American Queen

He slides a finger into my vagina, and then another, and then a third probes at the tight hole underneath, and I explode. Into a tornado of misery and shame and pain and sensation, into a storm of bliss and pleasure so raw and fierce that my womb cramps hard as it contracts. I think I’m screaming again, and I’m definitely crying as this climax tears through me, punches a hole straight through me like a hammer through sheetrock. I can barely see, barely hear, it’s just feel, feel, feel, as I come with my skin on fire and my muscles sizzling.

I’m not finished orgasming when Ash moves up over me, one hand working his fly open. He doesn’t bother to undress all the way, just yanks his pants down far enough to expose his cock and then finds my still-clenching hole and presses his tip to it. I’m so wet that he’s able to notch himself at my entrance with no effort, and then he pushes into my swollen pussy with a grunt that curls my toes.

Or maybe it’s his giant cock curling my toes. It’s hard to tell.

He pulls back and shoves back in—it’s a tight, tight fit—and I whimper at the stretching feeling as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck, I’m so hard for this,” he pants. “Feel how hard I am. Feel how big.”

I can, I do. I’m impaled on his bigness, speared on eight throbbing inches, and I might as well be a virgin again. It’s the same kind of perfect discomfort that I felt with Embry, a pain that seems to scratch a deep, deep itch on the inside of my body, the kind of pain that draws me towards pleasure almost against my will because it’s so very, very right.

He’s still wearing his sweater over a button-down shirt, and the fabric brushes against my erect nipples every time he thrusts and moves over me, reminding me that I’m naked and he’s not, I’m vulnerable and he’s in control. Sex with Embry was wildfire, uncontrollable lust, two storm fronts colliding in an eruption of electricity and noise. But sex with Ash is different—harder and deeper, more intense and more controlled and more spiritual and more everything else possible, and it feels as though he’s everywhere inside of me, all over me. His hard body covers mine, his marks burn my ass and thighs, his mouth is hot and biting at my neck and jaw and breasts as his cock possesses me from the inside out.

“Am I bigger than him?” he rasps in my ear. “Do I make you come harder than him?”

I forget for a minute that he doesn’t know it’s Embry, that to my Sir, him is just a mysterious male-shaped silhouette from my past, and I’m nodding. I’m gasping yes. Yes, yes, it’s all true, because in this moment, there’s no man bigger or harder than Ash. There is no man other than Ash, and he makes me feel like there’s no other woman, as if his entire life and purpose is to hold me down and fuck the life out of me.

He keeps talking; he tells me how beautiful I am, how precious, how good I make him feel. How tight my sweet cunt is, how it squeezes him, how much he likes making my tits move with each shove of his hips, how he’s going to fill me up so full that I’m dripping for days.

I reach for him, for his sweater or for his hips, but my hands are wrestled back down over my head, and Ash pins both forearms there with one hand. The submissive pose unleashes something dark in him, some animal intent on ravaging and marking, a monster that saws its perfect dick in and out of me so fast and so hard that a stream of words escape my mouth, nonsense words mixed with uncontrolled noises and grunts, yes and no and oh oh oh and please more please Sir please please.

I’m being hammered, I’m completely at his mercy, and he’s so big, it hurts, it hurts. Even I can’t tell if the whine from my throat is pain or pleasure, and then he changes the angle of his hips, and the entire world flips over. Suddenly, like before but even stronger, the pain joins forces with the building orgasm, rendering me senseless. Speechless. I’m nothing, I’m everything, I’m the light and the dark and the air and the void. Strong force, weak force, gravity, electricity, magnetism are all pinning me underneath this violent, tragic soldier, and as he fucks the literal breath out of me, and as I see stars and as I squirm in abject pleasure, I know everything is true. String theory, magic, multiple lives, miracles, God, parallel universes, it’s all true and it’s all real and it’s all happening inside me right now at this very instant as my climax detonates like a dying star inside me.

It’s not a gratification, this orgasm, it’s gospel. It’s good news. It’s revelation and apocalypse. It’s joy and judgment and the answer to every question I’ve ever asked. Everything in my life has led to this one moment, this one exchange, this one feeling of my body shuddering uncontrollably under Ash’s.

“Take it,” he’s saying into my ear. “Take your pleasure. Take me.” And I do, I do, I take my pleasure and I take him and I take me, and then like the most poignant sacrifice, like the most tender death, Ash pulls me close, and his body rigid and frozen over mine, erupts inside me. He’s got one hand cradling my head and the other holding my hip down, and his mouth hovers above my mouth, so every soft grunt and needy pant is warm against my lips. I feel every throb and every pulse, every hot spurt of him, and there’s so much that he’s spilling out of me.

He keeps himself buried to the hilt until he’s finished, and then he kneels up without pulling out, stroking himself slowly with his tip still inside me, as if to milk himself of every last drop.

The act is so biological, so possessive, that my cunt gives an involuntary clench, ready to come again. He chuckles at that and pulls out, leaning down to give my pussy a reverent kiss before he climbs off the bed.