Langdon’s amazing cock touched parts of my pussy I barely knew existed despite my own near-religious efforts to find them. But Langdon had knowledge of a woman’s body far surpassing my own, and I was more than eager to learn from him—if I could keep up.
Both of us knew it could be the last time. I tried not to think about my dreams, of gunshots and tragic deaths, mine and Langdon’s. This was a time to celebrate; perhaps the last time.
We’d tried so many positions since getting together that the hours had blurred one into another until I could barely keep track, much less recall. But I was doing things I’d never done before, or even imagined myself doing. Forget being Sheryl Francis and whatever went along with that. I was a whole other person, no longer a girl from Oregon in the big city but a woman of the world—and becoming all the more so with every stroke of that mighty cock inside me, every clamp and wriggle of my own muscular mound, every roll of my hips with my newfound skills.
On his mattress, Langdon sat on his own calves, using them to support his muscular thighs. His calves gave him torque and support to thrust his hips upward, which was just what the position required. I was sitting on his thighs, lowering myself onto him and savoring every bit of movement as his cock slid up and into me as far as I could stand.
Up and down in that King Kong position, we kissed deep and hard and pounded even harder, the muscles of my own calves matching his and keeping us in perfect sync, immaculate rhythm, drop and pound and thrust and wriggle and gasp and pump more… more…
I wrapped my legs around the small of Langdon’s back and locked my ankles together, giving me more control. I could pull myself in, taking him deeper, then ease myself out, back and forth according to my own wishes. I was calling the tune, the rhythm was mine to control, and I worked that cock like a true master. I could feel it inside me, and I could read its every twitch and turn, feeling what it was feeling, knowing where it was going and when. I wanted to feel him come inside me, but I also wanted to wait, knowing it would be all the better. Langdon had already proven his amazing stamina and ability to get it up three or four times in a single evening, so our first orgasm of the night would only be a teaser, a promise of greater things to come.
Even still, there was no rush.
No rush.
As I faced Langdon in this seated position, he could easily lean forward and down and take one of my hardened nipples into his mouth. His tongue was warm and wet, fast-moving and flicking around the little pink nipple. A loving groan echoed in the crevice between my breasts as he moved from one to the other. My hungry right nipple was happy to be taken into his mouth. His lips were supple and tender and attentive, and his nostrils pushed hot streams of air over my sweat-damp breasts.
He raised his face to me and we kissed again, tongues dancing and intertwining, as my hands pressed against each side of his cheeks. I pulled away and looked into his beautiful green eyes, noticing his long hair cascading over each side of that magnificent face.
“Let’s do it again,” I wheezed between kisses, my brain taking a back seat to my jabbering heart, not to mention other parts of my body.
“You wanna come, baby?”
“Yeah, make me come, Langdon, make me!”
He chuckled a bit into the corner of my ear, his hips still throbbing. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do, baby, and I never would.”
Amidst all the pumping and thumping and grinding and squirming, I tried to say, “I… I want it…”
“You do?” I nodded, unable or unwilling to say it. “How, baby, how?”
“Like before,” I hissed, lips pulled tight over my teeth. “The seven thing.”
“The Taoist thrust? Seven pumps, then six, then five…”
“Yes, baby,” I coughed out, “God yes!”
“No, baby,” Langdon said into my ear, “no.” I was lost in lusty confusion, but I knew my man would make everything clear, that he’d make everything alright. He always had, and I knew with increasing certainty that he always would, and that he’d be the only one who ever would.
“We move forward, sweet thing,” Langdon said, “from seven… all the way up to ten.”
I could only imagine, but I knew I wouldn’t have long before I found out for sure. Langdon pushed himself into me with slow assuredness, recalling his introductory strokes.
“We’ll start at ten,” he growled into my ear, “and when we get to one, you’re going to come like you’ve never come before, as if you’ve never come before…”
I nodded, unable to answer with words, and not needing to.
“Alright then,” he said, his cock gliding slowly across my most private, perfect pink, “ten…”
I was already close to coming, that now-familiar sensation that only he seemed able to inspire. But I knew that he wanted me to wait, and I wanted it too. I wanted whatever he wanted, I… I…
“Nine, sweet angel,” Langdon growled into my ear, his face so close to mine, his soul so embedded in my own. His cock raked against my clit, pushing in further but without the fanfare, a gentle stroking that brought me closer to paradise by the delicate inch, closer and closer until the terrible and terrific distance itself felt like it was going to tear me apart.
“Eight,” Langdon hissed in my ear, his cock sliding in and out of me with terrible mastery. “Eight, you gorgeous girl, woman of every man’s dreams…”
My head was almost spinning, body twitching under his own. I couldn’t escape and I didn’t want to, but some otherworldly urgency made my body buck and struggle. I didn’t know why and I didn’t want to know. It wasn’t for me to know, but to feel, and that’s all I could do.
“Seven,” was all Langdon said as he pumped harder, his engorged manhood meeting my molten femininity as worlds collided, again and again and again and again…
My orgasm riled against me, a willing collaborator with Langdon’s ravenous aggression. I knew my body was acting against me, that it was a willing conspirator with Langdon Cane’s sense of dominance, of charming alpha power that was beyond measure, beyond challenge.
Yet here it was for me to touch, to plumb to the very bottom of my own depths and his own. How deep could we go? How long could I hold my breath?
His hands ran along my thighs, approaching the vortex of our union, hot and chaotic, fingers flexing hard and muscles flexing even harder, a pinch and a squeeze to make my body jut and jolt against him and with him at the same time.
“Good, baby, good,” Langdon said, happily urgent, his voice smiling in the corner of my imagination, “you’re getting there, baby, getting there…”
I was already there, ready to come all over that buried cock inside me, to bathe it my juices and melt it down to the core if I could, crushing the rest into molten metal.
But as usual, Langdon was in control, and things would happen by his terrible and terrific time table.
“Six, sweet Sheryl… six…”
“No,” I screamed despite my best efforts, “now!”
“No, no,” Langdon quietly insisted, “not yet, my little lovely, not even close.”
“Please,” I forced out, knowing it would be fruitless. But he kept grinding that awesome meat into me, the slightest shift from one direction or the other ringing bells in my crotch and down my legs. My tits giggled with the power of his thrusts and the delicacy of his mastery. I was his puppet, his plaything, and there was nothing else I would rather have been.
“Five, Sheryl,” he cooed in my ear, “half the way there. Five.”
I couldn’t contain my groan, a primitive and ancient cry I barely recognized as coming from me. Yet I knew it as well as I knew my own name. It was my own name, it was me.
Langdon spun me around and suddenly I was beneath him, legs up, head smashing against the pillow behind me. I wriggled and writhed, legs kicking idly as he ground into me, hard and sure and regular. He steadily increased his speed and thrusting with the control of a master.
“Four, my angel,” he rasped, “such a sweet four…”
Faster and harder, our most private parts smashing into each other, becoming each other, molding and melding, hurting and burning and churning and yearning, everything all at once in a chaotic collision of love and lust, clamping and clutching and grinding and panting, hotter and heavier until it seemed like neither one of us could take any more. My orgasm was lurching and shifting inside me, anxious for release. But I held her down, enjoying the brutal struggle for release, dominating over my own body and mind in a way I’d never done or had the chance to do.
“Three,” I screamed out, my voice cracking, “please three! Pleeeeeezzzzzzzzzzze!”
“You want three?” I felt myself nod, the only evidence that I was still alive. “Say it!”
“Three,” I wheezed out, “please three!”
“Okay, my sweet pretty everything, it’s three… it’s three!”
I heard my own groan escaping from my mouth. My lips quivered as my hips ground against Langdon’s at the vortex of our collision, the place that held us together. My body trembled, tearing itself apart while trying only to hold itself together. But that orgasm was tearing down the walls, a raging river with a rising tide.
Not yet, I told myself, not… yet…
My body wasn’t ready to wait. My now-familiar orgasm was banging against my inner walls, frustrated by years of denial and now hemmed in by this man’s commands. Like hell I’ll wait, that crazed creation seemed to scream out within me, but neither one of us seemed to have a choice.
But wait you will was the answer that Langdon’s slow response delivered.
“Two,” was all he had to say. His voice was low and growly in my ear, ringing deep and greasy, and my hips and juices responded beyond my own ability to control them. He’d possessed my body, my soul, my pussy; he had control of every part of me, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
The loneliest number waited for the call, but for us it was the lustiest number, the target. My orgasm was anxious and more than ready to explode at the very whisper of the word. He leaned in close and said it.
“One, Sheryl… one!”
He began throttling me even harder, and my cum burst out of me to contest his mastery with its own. Cock and cunt and pump and push. He shook his hips and my orgasm only rose, getting bigger and hotter, possessing me entirely.
“Keep going, Sheryl,” he urged me without needing to. “Keep coming, baby, keep coming and never stop… never stop!”
And I felt like I couldn’t have stopped coming even if I’d wanted to, and I didn’t. My body was a five-foot-four-inch orgasm, every tissue and fiber dedicated or subject to that ongoing eruption inside me.
And Langdon was right again; I felt like it was never going to stop, that it had never stopped at all, simply receded and waited for Langdon to return and coax it back into play. This feeling was so familiar, so unique, that it couldn’t have been replicated. It had to be the same living creature returned, always living inside me, always waiting, waiting for Langdon and nobody else, no other man.
Only Langdon Cane.