Chapter 15 #2
“I-I-am-sorry,” I stutter. “It is too much.”
“No,” she says scoldingly. “You merely need to learn control. What helps?”
“I-I-am not sure. I have no notion—” But as I speak, I realize the words themselves offer a welcome distraction. I can still feel the deep pleasure but it has abated slightly. “I think—talking—talking helps me.”
“Then we’ll talk,” she says. “Tell me what you would like me to do next.”
“I want to feel all of you,” I say, the words somehow both stoking my desire and letting me control it.
“Very well.”
She slides down the remaining inches of my shaft. I fill her now to the hilt and I can feel how I stretch her. The sensation is unspeakably erotic and my spend threatens once more. Her breasts are once more level with my chest.
“I am—I am—” I don’t want to disappoint her, but I must warn her.
“Shhh,” she says. “I won’t move. Take a moment.”
She kisses me, taking care not to move with me impaled inside of her.
The distraction of her lips on mine does help to ease the mind-bending pleasure that shoots through my cock.
She breaks the kiss and leans into me so that her lips are at my ear.
“Is that how you imagined it would be? When you read about it in your dirty little book?”
She flexes and her muscles play over me.
“Annabelle,” I gasp.
“Tell me.”
“It’s better,” I admit. “Much better.”
She smiles. And I gasp.
“I will—I am going to—”
“No, I trust you won’t spend,” she says. “Not when my pleasure depends on it.”
And then she rises up so that I am drawn out of her completely, her muscles clenching over my very bothered cock. I cry out but am able to keep my control. Her breasts are level with my face once more.
I marvel at their beauty. I can’t stop my hands from cupping her.
“I love your breasts,” I say, half to keep myself in my wits. “I have dreamed of breasts like these. And awakened hard and unspent and aching for release.”
She lets out a short sound—a little moan—above me. Her sound surprises me. I had not expected to affect her with my words.
“Do you like when I talk of such things?”
She sinks down on me again. The pleasure is so intense that I fear again I will embarrass myself, but somehow I find self-control again.
“Yes,” she says. “I like to imagine you in the vicarage. Hard and thinking of me.”
“Well, I am that often.”
“Tell me of it.”
“There isn’t much to tell. I think of you constantly. Every memory. Every word. Every time you have touched me. It is difficult for me to go about my business. For I am always thinking of you.”
She whimpers. Actually whimpers. She rises again and this time comes down swifter, finding a leisurely rhythm.
To my surprise, I am able to withstand the sensations when I speak aloud.
Even though the pleasure hums through my cock and up my spine, I can distract myself when I speak to her—especially when I sense that it gives her pleasure.
“I imagine what I would do to you if given the opportunity. Even though I know it is sinful. Beyond sinful. But I can’t stop myself. I imagine it anyway.”
“But you don’t touch yourself.”
“No. Because you’ve commanded me not to. So I sit there in my vicarage, your vicarage really, with a hard, raging cockstand, thinking only of you. And wondering if you know about the depraved things I read about and if you’ll do them to me if I ask.”
She whimpers again, even as she continues to ride me. The pleasure has built to such a point that I have difficulty controlling it.
“What from your reading would you like to do to me?”
I still her with my hands. She stops.
“Be gentle with me,” I say, reminding her of her promise earlier. “I will spend if you don’t stop. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move.
“And I will tell you,” I continue. “Rise up.”
She does, bringing herself up a few inches.
“I imagine kissing your breasts,” I say, focused less on my words than on staving off my spend.
But I can’t stop myself from demonstrating, drawing one light pink nipple into my mouth and running my tongue over the smooth, silky skin there.
I suck lightly, going only on instinct and what I know from my reading.
She moans again. And I can feel the place where we join grow wetter.
“You enjoy that?” I say, once more shocked that she reacts to me in such a manner. It seems natural that I react to her in such a way—but the reverse is still surprising.
“Don’t stop.”
I continue the action, giving each breast its proper due, sucking until the light pink becomes almost red. All the while, I feel her tightening over me, her pussy becoming tauter and tauter.
“Oh God,” she says above me as if she can’t keep her words in any longer. She begins to buck against me, but I still her. “Please.”
She sounds like she is begging.
I let her go, knowing somehow what she needs.
Immediately, she begins to buck against my cock, which has calmed only slightly.
Her pace quickens and she rides me harder and faster. I give no objection, but any prolonged speech is impossible now. I cannot stave off my spend. I am at her mercy once again. I only try and focus on lasting as long as I can.
As evidence of my complete surrender, I place my hands on her bare arse, flaring my fingers over the smooth, taut skin there.
“God, yes,” she says.
I begin to aid her in the motion, bringing her down roughly over my cock. The sensation assails my sanity. I have no idea who I am, who I was before entering this room with her.
“Alfred,” she says. “Please, harder.”
I obey, bringing her down again and again on my cock, stretching her and then stretching her again.
“Come for me,” I say, mimicking what she always says to me.
And she does. She comes apart. She clenches and unclenches, spasming hard over me.
And that is all I need.
I come too, driving into her with frenzied need.
My release is pure joy—and I look into her soft blue eyes as I take my pleasure. The seed comes from me in hot torrents, copious and surging, as if I am trying to fill her to the brink.
Now she looks, absurdly, like a kind of fierce angel instead of the devil she has presented herself to be.
All my life I have denied myself this pleasure. And now she has forced me to take it.
I am so grateful to her. I feel bonded to her, as if after this moment nothing can rend us apart.
After the last shudders run through my body, she dismounts—and then makes a tutting sound.
“What is it?” I say, terrified that I have done something wrong.
“I told you,” she says.
In her hand, she holds the strange contraption she put over my cock. And even I, in my naivety, can see the truth: it has split open. My seed leaks between her fingers—and has doubtlessly done so inside of her.
“Annabelle, I am sorry.”