10. Session Three | Application #3
An orgasm that ripped through my body with violence.
Full body. My spine locking. My pussy strangling his dick in contractions so tight he felt it because his rhythm stuttered, his hips slamming forward once more, burying deep, and I felt him come.
The hot flood of it inside me while his hand held my throat and his weight held me flat and I was blind and deaf and airless and coming and filled with him and there was nothing, nothing in the world except what our bodies were doing to each other in the dark.
He released my throat.
Air rushed in. Massive. My lungs expanding. The second wave crashing, the way it always did when oxygen returned, the chemical cascade making my body convulse again, aftershock piling on aftershock while he pulsed inside me.
His weight settled. His forehead between my shoulder blades. His breath hot and broken against my spine. Both of us shaking. Both of us ruined.
He pulled out slow. I felt him leave. Felt the emptiness.
Then his hands. Gentle now. Rolling me onto my back. I felt him reach for my ears. The earbuds coming out. One. Then the other.
Sound rushed back in. My own breathing. His. The ambient hum of my apartment. The neighbor's dog, far away. Atlanta outside the window. The world returning.
Then the blindfold. Untied. Pulled away.
Light. Dim candlelight, but still making me squint after the total darkness. His face above me. Close. Watching me come back. His eyes soft. Checking.
"Hey," he said. His voice the first sound I'd heard in... I didn't know how long. Twenty minutes? Forty? It could have been hours.
"Hey." My voice was destroyed. Hoarse. I'd been screaming and didn't know.
He pushed my hair back from my damp forehead. Kissed my eyelids. My nose. My lips. Gentle. Coming back kisses. Return to earth kisses.
"How do you feel?" he whispered.
I tried to take inventory. My body felt distant. Heavy. Every muscle spent. Between my legs: swollen, wet, dripping him. My throat warm where his hand had been. My back stinging in specific spots where his teeth had been. My inner thighs hot from the strikes.
"Everywhere," I said. "I feel everywhere."
His arms slid beneath me. Pulled me against his chest. His body warm and solid and present.
I pressed my face into his neck and breathed him in and felt the tears come.
Not pain. Overwhelm. The kind of crying that happens when your body processes something so big it can't hold it all inside and has to let some of it out through the eyes.
He held me tighter. His mouth against my hair. His hands stroking my back in long, slow passes.
"I've got you," he said. "I'm right here. You're safe. You did so good."
I cried for three minutes. Quiet tears against his chest. His arms never loosening. His mouth pressing warmth into my scalp. His hand drawing patterns on my spine while my nervous system came down from wherever it had been.
He ran a bath.
Hot water. The last of my Epsom salts. He carried me because my legs were trembling too hard to trust. Set me in the water and sat on the floor beside the tub with his back against the wall and his hand on the edge, his fingers trailing in the water, touching my shoulder, my arm, maintaining contact.
"That was..." I started.
"Yeah."
"I couldn't hear myself. Couldn't hear you. Just felt everything."
"That's what sensory deprivation does." His fingers traced my collarbone beneath the water.
"Takes away the inputs your brain uses to manage sensation.
No sight to anticipate. No sound to track movement.
The only thing left is nerve endings. And they have nowhere to send the information except deeper. "
"I felt you in places I didn't know existed."
"Good." He leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes on my face. "That's the point."
I soaked until the water started to cool. He lifted me out. Dried me off. Found lotion in my cabinet and rubbed it into my skin: my shoulders, my arms, my stomach, my legs. Careful around the tender spots. Kissing each bite mark as he passed it.
He dressed me. A clean t-shirt from my drawer. No underwear. Pulled the covers back. Put me in bed. Climbed in behind me. His chest against my back. His arm heavy across my waist. His nose in my hair.
"Stay," I said. Even though I already knew the answer.
"I'm staying."
Quiet. His breathing slowing against my neck. My body sinking into the mattress, into him, into the weight of everything that had just happened settling into my muscles and my bones and the memory of my skin.
"Jarvis."
"Hmm." Already half asleep. His arm tightening around me on instinct.
"I trust you."
His lips pressed against the back of my neck. Held there.
"I know," he said. "That's why this works."
I closed my eyes. His body warm behind me. The candle on the nightstand burned down to nothing, the last wisp of smoke curling in the dark. My apartment quiet around us. My body spent and held and safe and satisfied in a way that went past physical into something I didn't have a name for yet.
I fell asleep in his arms.
And dreamed of nothing at all.