Too Much?

"How dare y...," Devon was flabbergasted, speechless!

"You are not a fit mother! You have shown that clearly enough. What you did was a downright dereliction of your maternal duty!"

The following day, that is, within two days of her being discharged from hospital, her husband left her. Muttering and cursing her under his breath, he simply packed an overnight bag and walked out. "I'm going to my mom's," he said, "and taking Kevin with me." The last part was obviously a challenge.

While Devon could clearly see a custody battle brewing, for the moment she thought to herself, "Maybe he's right." Considering her current situation, maybe she wasn't, right now, a fit mother. "Okay," she whispered, surprising the hell out of him, adding, "temporarily! While I get things worked out." But she reiterated, emphasizing, "This is only temporary."

Devon considered the doctor's advice about setting up a support network, but, she realized, it would be a difficult situation to share with friends under the best of circumstances: but, now, how many people had Dave already spoken to? How many would be as disgusted as him? So, as more or less a last resort, she decided to contact Brandon. She could speak with him without too much embarrassment, after all, he already knew all the lurid details. When she called him, she was pleased to find him warm and friendly, and not judgemental at all. Furthermore, she was relieved when he readily agreed to check in with her from time to time—sort of make welfare checks, as it were.

The up-shot of that call was uplifting. So much so that Devon was feeling happy and positive as she went for her follow-up check at the clinic that afternoon. The appointment was a bit of a downer. The doctors were still baffled. They really had no idea whether the condition would be transitory or persistent, and the only advice they could give her was to have someone make frequent welfare checks—she told him that was looked after at least. Otherwise, she would have to just wait for her peculiar affliction to remediate itself, and hope that it did.

Devon was torn, when she arrived home from the doctor's appointment. The day had been a cloudy mixture of good news and bad, and she didn't know what to think. Later that evening, Devon headed to bed alone, still stewing about her situation. It was the heat of summer, and as the appliance was far too cumbersome and hot, Devon elected to sleep au naturel.

So it was that, in the middle of the night, she, unconsciously, pulled the sheet over herself. It just brushed her clitoris. Completely blindsided by the steep ascent into arousal, Devon woke to the first in a violent, overwhelming, and continuous series of orgasms that seemed to blot out all of her peripheral awareness. She thrashed through climax after climax—totally out of control, helplessly pleasured beyond endurance. The febrile quivering of her entire body punctuated by flailing spasms that literally tossed her about on the bed, until, finally, she fell off—out from under the linens, onto the floor. It took her fifteen or twenty minutes to recover, to come out of orbit and get back to reality—her very own ominous reality. Quickly fixing her protective appliance into place, she slept no more.

The next morning, as he ran along her side fence on his early run, Brandon sensed something, and spontaneously stopped by to check on Devon. He was concerned about her having no-one monitoring her at night—for her first few nights alone, in any case. His concern multiplied when he looked through the window as he knocked on her back door. For there she was, hollow-eyed, staring blankly into an indeterminate distance, sitting motionless at the kitchen table, a coffee cup before her. She looked terrible. Her knees were splayed apart; her loosely gathered robe hanging outside her legs, exposing her thighs. The pubic guard lay discarded on the floor next to her.

Quietly Brandon let himself in. "Devon?" he enquired soothingly. "Devon? Are you okay?" As if in a trance, Devon turned her head, gradually shifting her focus to Brandon. "What's the matter? What happened?"

Softly, with a deadly flat affect, Devon described what had been her early hours ordeal, her animation growing the more she spoke. As she slowly recovered her wherewithal, she blanched at the contemplation of what might have been. "Oh, God! I can choose not to start, but I can't choose to stop. And the doctors said this might be permanent." She paused, then, dropping her eyes, lamented, "What the hell am I going to do?" By saying it out loud, she realized she'd acknowledged the persistent, insidious temptation to simply let herself go and expire in the ecstasy of pleasure-centre over-stimulation—"Like just another lab-rat!"

Brandon gently held her, trying to comfort her. Devon, ever-so-naturally, curled against him, pressing her face into his chest, trembling with fear as she considered her prospects. Gathering her into a soothing embrace, Brandon's knee bent slightly, inadvertently raising his thigh to push lightly against her pudendum. He felt her suddenly go rigid, a tremor running through her body, a small gasp muffled against his chest. Stiffening, her hands gripping his shirt, he felt her body vibrate as orgasmic seizures overwhelmed her once again. It took him a moment to realize what had triggered her this time. His thigh had inadvertently pushed against her crotch. That's all it took.

Removing his accidental touch, he rocked her gently until her awareness returned. As brief as it was, the incident confirmed to both of them just how extremely careful she, and he, by association, must be. "It would seem," Devon observed, "that there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing!'"

"You know," she said, her lips betraying a hint of a smile, "as effective as it is, that fucking—excuse my French—improvised genital shield is not only cumbersome, it's uncomfortable as hell. Of course, without the sexual-athletic-cup to protect my vulva—specifically, my clitoris and labia—there remains the constant threat of orgasmic seizures." Shrugging her shoulders, she continued, "I realize that I can't really—shouldn't ever take that risk, unless I'm with a responsible, understanding companion, because, as you know, once started, the continuous climaxes, rolling ceaselessly, one into the next, are absolutely debilitating."

"What about your husband?

Devon briefly related the marital disaster. "He went all pissy and weird on me. Then he just walked out. Took Kevin and marched off to stay with his mommy." There was, understandably, an edge of vitriol in her voice.

"Friends?"

"Oh, I don't really know." She hesitated, contemplating. "I don't know if I've become a social pariah, or just a frightening social anomaly, but, in any case, I feel rather ostracized from many—perhaps most of my friends." Devon appreciated that she'd stated this in an unemotional, factual way, not complaining or feeling sorry for herself.

"Well, I don't mind checking up on you—in with you, every day or so, if you can put up with my running duds."

"That would be great! Thank you, thank you! I really appreciate that—just until I get my footing again, in my new reality." Brandon was good to his word, checking that things were okay with her several times a week. And Devon learned to cope, adapting as people are wont to do, as the days roll into weeks.

Then, one day, as he briefly checked in, she went quiet a moment, then, "I only ever see you in the morning during your run. Would you like to come over this evening, for coffee and dessert?" She paused before adding in a rush, "Only if you're not busy. Please don't feel obligated."

Brandon smiled a wide smile, replying, "I would surely love to," beaming, "What time?"

At exactly seven-thirty, Brandon rang the doorbell. Despite everything, Devon felt a shyness wash over her as she opened the door to greet him. They eyed each other silently for a long moment, as he stood there, at the threshold, all spruced up. "He polishes up nicely." The thought flitted across Devon's mind, brightening her smile. "Come in then," she chirped, as she took his elbow and steered him into the living room where coffee and cookies were waiting.

"I can't tell you how much I've appreciated all you've done for me, Brandon," Devon stated demurely. Evoking an almost palpable air of sincere gratitude, she seemed unable to find the right words. "You saved my life! You really did. I can't thank you enough."

"No need," Brandon said dismissively. "Your uncertain smile is thanks enough," he added silently. "You've recovered all right?" he asked, just to fill the silence.

"Yes," she replied, "I'm doing okay."

"In fact," she mused silently, "the intensity of the crises has, perhaps, even begun to ease up ever so slightly. Maybe?"

"But I don't know," she muttered out loud.

She was so goddamned cute and alluring, but Brandon could clearly see that she was still rather dragged out from her ordeal; almost certainly suffering psychological injuries from all that had occurred—including subsequent tribulations; not the least of which was her marital disaster. "Poor thing," he mused, watching her intently. "This is probably not unlike PTSD!"

Before the silence became oppressive, Devon began chatting on, filling the quiet with inconsequentials. Suddenly she sat up straight, pulling her shoulders back and reiterated. "I truly believe you saved my life—twice, in fact. And I'd like to do something to thank you, as inadequate as it might be."

Something twinkled in her voice, prompting Brandon to ask, "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to have sex with you—make love, if you will." Brandon's eyebrows went up, as Devon reached over and began unbuttoning his shirt—her gaze not leaving his. "Gotta stay protected, though." She gestured with her head at the thickness in the front of her slacks, as she continued to work the front of his shirt. "The doctor said my hyper-sensitivity may fade away in time, but it's not showing any signs yet, of easing. Then again, maybe it never will."

As she dealt with his last few buttons and peeled back his shirt, she proposed, matter-of-factly, starting with a blowjob, if that's all right with you." While he wasn't completely surprised, Brandon could only respond with a nod. Devon nodded back with an eager warmth and a glint of craving, while loosening his belt and fly, before laying open his pants.

Holding his rib-cage, a hand either side, Devon let her tongue meander across his chest, spreading kisses and licks over the whole surface, but always returning her focus to his nipples.

She dropped her right hand slowly, almost imperceptibly, down his side and across to the centre of his stomach. With a gentle stroking of his cock, at first through the thickness of his underpants, she quickly felt his thickening response. At that, she, rather impatiently, shoved her hand down the inside front of his underwear, and began to caress the naked warmth of his chubby maleness, feeling it twitch at her touch.

"Let me play with you," he said after she had covered his chest with kisses. Gently baring her boobs, he lifted her till her lips met his, and began twiddling her nipples.

"But, I want to pleasure you," Devon complained, as her breath began to get ragged.

"Oh my," Brandon sighed, "This is pleasuring me!" After a bit, he leaned in to take one of her, now stiff, little buds into his mouth.

"Oooh, my nipples are so-o-o sensitive, BUT normal sensitive, not out-of-control sensitive." She purred, as if to no one in particular, "I've always loved having my boobs fondled."

As Brandon continued sucking and licking and munching her tits her arousal rose precipitously. Brandon fought to pay attention to the speed and degree of her excitement, as she obviously climbed towards orgasm. until she crashed over the edge into a warm and intense, but bearable climax. She twisted and jolted and gasped ecstatically, but stayed 'with it', even emitting a joyous laugh at the attainment of a real, human climax, not the monstrosities she'd had to deal with lately.

Brandon was thrilled that that orgasm had been satisfyingly intense, but not so much so as to completely over-ride her senses, or overwhelm her consciousness and he loved being an integral part of it.

As he took a final swipe at her nipple, with his tongue, Devon began worming her way down to his waistband. Tugging his briefs down his thighs, she wordlessly shimmied them down below his knees, and pulled his turgid tool free. She leaned back to appreciate that he was most obviously aroused already, then leaned in to take him gently into her mouth.

As Devon sucked and slurped and licked his meat-sickle, she was surprised to feel a warm excitement begin to foment in her core once more. She metered his arousal in unison with her own, so that after a relatively short felatio, they climaxed together, sharing an awesome, but real orgasm.

After a bit of afterglow, and some comfortable, if inane, pillow talk, Devon finally addressed the elephant in the room, saying decisively, "Okay, let's try this." Hopping off the bed, she gracefully dropped her pants as she landed, then, with a grave deliberation to her movements, she removed her protective packaging. "Don't touch yet," she warned.

Flopping onto her back, she splayed her knees, and with the confidence of a blue-movie director, she positioned Brandon between her thighs, his quivering erection bobbing impatiently at her moistening quim.

"Don't forget," she whispered, pleadingly, "Stop me—turn me off and put me away—before you leave, please!" Reaching her hands up to place them on his shoulders, Devon smiled enigmatically at Brandon, his torso towering over her. "Okay!"

At the first touch of his throbbing hard-on against her puffy labia, Devon went off like a firecracker. With impressive restraint, Brandon lazily drew his cockhead over her pussy lips, before thrusting forwards and stabbing into her through her already jolting, rolling orgasm. He penetrated her swiftly, her vaginal sheath spasmodically gripping and releasing.

Although he had never done it, Brandon imagined that it was like riding a mechanical bull. "Yahoooo!" he silently yelled, holding on for dear life, his arousal unprecedented. "How does she do it?" By then Devon was whimpering and gasping, heaving through the throes of what he had to believe was pure ecstasy. "How can she stand it? For that matter, how will I be able to stand it? Argh!" As her vaginal muscles, radiating an intense heat, were torn with another series of spasms, Brandon's climax—his second of what would be many throughout the long, long night—came quickly.