Once More

His cock rammed the breath out of her. Slammed into her diaphragm so hard, she had only gasps for the orgasm that should have had her screaming. Worse, her body wracked with shudders and convulsions stopping her from even attempting to try catching it.

Speech was out of the question and thought was "forget about it". Another thrust and another burst of "hnnnmmnnn". She couldn't even get out a moan, let alone a scream. The next shove seemed even harder and she shook and shimmied. Somewhere in her mind she knew he had grown harder and larger and was going to shoot his cream in her. Had she had thought, she would have wanted it to fill her and run down her legs, but he'd forced any hope of coherence from her with her air.

Her next lucid feeling was his trembling collapse against her ass. She was going to drift off to sleep and never put shape to the nebulous contemplations that would have developed non stop had he not (literally) driven rationalism from her.

There was a vague formulation of the taste of his cock with their cum juices mixed and saturated into the smooth, soft skin. How it tautens and stretches as she cleans it. The more thorough the cleansing, the bigger it grows. She knows her eyes glancing at him with her delight dancing in them will eventually cause him to say "you just won't leave it alone until you get your last fucking, will you?"

If she pleads "once more?" She'll feel him harden completely and jump to her throat. Then she'll get that thrashing. That pounding, slamming demanding fucking that takes all that is left of her senses and shoves them out her mind.

It's not that she wasn't already so well fucked that she wouldn't have just curled up and slipped into a coma for hours, it's that she knew she'll take his last drop. His last bit of potency. He'll be as done as she is.

It gives her her only measure of control knowing that she can wiggle her ass, flash her tits and make him want her beyond just the sex. She can take him as completely as he takes her and once more. She feels his cock harden, not on her lips, but deep in her self. She savors their combined tastes not on her tongue, but all the way in her soul.

When she felt that hazy pat on her bottom that told her he was getting up to go, she could barely muster the energy to turn on the mattress and reach for him one more time. Stretch her hand for his flaccid penis, wrap her fingers around it and bring it to her lips. Oh the taste! The smell of their nectar. She bathed him like a cat. Her tongue flicking out and experiencing the flavor of each inch. Area by area, piece by piece. She licked and licked. Each time she cleaned a bit, there would be more that grew until it was full size and straining for her.

"Once more?" She begged in that seductive voice. The satiated eyes leaking lust from the corners. The smooth head fit just in her open lips as her tongue flickered to and fro, taking the last of the aftertaste of them together. A moan escaped as his hand came to rest on the back of her head, applying the slightest pressure. Was the moan hers or his? She knew only it was more like the essence she'd sampled, some of each and more of both.

He seized her shoulders (where did he have the strength?), threw her over the edge of the mattress she'd somehow crawled across, grabbed her ass and ploughed his rock hard whistle clean pole fully through her. He pummeled her to the very rim of her existence and beyond. Took her breath, her thought, her essence. Took her.

Was it a dream that had her licking him hard once more and taking the frantic hammering? Was it once more after the once more that had left her stunned and blank? Curled up as she was, long into the late afternoon, it could have been either and both.

Smiling, she drifted off again. There was always once more.