Away Games, Act Finale

(Click to read Away Games Act I, Act II or Act III)

That first, balls deep stroke is the best one. There is no sensation to compare it to. While I can imagine for you ladies the inverse, or receiving, of this inaugural penetration all the way to the reaches of your cervix is equally as sweet, being on the penetrating end is amazing. It’s then when you grasp the fucking bathroom wall genius of “velvet vise”. And when said handywoman’s tool is literally seeping its nectar like a Vermont maple during thaw? Her slick, sugary, warmth engulfed my painfully rigid cock like a bad reputation.

I had already decided to fuck Leigh as slowly as I possibly could, but as my balls kissed her outer folds with a sloppy *shmack* I quickly realized that my POA (Plan Of Arousal) was not just for her exquisite torment but also would be crucial to my surviving more than a few minutes inside this vaginal Nirvana. No. Fucking. Way. I would last any longer than that if I just fucked her brains out, especially while she was totally helpless, secured, bound, gagged, distressed and aroused beyond description. And as obviously aroused as she was, I also knew it would not take long, even taking my fucking sweet time, to make her cover me in cum.

That’s right. Not a typo. “..to make her cover me in cum”.

Her eyes screamed obscenities at my slow pace, her taut and straightened arms twisted in the leather straight jacket that was my everyday belt. Nipples like rock candy danced and reached up, begging for me to abuse them atop the full mounds of her heaving bosom. She was breathing harder and faster than I was fucking her, although not as deeply, which added to her frustration. I was already drunk on her cunt’s perfume, which was getting worse (better?) with each long, slow, pulsating stroke. Toss in some eye rolling squeals and moans from under the gag that was her own nightie and…

….well, lets just say she was a picture of carnal lust incarnate.

I repositioned my arms just a few more inches up the mattress, taking care to make sure to gather the crook of each knee firmly in the inner bend of my elbows. This simple gesture insured at least another 1/2″ of penetration. She knew this and whimpered feebly in not so innocent protest as she braced her soul for what was about to happen.

That next stroke, touching rock-fucking-bottom of her cunt, was the beginning of her end in this reality for the next 15 to 20 minutes. We both knew it. My eyes roared in evil laughter as hers moaned almost as loudly as she did through her satin gag. I couldn’t resist leaning in close to her, placing my forehead upon hers. We must have looked like some obscene origami this way. I fucking love to spread her like this and dance cheek to cheek, if you will. The best of both worlds is mine. I get to feel her stretched open to the point of ripping while I get to watch her soul twist in the flames of her gaze. Delicious.

“Awwww, so open.” I commented. “So fucking open.” All the while moving my glistening erection with a pace that would infuriate even the oldest of Sunday drivers. “You’re such a damn cock slut…”

It was then that her eyes flared. Breathing became an Olympic event. Sucking sounds greedily amplified through that which was her saliva soaked top. Her inner folds squeezed my cock with fury and hunger, gripping it tightly. Shrill cries bordering on primal night music. Pre pubescent gasps from that first time a foreign hand reaches second base behind the not-to-be-locked bedroom door. Fingers frantically clawing at some invisible savior to release her from this Heaven of Hell. Hamstrings pushing my arms with almost hydraulic force. Her form shuddering like she had been out too long in a January freeze.

“You fucking love this, don’t you slut?” was all it took.

Leigh’s body arched off the bed like a gymnast, every muscle she fucking owned contracted and braced for that wave. She groaned deeply with a sound that could best be described as a death gasp, her face a contorted and extremely flushed masterpiece entitled “Squirting Orgasm #1 In Another Bed With Bound Hands,” the first of at least a twenty piece commission by yours truly. I’m quite the collector of her squirting self-portraits. I must have well over 300 of them in my private collection. And this was one of her best works yet. Dare I say a seminal piece?

And she fucking squirted all over my impaled cock. Hot, wet liquid enveloped both of us. With each stroke another stream of unconsciousness…literally. The sopping sounds were insane, the sweet perfume that is female ejaculate a perfect accompaniment to the aromas of cunt, sweat and lust.

She was in big trouble now and knew it. For once she starts…

…well, you can finish that sentence. Just make sure to finish it about nineteen or so more times, each time wetter, each time more intense, each time more frantic. You can read faster if you want, for that’s what I did after about the first five squirtfests. I. Fucked. Her. Brains. Out. While she was bound helpless and her own damn nervous system did the same thing to her body – took control of it and turned her into a soaked, panting cum slut covered and slick in her own fuck juices.

This could have gone on for much longer, but the sign of a true artist is knowing when to put the brush down and sign it finished. I did just that with a few minutes of body rigid thrusts into her splayed form as she sobbed, unable to distinguish from when one orgasm ended and the next one began. I’m basically doing violent push-ups into the recesses of her anatomy and psyche, the only part of my body touching hers being my steadily lengthening and engorging cock as my impending releases builds to a crescendo. This swelling drives her fucking insane in that she knows my end is near, which throws gasoline on the excitement that is her lust inferno. It also just feels better, so of course she comes. Again. Harder. Toss in some growling and she doesn’t stand a chance.

I usually ride my own orgasm to as long as I can stand it. Typically I could have covered her in hot, sticky semen about 10-20 strokes earlier than I do. But when I do….

…I haven’t shot into her open mouth this way (yet) but I’ve hit her in the face, or ruined her pillow. Her chest is definitely a frequent recipient of my load. As is anything else within a one yard radius of the spitting cobra my cock becomes when I climax.

I growl-screamed as I came. I am not sure if growl-scream is a word. I really don’t fucking care. My ragged breath played under the growl-scream in a jazz like eight beat, some longer, some slower. Semen was flying all over her arched, sweaty, squirt soaked form.

I held her legs open for a few minutes as time stopped and we began a whole new chapter in our lives. A chapter whose 2nd page would be written the following morning when we woke up and she…..

– Scot

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8 responses to “Away Games, Act Finale

  1. Mmmmmmm…. so very, very nice

    Your vicariously affected fan … GC

    P.S. I actually don’t like that first stroke, I like the second and every one thereafter, but not the first … have to think about why now …

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