4. Bridget #3
He kisses up my inner thigh, and I am trembling so hard the bed is shaking.
He doesn’t do the mean thing. He doesn’t tease my clit or lick up the center real quick—he gets right in there and makes sweet love to my pussy with his tongue, because I am so beyond teasing.
The appreciative sounds he’s making as he savors me down there have got to be genuine.
In the past I’ve felt this was an errand that other guys ran on their way to the main event and then expected me to throw them a parade after.
But enjoying my body is the main event for Craig, I think.
He curls his arms around my thighs to hold me down, laps at me, swirls and then fucks me with his tongue.
“Craig! Oh my God!”
The electric tingles, the jolts. I am writhing around and bucking psychotically like he’s performing an exorcism, but he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t stop fucking me with his tongue, and it’s so much I don’t think my body can handle it, and I need him to stop but I also don’t want him to—ever. Ever, ever.
And then, just when I think he’ll never stop, he sucks on my clit and I scream.
I freeze, and then the jolts of pleasure are violent and chaotic and ecstatic.
The way rabid fans go nuts at a hockey game when their team wins—that’s what this feels like.
Like my pelvis is an arena and all of Dropkick Murphys are shipping up to Boston and then all of a sudden they turn into fairies and sparkles and moonbeams.
I realize I’m laughing. And crying. And now that I’ve caught my breath, Craig flips me over onto my stomach, massages my ass, grunts, kisses my left butt cheek, lightly bites at my flesh, and then slaps the right one.
“I have to fuck you now, Bridget.”
“Hang on,” I say into the comforter. When he climbs off the bed, I turn onto my back again and say, “Stay right there.”
He is facing away from me and that orgasm thing that happened just now was great and all, but this right here is what I’ve been waiting for.
“I just need a minute,” I tell him. “Hold still, please.” I situate myself at the edge of the bed. He shakes his head, laughs, places his hands on his hips, and…I don’t even know if he’s clenching his glutes or not—I think that’s their only mode. Clenched. Round.
I place my hands on those magnificent, firm globes. Smoothing my palms over the curves, I marvel at the architecture of his entire body. Every part of him is big and hard, but this part, this part is strong but friendlier because of its domed shape. “I just have to say…wow. Thank you.”
“You done?” he asks, amused but also clearly impatient.
“Never. But yes.” I lie back and stare up at the ceiling. My physical limits are about to be stretched, and I’m excited but also moderately terrified. “Wait,” I say, shooting upright again.
He’s standing next to the bed tearing open a condom wrapper and gives me a look, like, Now what?
“Can I put it on you?” I ask, not like it would be my honor, but like I’m the eager-beaver student who wants extra credit.
He hands the packet to me and carefully removes his boxer briefs.
His beautiful, massive erection springs free.
It doesn’t bob around so much as it stands up, alert and pumped and ready to get to work.
That penis will get ’er done. That is a ride-or-die dick who will not stop until your spine has turned to jelly and his semen has blasted its way through several layers of protection, coating every inch of your vaginal walls.
That cock would build me a house if I asked it to.
I remove the condom from its wrapper and grasp the base of Craig Bowman’s cock as best I can.
It’s hot and tight and mighty, but it’s also attached to a man who is really special.
I lick the precum from the head and look up at him as I do.
His eyelids are heavy and his brawny stance softens for a second like he’s so grateful.
I flick at the sensitive part beneath the crown, eliciting a loud groan.
“Fuck, baby, I’m dying here.”
I roll the condom on. It is, needless to say, a large condom, for a large member. I ensure that I’ve done it correctly, nod once, and then lie back on my elbows, legs trembling, because shit. How is this even going to work?
“Don’t be nervous, okay?” he says as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs. “I want you to come on my cock, but if it hurts, you tell me. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay. I’m not worried—I want this.
I want you, Craig.” I reach for his face, and he lowers himself to kiss me.
He notches himself at my entrance. I’m so slick with arousal and loosey goosey from that orgasm that it shouldn’t be a problem.
These are famous last words, and his cock is down there smirking, like, Sure. You got this, sweetie.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He holds himself up over me with one hand, and I try to keep my eyes open to watch his beautiful, masculine, stubbled jaw and his muscular neck and shoulders, but they squeeze shut when he pushes in.
Someone is screaming. I guess it’s me. When the initial shock subsides, I whisper, “It’s okay, it’s good.
” Because it is—it’s so good. It’s a lot, but it’s good.
He kisses me. Crushes my lips with his this time. A bruising kiss to distract me from the quick thrust and jab that makes me scream again, but it’s not from pain exactly, so much as it’s such a hot, seething kind of pleasure I’m losing my mind.
He groans. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.”