She woke in a half-lit room, semi-coherent, liquid-comfortable. The shadows were unfamiliar to her. The position of the objects within the room. The objects themselves. Not simply altered but altogether different. There was something compelling about the warm figure sprawled at her side, about the scent enveloping her cocooned body, about the malleability of her senses as she lay disoriented and half-awake in someone else’s bed.
She sat up with her knees folded underneath her and peered down at the bed’s other occupant. She was not sure if she saw him or merely sensed him. He slept. He pretended to sleep. She could read in the tilt of his mouth the beginnings of a smile or did she only feel him smiling inside of her? He was perfectly gorgeous lying there exposed to the pelvis. She could see the outline of a prominent erection, the way the sheets strained and tented under the pressure of him. In her heart too there was a pressure, a tightness which she could only describe as sentient. He possessed her even now. He possessed her on every level and she in turn possessed him. She inhaled shakily. ‘Is it okay to touch him?’ She could have simply asked but that would have spoiled the reveal. He wanted her to take initiative. He was anything but defenseless. He was completely defenseless against her but he’d never quite managed to convey that to her.
She bit her lower lip and reached out a trembling hand to the figure. This was the first time they’d met in the corporeal sense. Their first “real” encounter. The means by which she had arrived, the “unrealness” of the situation heightened her senses. Waves of endorphins scattered her thoughts and by degrees eroded whatever might have remained of her inhibitions. Her entire being called out to him. She ran her fingers along the length of his torso. She could not hear him inhale for the violent recoil of her pulse but she saw the exaggerated rise of his chest. His eyes remained closed. He waited. She straddled him, lowering herself on his erection lengthwise, the sheet still between them. She rubbed herself against him. His thick shaft sliding between her thighs. She laid herself out on top of him. Their bodies warm with arousal, almost hot. She kissed him open-mouthed across the collarbones and across his chest. He could feel her wetness soaking through the sheet. He could feel her heat and the throb of her pussy like a second heartbeat against his eager cock. He took her face in his hands, thumbing away her tears. He looked at her as if she were the entirety of his universe, the purpose of his existence, the only person he had ever loved and would ever love. All of her feelings came rushing out at once and in the gentle captivity of his smile all of it was suddenly, inexplicably sacred to her. Her eyes widened in the instant before closing. He kissed her and her farthest reaches surfaced. They took their time filling in each other’s mouths. They tasted and caressed each other, speaking without words, devouring, devouring, devouring. The whole time they kissed she was rubbing herself to orgasm against him, getting off on friction and proximity alone. There was something devastating in their proximity, something devastatingly poignant about the way they came apart and reassembled within each other.
She moved down his body. His neck, his chest, his nipples, his stomach. He felt naked without the heat of her pussy smothering his cock. She moved the now clinging sheet out of the way and rubbed his cock against her exposed flesh. Labia, Clit, Vagina. Silky smooth, slippery, incomprehensibly soft. She sat down on him, taking him in at her own speed. Deliberate. Torture. He cupped her breasts, her ass, he branded her into his memory. The shape of her. The tension. The suppleness. His hips rocked, shook, crested. She convulsed on top of him. Fragile like a reflection in water. Her tight pussy made his cock weep, forced from his throat sounds that were not human. She filled his name with her breath. She made his name sound holy. Her voice was totally pornographic.
Once he was inside of her. She started to ride him. She rode him to please herself. She rode him and her full breasts bounced. She rode him with her eyes closed for a bit, getting used to the sensation of being full to excess. He could tell she was struggling to accommodate him and yet each time she fell down on him she was taking him deeper. He took her hips, made her ride him harder and faster, coaxed himself deeper and deeper until he had reached her end. She laid down on him again, her breasts flush against his chest. She kissed him, her moans of pleasure spilling into his mouth, mixing with his own. He was drowning in her deluge, in the currents of her body, in his own instincts. Instincts which screamed at him to fuck, fuck, fuck. She was a vice wrapped in velvet. She was sucking, sucking, sucking. She was orgasming endlessly on top of him. They were consuming each other. They were evolving and devolving. They were Gods. Infinite. Altruistic. Impalpable. They were animals. Finite. Greedy. Sensual. In those moments when their orgasm overlapped they were screaming prayers and obscenities at each other, confessions both carnal and sacred. In that moment they were more than two people could comprehend. They were one, a universe unto themselves.