tagErotic CouplingsWhy Not, or, Your Problem

Why Not, or, Your Problem

byJerseyGirlDownUnder©

"I only give you the pleasure you deserve," he says.

This the bland reply to my query "why do you give me so many orgasms? Really, it can be too much."

"Why not? I only give you the pleasure you deserve."

It started with roaring off from work early together in my car. My colleagues seeing us leave the parking lot, him waving to my team member. Damn it, now there are two more who know about us and this wild affair. I am not greatly concerned at this moment, focused only on what's coming up if I can get us across town fast enough to my apartment.

I remember the first orgasm, oh so clearly. Lying on my back, him leaning on his right elbow, right arm wrapping around my shoulders, My legs are bent, draped over his long ones -- why do we start off like this so often? It is comforting, familiar, thrilling in the anticipation. He faces me and begins the magic with his left hand. Held flat, gently making circles over my right nipple, elevated enough to just graze the tip. I shiver, the sensation sweeping from my breast to my toes. He kisses me, trailing his left hand over my belly, across my hips, teasingly down my thighs. If he approaches my mons, I shudder involuntarily and he pulls his hand slowly away. Clearly this seduction is not in a rush.

He suckles my left breast. I rise, arching up to meet him. Oh I want to be devoured but he stays aloof, just enfolding the left nipple. My breasts are small; when I was younger I thought they were so inadequate. He has taught me they are perfect. Now he's also pulling my right nipple, twisting, pinching-- he knows this drives me crazy with desire. He leans over to soothe the abuse. Gently he licks, he sucks, he tongues my nipple. So beautiful, the visual of watching his face over me, elegantly extended over my body by his strong neck. I run my fingers through his short cropped hair, baby fine.

This goes on and on; occasionally he peers right to look at my face and gauge my reaction. I must be moaning by now, but quite honestly I am lost, gone to the pleasure he provides so willingly. He puts those soft soft lips on mine; never have I been kissed like he does: simultaneously gentle and demanding, so busy our lips, moving, sucking, tongues wrapping around each other.

His left hand returns to gently grazing my left nipple. My right nipple in the grasp of his right arm, with it wrapped all the way around my neck to find the treasure. He is an octopus, long arms extending impossibly to fondle, pinch, pull. I arch into him, leveraging off his hips, wanting him so much, only my shoulders and hamstrings supporting myself on the bed. So aroused, I think to myself "goodness, can I orgasm only from this sensation on my nipples?" I know better than to tell him this, sure that his reply would be to never move on from my breasts until I give him what he wants.

I let go of his lips to stare at him: "You excite me so much." No reply, he only moves those lips to the side of my face, seeking, rolling the top of my ear into his mouth. I am suddenly aware how hard I'm grabbing him, my right fingers digging into his forearm, the long blond hairs there such a contrast to the rest of his nearly smooth strong body. He moves to my earlobe, sucking, flicking it inside his mouth with his tongue. Along with the constant attention to my breasts, this is just too much, and oh there I go, tipping over the edge into orgasm number one, pulled to it with his slow attention to only my breasts until the final trigger. Shuddering, lifting my body and hips, the pleasure sweeping from my breasts to my thighs, diffusing outwards with a slow conflagration to burn the rest of the world away. I am aware only of my left arm desperately clasping his shoulders, my anchor to reality.

I remember how orgasm number two started. When the world coalesced, eventually my body settling back to the bed, I give him that so satisfied smile. I swear this is what he lives for: my pleasure shown in my smile, my gratitude for his loving attention to me. I am beautiful. He will show me that again and again. Now he starts with his left hand between my legs, gently stroking.my labia, opening up the wetness to stroke bottom to top, one side then the other.

He spreads my pussy lips, and one long finger dives in. Then the onslaught begins. This orgasm, and the next one two maybe three (who can count that high?) will all be about his hand in my crotch. He fondles, he plunges, he pulls, all the time pushing me pushing me towards orgasm after thrashing orgasm. He kisses me and I want to devour him, bite his sunburned lips until I taste blood.

I remember two sensations in particular. The first, with his large hand, four fingers and thumb coned into my vagina. Last week when we played he learned the effect this trick had on me. I sent him a text afterwards asking "what the hell was that?" and his reply was that "it was all fingers and thumb. Yep. The lot." The rest of that day, I sent him texts amazed that I still felt a pleasurable full ache and that walking was an experience in itself. That time last week, I learned I had to consciously relax enough to spread my legs wide and let him in. I had thought of fisting and for the first time in my life could definitely see the appeal. But "nah nah his hand is really quite large" and that was more than enough. Last week, having to consciously relax meant that when the sensations he drove into me got too much, I couldn't tighten up to orgasm. So I passed out instead.

This week, being wise and experienced (hah! Quick learner that boy is!) he learned a new variation. Fingers and thumb jammed into me, driving upwards, while simultaneously wiggling two fingers inside just fluttering against my G-spot. Oh my god, what a contrast between being plundered violated by his hand and gently tickled in the core of pleasure. I came hard with the double sensation, bucking and thrusting my hips against his fist while my cunt blossomed and shuddered around his fingers. Slapping his shoulder in joy.

Did I pass out this time? Certainly at some point during the hand fest I did. Maybe it was after the second new sensation, when he had two fingers hooked inside me. Pulling, driving in, pulling, driving in, I swear that man turns me into a marionette. Then he pushed hard from the outside with his thumb, really grinding my clit into the pelvic bone. First abstract thought: "Oh that's too hard, somebody could get damaged." Second more involved thought "Ahh maybe not too hard." Third thought, no there was no third thought as the universe contracted into the pressure point and everything disappeared.

After one of the orgasms I managed to open my eyes and I see him looking like the cat who caught the canary. "You're pleased with yourself, aren't you?" "Oh yes" he replied "and you're clearly pleased too. I like that." That's what it's all about with this man, seeing how much pleasure he can provide, wanting to see only my happiness and need for him.

Eventually his fingers got tired. Maybe. Or maybe he got other wicked thoughts. Either way he headed south to the place he loves best, with his head between my legs. Given how many orgasms I had already had, he was in for a drenched treat as he stuffed his mouth fully over my sopping pussy. I know he loves to eat me, loves the taste, loves the variety of things he can play with his talented tongue and lips. He lapped, he sucked, he bit gently, he plunged his tongue into my cunt. He did that crazy shit where he grabs hold of my clit with his lips and shakes his head like a dog with a toy.

How many orgasms did I have? By that time I was so far gone that I couldn't tell you my name, forget about count. But I sure knew his name, moaning for him, grinding my hips into his face, orgasming and flooding him more. I remember grabbing his hands as they snaked upwards under my hips, our fingers entwined, trying to pull together to get even more connected before, during, after this most intimate meld.

It all got too much for me. There's never any point in telling him to stop, he just keeps going, drowning me in pleasure. I'm begging him to fuck me, oh please fuck me, please fuck me hard. "Not now." I'm moaning at him about how I want his cock in my mouth. "Later." Short answers because he's right back in between my legs, lapping lapping me to orgasm again. I tried to pull my leg over his head to get away, but he grabbed my thigh, held me down, and gave me another astonishing orgasm by licking the centre of my existence. I'm telling him he's killing me, that he'll have to fuck a dead woman. He dives back in, so joyous.

The second attempt I managed to escape, rolling over onto my side away from him and collapsing onto my stomach on the bed. Quick as a flash he was up the bed, with his chest pressed against my back, one arm around my body pinning my hand against my breasts. His other arm instantly burrowing into my crotch, fingers busy finding my so swollen clit. Damn him! I was on fire down there and he drove me harder, pulling twisting plunging in the hot wetness. I am squirming furiously, driving my big butt into his crotch, humping him from behind begging him, begging him to fuck me. "After this orgasm" is the sole reply. I can't, I must, I am so lost at this point so far beyond definable pleasure. But sure enough, here comes number seven. Or is it number ten? Because I have been in one nearly constant orgasm for the last thirty minutes, I decide I'd better tell him to end any doubt that I'm enjoying this. He likes to hear of his triumphs. I groan out "I'm cumming, I'm cumming for you" but it's so garbled he is not too sure what I'm saying. "Yes you can, yes you can cum for me. Come for me, beautiful." Well that's the final straw, him telling me what to do for my own pleasure, and I shudder thrust shudder squeal dissolve.

I am limp, utterly spent, lying like a rag doll on the bed.

He rears up over me onto his knees, flips me over onto my back. Yanks my legs apart, drags me down the bed. Strong arms pick up my hips and he is trying to get his delicious cock into me. I am so hot and wet it's like trying to find the caldera in an erupting volcano. But clever man, he figures it out and is inside me, thrusting driving. The best thing EVER. I say "You give me so much pleasure, but the thrill of you inside me is better than anything else." I am so inflamed after the multiple orgasms that every stroke is a symphony of sensation. As he pulls out there is a huge chasm of need for him, as he pushes in a colourful riot of joy. I am spasming around him, I don't have the strength left to orgasm while he grunts about how good it is to fuck me. So I hold on, lost in the world of him driving into me, his face above me a grimace of pleasure. I'm trying to get my arms around his broad back, my legs around his hips, lifting myself off the bed to go with every stroke. The sharp edged head of his cock swells inside me, oh thank the universe he's going to come. His brain catches up with what my body already knows, and he promises me "Here I cum, here I cum in you." One moment of stillness as he starts to pump, and that's enough space and time for me to erupt in my final orgasm. Oh to contract around him, milking him, rolling my hips underneath him, feeling him shudder and hearing his satisfied moans. Damn he's good, damn we're good. FIG JAM.

That night I am in bed by 9:30, completely unable to even hold up the phone to read a news article about the crazy American election. Lights out, crashed, rolling onto my side to drag one leg onto a body pillow. So exhausted.

By 11:30 pm I am awake again, my hips on fire. Those two long tendons connecting the bowl of my pelvis to my thighs were in constant contraction for an hour of pleasure, broken only by explosions of violent ecstasy. They are mad mad angry at the overwork. I am so exhausted that I cannot even think about getting out of bed to deal with the urge to pee. How will I move my legs? I cannot imagine how this would work given the state of my hips. With a superhuman effort I stagger out of bed, flop onto the toilet and then have to figure out how to get back up from the seat. I have to push myself off using my arms, too worn out to even stand up using my legs. I take a strong painkiller and stagger back to bed.

At 2 am the painkiller wears off and oh the pain is back. There's no way to sleep, so I get up and write this account. I contemplate going to work on crutches the next day as it is clear that my legs are not connected to the rest of my body with anything more than ropes of fire. I will swing into his office on crutches and say: "This! This is why you should not give me so many orgasms!" But I know he will just give me that sly smile and say "YP. Your problem."

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byJerseyGirlDownUnder© 0 comments/ 8540 views/ 5 favorites
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