by Darcy Meyer
Already, I could feel the orgasm approaching again. I spent some time looking down at him as I rode his cock, but then I looked ahead instead, out the back door of the kitchen. Through a small window I could see the bushes in the backyard, and I began to imagine my orgasm as a great wave coming up over those bushes toward me. I rode him harder, and faster, rising and sliding back down a little each time, my pussy rubbing against his dick faster and faster. I rode him as if my climax were a destination on the horizon, my water in the desert.
His hands gripped my ass and spread my cheeks, and I didn’t mind at all.
“Come on,” I said, humping him faster and harder each second, “come on.”
He didn’t speak. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be chasing his own goal. He had begun thrusting his dick into me each time I slid toward him, so that my tits bounced each time I bucked against him. I squeezed my clit with one hand, and then started rubbing it furiously as I came closer, and closer, and I fucked him harder and harder and faster and faster.
“Almost there,” I breathed.
And then I felt it, like the moment a rollercoaster climbs the summit of it’s track and begins to rush down the other side. I felt the great wave of ecstasy wash over me, as the bundle of nerves in my crotch exploded with pleasure. My pussy dripped my own fluids as well as his, as he shot great bursts of cum inside me. We kept on grinding against each other, growing slower and gentler as we each descended to a place of contentedness.
My orgasm achieved, I bent down to kiss him again, and his lips were waiting for me. Just like the first time, our tongues played around with each other while he tasted each other’s saliva and writhed with our genitals connected and our fluids mingling inside me.
I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that I must have been a bad person. But even that felt like it might have been an understatement.
I guess if you really analyzed what I’d made myself a part of, I could be seen as downright evil to some people.
I don’t know, what do you think?
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