She did pause for a moment and slowly settled herself on to me-like she wanted to be careful with that maneuver-but she was so wet that there was no real resistance, and she had the angle just right with no fumbling. Then she started riding me smooth and fast.
This was not at all how I had imagined this going down, and Imwas suddenly conscious of how turned on I was-and the fact that I had blown a load not ten minutes before. I felt like I might cum instantly and I hardly dared to breathe or move. She was sitting up, her eyes closed, hands resting loosely against her thighs and my waist, pumping back and forth, smoothly swinging her hips in a circular motion, moaning and saying, repeatedly, “come on, come on...don’t hold back.” I was holding back for all I was worth. I put my hands on her breasts and gently cupped and caressed with her rhythm as I concentrated on relaxing my pelvic muscles and I counted in my head, focused on not finishing too soon.
It felt so good. She looked so good. I wanted to extend that moment. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or disappoint her; couldn’t live with myself if I ruined this. I kept counting silently, as slowly as I could manage, until I got to 300. She had shifted her position and changed her speed several times, and I felt like I was well past the “two-pump chump” stigma. She put her hands on mine on her breasts and looked down at me. “Come on. Don’t hold back. Give it to me.” I started to thrust into her, began to lose control of my breathing and the noises I was making. She arched her back, and shouted- positively shouted!- “yes! Yes! Yes!” With the first few deep thrusts. She put her hands behind her head and bounced up and down, breaking her perfect smooth rhythm, almost sobbing her “yes! Yes!” As her face twisted.
As I was morning and thrusting upward against that receptive body, getting ready to savor the big finish, I remembered, almost too late, that there was no condom. I tapped my palms on her waist and panted, “get off. Get off.” Her eyes popped open, she smiled as if delighted, then positively hopped up and off; falling to the bed on my left side with a bounce and (seriously) a little girl’s giggle. She reached over, her knee overlapping my thigh, one breast spilling over my chest, her hair in my face, and stroked my penis three or four times before I exploded. She squeezed and tugged repeatedly as I spilled over her hand, moaning deeply and writhing as if she were the one reaching orgasm instead of me. Then she sighed and flopped over, laying flat on her back, legs spread, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her dry hand patted my thigh twice as if she was saying, “good boy.”
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