mattress, her arms braced to push her pussy back onto him. "Please don't move. Just for a minute. Please."

He grinned broadly, this being a reaction he hadn't anticipated, that he would never have expected. He filed the cold oil trick away for repeat sessions. Then he started moving in her, slowly, and gently. Much more slowly and gently than he'd planned, or assumed he'd feel like when he was planning this session.

But something had happened to him over the past few hours, or however long it's been. He was drained of the irritation and the frustration that he'd been carrying all week. He felt light, happy, and horny. But not angry. Not wrapped up in this own head. As happens so often between them, when he's planned something intense, something he has to be careful of, it takes him out of his own head. He has to pay attention to her. He has to control himself. He has to gauge what's going on. And that frees him. It frees him in a way that the roughest or raunchiest vanilla sex never came close to. He knows he owes it all to Michelle.

He moved steadily inside her, fucking her, but not ramming himself in, not pounding her. She moved against him too, easily, steadily accepting him and giving herself to him. They move together, her ass high in the air, and her face turned sideways on the mattress, her eyes closed. She had one arm stretched over her head, and the other reaching back to him. He leaned down, his height giving him the space to put an elbow down, to clasp her hand with his. She twined her fingers in his, and he stroked her back, played with her hair, twirling the long locks around his hand even as he's thrusting into her.

She's kneeling there, just open and accepting him and suddenly he's filled with love. Suddenly his cock twitches hard, his balls contract and he spurts into her. She reacted to this too, maybe feeling his seed in a way she doesn't usually. She jerked back, her stomach clenching, and then she sighed deeply. Symon kept cumming, the cock ring having worked as advertised, holding his orgasm back longer than normal. He jerked and shot into her, grunting, panting, his hips pumping almost with a mind of their own. He shuddered to a stop, and laid down on top of her.

He'd told her he wanted to fuck her into exhaustion. He didn't plan on being the one who was exhausted. He unsnapped the cock ring. She surprised him again, by arching her back and pushing her pussy down onto his still hard cock. She moved against him, rocking her hips back and forth, knees bent slightly, her pussy milking his prick. He found himself moving with her, fucking her back in short strokes. He wrapped one hand around the front of her thigh, pulling her back onto him. They rolled almost onto their sides. Michelle arched her back farther. Symon reached under her and wrapped his arm up across her chest, grabbing her shoulder. He pulled her down onto him as she moved in time with him.

Now they're both grunting, and he can feel another orgasm building. She cums too, this time, both of their climaxes softer and more gentle than before. Her body spasmed around him and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her sweat. His arms and legs are still wrapped around her when they fall into sleep.

*~~*

Some time later Michelle woke up, chilly on one side and overheated on the other. Symon was stretched out, half laying on her, breathing evenly and easily. She slipped out from under his embrace and went into the bathroom. She removed the butt plug, used the toilet, cleaned herself up gently. She washed the various toys that were in the sink. She stared at the dildo, not quite believing that the whole thing had been inside her. She wondered what it would feel like at a normal temperature. She glanced back at Symon, still sleeping. She imagined a night with this huge dildo in her pussy, and his cock in her ass. And wouldn't that feel amazing.

She set the toys on towels to dry off. Then roamed over to the thermostat and turned it back down to their regular temperature. She shut off most of the lights and went back toward the bed. Symon had rolled over onto his side, and was looking at her. She went to a cabinet that held linens, and pulled out a blanket and afghan.

"We're staying down here tonight?" Symon asked.

She opened up the blanket, tossed it over him, did the same with the afghan and crawled under the covers next to him.

She settled his head on her chest, let him wrap his arms around her waist and his leg over hers. She stroked his hair, kissed the top of his head.

"Let's stay down here all weekend. What else do you have planned?" she answered.

He squeezed her, laughing darkly. She snuggled into him.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said. "Bastard."

"Ha, you love me anyway."

"No. I love you because."

He leaned up to look at her, kissed her lightly. "That's why I love you, too."