I should write about my sex life more; it’s really fucking hot.

cara sutra naked in bed

He fucked me, and fucked me, and fucked me some more. One moment we were laying next to each other, both engrossed in electronic devices, catching up with bits of interest, then his fingers were entwined in my hair. He was sat up and I was laying on my front, naked, by his side. He teased the tangles out of my hair whilst stroking it, and went from gently brushing his fingers through to gripping it tighter and pulling, just the way he knows I like it. His fingers strayed, as well. Over the side of my face where I was now melted into a puddle beside him, purring contentedly and not daring to move in case he stopped. His long rounded nails grazing over my cheek, back through my hair and tickling the nape of my neck, scratching down my back and back up again through my hair. Bliss.

It went on like this for some time, until all the tangles were teased out and I was feeling relaxed, my mind absent of anything but the calming sensation. Laying there feeling loved, pampered, special. His. We moved devices away, eventually, to snuggle up in bed together. Soon his hands roamed again from the innocent areas of my back, waist and hips to move between my legs, stroking closer and closer to the pleasure territory he wanted. Our lips met and locked, because kissing seemed the best conversation right then and there. Everything we had to say was said through touching each other. My arms were around his neck; I lazily enjoyed his exploration of all of me and let his lust wash over me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. My hands moved down to where his cock pushed insistently at the material hemming it in, the only thing he wore – well, besides me right then.

It’s so fucking hot to stroke him from the outside of his clothing, feel his need rise to meet me, almost like a pampered creature with its own mind. The way a cat arches its back to meet the kind hand stroking along its length. Alternating between light, frustratingly teasing strokes to firmer rubs, almost gripping my hand around it to pump it but letting go at the last second, letting it seek me out, hard but confused and needing my touch back immediately. The indignant bounces of his cock in perfect sync with the moans from his lips, delivered straight into my mouth as we kiss.

His fingers were misbehaving wildly at this point, stretching around me to press a finger against my arse, not entering it but teasing me with a definite threat. Then a scratch over my butt cheek as his hand moves to grip my hip, pushing me over from being on my side next to him, to on my back. One of his fluid moves that shows his experience in these things, he’s done this so many times before, and not just with me. I’m flipped on to my back now, his hard cock away from me, his hands spreading my legs at the same time as my head flops against the pillow again. I brush my hair out of the way and lift so I’m not trapping it, giving me room to move. He’s moving his head down, I can see; then it hits me. His tongue against my clit, then a lick, up, from below perineum to clit and all the way up through the centre of my labia, then dipping inside to discover my wetness there.  He sucks on my clit. His fingers are inside me. First just one, to get me started. I’m already started. Another, then after a little while, another still.

He’s not done that in a long time. Tried to fist me. Four fingers stretching me and there was no need for lube this time. His mouth vacuum sealed on my clit was stimulation enough for natural lubrication to help out. More than enough. It felt like his whole hand was inside me – surely it was in there now, I was screeching into my arm placed across my mouth – but afterwards I was to find out it was not even the full length of four fingers and a thumb tip. he still pumped into me anyway, fucking me with what he could fit inside of his hand, each smaller motion of his fingers terrifying me that he was going to do his past trick of scratching me deep inside with his nails. He likes making me writhe in the pleasure of pain, it’s so terrible and terrifying and so fucking hot all at once. He knows I have my safe out, if I need it.

Then, emptiness. He’s not inside any more, he’s moving me. He’s moving too. His cock tip at my hand-fucked, stretched entrance, my ankles hooked over his shoulders as we both love, and he’s not even entering me. Just making sure he’s in the right place, right by my wetness. He’s looking right at me and I’m looking into his eyes, turned on and ready and for some reason ashamed and feeling very small all at once. And the keening wail of desperate need that rises in my throat doesn’t help matters. He smiles, then. His signal. Pushing into me smoothly, determinedly, HARD. All the way up. Then he stops again. My legs move to interlock my ankles over his back. My hands holding on to his big shoulders and my nails digging into his hot skin. I look up and his dark hair is framing him like a deviant halo, his eyes have changed from soft melted-chocolate brown to midnight black. Black like sin. He knows what he’s doing to me and he’s such a bastard – but that thought alone is enough to turn me up another notch of arousal. The ripple of pleasure radiates from my core all the way out to each extremity, feeling like a hot flush deep in my pussy and like an electric shock to my nipples and clit. Even he eventually submits to the pleasure of sharing our bodies like this, fucking each other, him fucking me harder and faster until he cries out with his orgasm, and I do too, with his orgasm – and he’s pulling out even as I’m still getting the pleasure shudders in the hard fucking aftermath.

I’d already orgasmed twice that day and my small vibrator which was always a dead-cert was tucked between mattress and bedframe, easily within reach. I grabbed it and I didn’t even care if I didn’t ask permission – I needed to come, then and there. I’d pay for it later but so what. Nothing else was going through my mind except how ready I was, I just needed that tip over the edge and the pink nubbed vibe in my palm would do it. I laid in his arms as he still recovered next to me, one arm under me the other over my chest. He shifted slightly so he was half on his side as I flipped off the cover from the vibrator and sought out the side button, all with the knowing movements of a girl who does this regularly. One handed action. Perfect. Everything was hazy and then his fingers took to abusing my nipples… first one then the other… continuing like that as the shrill pitch of the vibrator seemed to be an echo of the shrieking announcement of my impending orgasm. It approached fast, a sudden bolt, and I did gasp out to him a plead for his permission to come, Please Daddy.., and he knew. And he let me. He told me that I must and I did.

It hadn’t even finished and I was being moved again. He rolled me over to face away from him, roughly shoving his hand between my legs to find my gushing pussy and force his cock into it. Again?! Yes, again. He was fucking me as the vibe tip still screwed the last drops of orgasm out of my body and he was only just starting up his second fuck-fest of the evening. I’ve not been with a man before that can recover quite so quickly. I dare not mention it to too many, as it doesn’t ring true. It doesn’t seem possible but he can orgasm again within minutes… and orgasm several times in one session. And so he did… but only after fucking me while I screamed into the pillow, my body wracked from my own orgasm which I don’t recover nearly as quickly from, and writhing to try and get away from him. Bringing the rape fantasy in, as well as Daddy/little girl… all those sinful words tumbling out in between pillow-screeches, No, Please, Stop, daddy, please, you can’t, no, don’t, no! Please don’t… all of these tumbling out and just adding fuel to his fire. Pushing me on my front, grabbing my wrists and holding them tightly together in the small of my back with one hand while the other has my hair tightly gripped and my head pushed violently into the pillow, only letting me up to hear more wicked words and begging and crying. Letting me take a gasp of breath before cutting it off again. Fucking me without gripping my hips, using his thighs to keep him in position and fucking me so hard it actually does hurt me.

It was another one of those nights where I woke at 4.30am realising we’d fallen asleep in a sticky mess, lights still on, TV still on low in the background and the post-fucking haze only just about gone.

 

 

– Cara Sutra

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