Chapter 36 Clay
XXXVI Clay
“Not only seen,” I say with a frown, not sure how it’s relevant. “I took pottery lessons when my tutors still had hopes of discovering some latent artistic talent within my boring soul.”
He snorts behind me, taking my hands and placing them on his shaft, one above the other. The marks over his wrist gleam gold. With a grunt, he stretches to the side, opening a drawer in the bedside table. He grabs a bottle of the rose oil.
“Boring soul? Your tutors were fools. You are the most intriguing person I know. Now, pet. This is your clay masterpiece. Play with it.”
I giggle at the absurdity of it, and Magnar joins in, chuckling softly. He hands me the bottle.
“I’ll enjoy it. Go on. Oil me up and shape me nicely.”
“Oh. Well. I’ll try.”
I pour a little into my hand and spread it over his length with cautious movements.
I know this cock was inside me, yet I’m still intimidated by it.
I run my hands up and down, marveling at how little give there is, how it throbs.
It’s weighty, and when it slips out of my fingers, it slaps the inside of my thigh quite hard.
Magnar breathes deeply and moves little, making small sounds of pleasure. I almost forget he’s there and focus on my task, caressing him with slick hands. When I’m certain I don’t cause him discomfort, I grow bolder.
His testicles are pulled up tight, and I explore them, feeling the way they roll slightly in the sack of soft skin. Magnar grunts, and I realize he likes it, so I do more of that until they pull up even closer to the root of his shaft.
Next, I focus on his knob. It pulses, more engorged now than when I began touching him, and I run circles around it then press on it. He hisses, his hips flexing hard. I almost fall off, but Magnar holds me steady.
“Was it pleasant?” I breathe, lightening my touch.
“Yes.”
I play with it, drawing a few more noises from him. His breathing is faster, hands kneading my hips where he holds me.
I turn my attention to the tip. It’s dark purple and taut, the skin stretched until it shines.
There’s a small, vertical slit, and I run my fingers around it, leaning closer to see.
When I press down gently with the tip of my little finger, Magnar’s breath catches.
He winds my hair around his fist, holding it loosely.
Next, I play with the fold of skin circling the head, pulling it this way and that, trying to touch underneath. His hips keep working with miniscule thrusts, but he doesn’t say anything to stop me, so I sate my curiosity until I’m satisfied.
My clay utterly familiar now, I twist both hands around him as tightly as I can and move them up and down with long, gliding motions.
“Fuck!”
His hips strain off the bed, his hold on my side growing bruising. I don’t stop, fascinated. His cock thickens in my hands, darker and more rigid. Magnar makes husky, low noises with every breath, and I don’t stop. My own hips rock where I straddle him, seeking friction.
After maybe a minute of this, he makes a gritty sound, his cock bulging in my hands.
Magnar pulls on my hair, tilting my head back, and I just catch sight of thick spurts of milky liquid shooting out of the tip like turbulent water from a fountain.
Once, twice, thrice, the liquid shoots up, then falls, covering his length, my hands, our thighs, and even the bed.
If he hadn’t pulled my head back, it would have sprayed my face.
He throbs like a beating heart in my hand, the final trickle sliding down the side of the veiny shaft. When he slumps onto the bed with a long, hissing sigh, I stare at the mess, transfixed. There is just so much.
“Um, why didn’t you warn me this would happen?” I ask.
He laughs, still breathing hard. “That was your masterpiece, pet. I wanted you to get familiar with me on your terms.”
“Oh.”
I lay his cock carefully down on his thigh, though it rolls a little, still half-hard.
I realize what just happened. Magnar gave me enormous control over him and his pleasure, and let me explore his most private part freely.
It was a show of great trust—and kindness.
Being so much more familiar with the intimate workings of a cock, I’ll be more self-assured in bed.
He puts his hand around my belly and pulls himself up to a sitting position, the back of my head pressing to his chest. I slide down with the movement until I sit on his cock, his release coating me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He laughs sharply. “Love, thank you. You made me come so hard. But we’re not done. Put your fingers in your pussy. Breed yourself using my seed.”
“Oh, gods.”
“Now, while it’s still warm.”
He presses closer, and when I look up, I realize he’s leaning over me to see. With shaking fingers, I gather some cum from his thigh and tilt my hips to insert a finger. He grunts with pleasure when I let it sink in to the knuckle.
“Good. Perfect. Again.”
I gather more, and his cock twitches under me, growing harder. Magnar holds his breath when I do it again and again until he’s had enough.
“Come here and kiss me.”
Everything between us is slippery, and my thighs shake. He helps me turn, his cock pressing to my clit, and bows over me to take my lips. I feel a pang of guilt that he has to contort himself so much for us to kiss. I am indeed too short for him.
Magnar doesn’t complain, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with low moans as I try to grind on his erection. My desire boils over. Everything that just happened was absolutely perfect.
“And now, my wife is going to take my knob.”
In a show of breathtaking speed, he flips us until I’m on my back, my knees flanking his hips. He kisses me with ravenous grunts, his hand roaming until he coats it in his release and puts it in me with a moan of pleasure.
“I’ll give you more. Have to make up for last night,” he breathes into my lips, gathering more cum.
“I wanted to fuck you so bad, but oh, pet, we were so cruel to you that first night. I was so angry with myself. Should have started slow, let you adjust, but we were all out of our minds with lust. I’m only grateful we had enough decency to take turns. ”
“T-take turns?” I squeak when he slides in two slick fingers, reaching as deep as they’ll go.
“Mmm. I would look at one of them taking your ass and think to myself, well, what harm would there be if I didn’t wait for him to finish and just put it in your cunt, hm? But then I looked at your sleeping face, so pale and exhausted, and held myself back. Damn.”
Hot and cold shivers run down my spine when I imagine it, my mind going hazy with need. And yet dread pools in my stomach, too.
“You’d tear me apart.” I shake my head, remembering how my belly bulged with just one of them inside me. And if there were two? Impossible!
“We would not. I know it can be done with a human. It’s possible and safe,” he grunts, thrusting three fingers into me.
I cry out, arching from the stretch that’s half-pain, half-bliss. Magnar grabs the discarded bottle of oil and slickens his fingers, thrusting again. He’s urgent, hips flexing repeatedly into the sheets. He wants me very much.
“We’ll try. Nice and slow with lots of foreplay. But later, when we’re all sane. Just think, love. Me and Khay. You’d be surrounded and stuffed full. Fuck. Last kiss.”
He takes it from my mouth, rough and greedy, then positions himself. This time, it’s easier when he slides into me, and we both pant and moan as I adjust to it. Magnar pulls back to see me, his gaze roaming until it stops on my belly.
“Stroke me like you did Arvi. Please.”
I reach down with trembling fingers, and I can’t help but look. He bulges through me, not even fully in yet. The throbbing knob is still outside.
“This is so weird,” I whisper, covering his length with my hand and massaging it through my skin.
He curses, and I press down instinctively when his cock jumps from the stimulation. Magnar sits up on his heels, never pulling out, and tugs my bottom into his lap. He upends the oil bottle on my stomach.
I drown in the scent of roses. He lays his palm on my stomach and strokes slowly while the oil trickles down the valley between my breasts. My hips are higher than my head, and everything rushes in a daze. Oh, maybe it’s a dream.
“Fuuuuck,” he breathes, massaging languidly. “Pet. Holy fuck.”
He brings his oiled fingers to my clit, and my belly and insides tense from pleasure. He curses and grabs my hips. When his hands prove too slippery, he wipes them on the sheets with a curse.
“Stroke me, love, but not too fast. Let’s work it in. Just a little bit left. I think I can make you take it.”
“Make me?”
“Be a good wife and take your husband.”
He takes my hips again and moves my body. I sob from the overwhelming fullness, yet do as he says, laying my palm on my stomach. He slides underneath with every measured thrust, and I let my head fall back, tears streaming from my eyes and into the hair at my temples.
He is so heavy inside me, bearing on my organs and muscles in the most unreal massage. My hand on top of him only adds to the burden. Whatever was clenched within me unclenches, but it’s still not enough. Oh, I’ll never be the perfect sheath for him.
“Such a sweet wife,” Magnar grunts. “There, love. Take a deep breath for me.”
I obey, and when I exhale, he pulls me to him with a fast, firm movement.
“Ah!”
I spasm with achy tenderness. He’s hit a very sore place inside, a spot that almost doesn’t bear to be touched.
“Mhm. Got half an inch deeper. We need two more. Keep breathing, love. We’ll go back to the classics.”
He repositions us until he braces above me again, his arm muscles corded and taut, grin feral.
“Did I tell you to stop? Hand on your belly. It pleases me very much when you touch me through yourself.”