Too late for sex

It started with his hand.

It was late. Too late for sex. Too late for anything beyond snuggling. But his hand wandered across my back, my breasts, and I moaned deeply. The way he touches me imparts his sense of ownership directly into my brain, and that is enough to ignite my desire. I turned a little onto my stomach, spreading my legs and lifting my ass in the air. His hand was gliding along my thighs, across my sex, and then he was slapping my pussy lightly but relentlessly.

My moans only got louder as I slowly writhed to his slaps.

"What has got you so worked up anyway, girl?" he asked as I kept moaning, my brain already short-circuited, already a sex toy and not much more. "Did I use you, fuck toy? Did I please myself with you? Did that excite you?"

"uh, uh, uh... yes sir," I managed, each syllable a long drawn-out cry as he kept spanking my pussy.

"Would you like me to fuck you now, girl?" he asked.

"yessss," I hissed softly. I could feel my wetness seeping out as he slapped my sex.

He pulled me onto my side, facing away from him, and guided his cock slowly into me, just the head at first. "Oh yeah, girl, is that good for you?" It was clearly good for him based on the new timbre his voice had gained. I shuddered and squirmed back onto him, trying to take him all the way into me. He let me, and then his hand was moving across my face, his fingertips at first, gentle touches that turned into his whole hand clamping down across my face.

"Take me, fuck hole," he ordered as I moaned, making me moan even louder, the pressure of his hand on my face and the words coming from his mouth combining to make me descend so, so far into subspace where the only thing that matters is us, our bodies joined, his words, our pleasure. His other hand gripped my hair tightly and he yanked my head back as I cried out against his palm. He was moving my body onto him as he fucked me, causing his cock to penetrate me even more deeply, deeply enough that the fullest length of the stroke was painful and I loved the little bang of pain as he started to withdraw. I groaned, drunk on sex and submission and love and adoration for the man who was taking me there.

His words continued crashing over me, and he let go of my face to slap my breasts, hard, over and over. I moaned. "Oh fuck, I love it when you hurt me," I whispered.

"I know you do, fuck toy," he responded, his hand still slapping my breasts, his other hand yanking gently on my hair.

"I love it.. oh, God, I love it when you hurt me while you fuck me," I managed to clarify.

"I know," he said, pulling me against him tightly as he fucked me, harder, harder, twisting my nipple so that I screamed a little scream that I cut short for the sake of the neighbors. God, how I miss living in a house where I could scream as loudly as I needed to.

He was coming inside me, yanking me against him tightly as he pulsed. His hands slowly stroked my breasts, my face. I purred.

"Love you," he said softly, pulling me close, wrapping his leg around me, "so much."

"Mmm, love you, husband," I whispered, wriggling against him, still so very aroused.

He fell asleep with his fingertips still slowly stroking my skin.

I was okay with it. It had been too late for sex in the first place. I purred softly as I lay there with his softening cock sliding out of my body. I do love him so, and I was delighted to have had sex. I'll take any sex with him I can get; especially insanely hot sex. I lay there imagining the entire thing, thinking about it, turning it over in my head. That is what I do after he falls asleep; I think. I don't ever fall asleep quickly.

I shifted slightly to relieve an ache in my back, rolling forward onto my stomach, and he stirred. It's funny because I don't think he's actually aware of falling asleep - he just continues on as if nothing has happened. His hand wandered possessively over my ass, slipping down between my legs, and I opened them for him, moaning softly because he felt so damn good.

His fingers worked their magic, sliding gently around my clit, delicately strumming directly on it, sliding briefly inside me and then back to my clit. I was panting, squirming, trying to climb away from the sensations. His other hand slipped under me, gripped my breast hard, and I was trapped between his hands, shivers travelling between them like an electric current running between my sensitive points - a current that was arcing from one hand to the other as his fingers danced. I moaned over and over, deeper and deeper as I sank into bliss.

"Come for me," he said.

"Oh, oh, nuh-uh," I whimpered, squirming, trying to lift myself from his hands, terrified of what I could feel coming, the glorious, glowing abyss that was about to open and consume me whole.

"Yes," he said, harder, his fingers insistent, his voice not brooking disobedience. "Come for me."

Orgasms. That's what I remember most about the whole thing. A chorus of screams that never ended. I saw God, who was perhaps summoned by my constant repetition of his name. My muscles could not even begin keep up with the intensity and I was shaking uncontrollably by the time he finally stopped, deep, animalistic grunts and groans emerging from my throat, completely bypassing my tongue and lips.

"Look at you go," I heard him say over the roaring sound of blood in my ears, over my own helpless cries after dozens of orgasms.

"Oh. FUCK," I panted, drenched in sweat, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience I had just endured. "Oh fuck. Oh my God, oh my God ohmygodohmygod, ohfuck." My hands still slapped the bed at intervals as I recovered. I trembled all over, too hot, too hot. Stifling. I needed to breathe - my panting was not getting enough oxygen to my lungs. I shoved the lightweight bamboo sheet off of me, relishing the feeling of our fan as it oscillated over my sweaty body. Through all of that, his fingertips stroked my back, my legs, triggering aftershocks and loud, loud moans from me. As I lay there nude in the breeze from the fan, sighing and trembling with pleasure, his hand ceased stroking, tightening on my hip and pulling me toward him.

"Oh, please don't cover me up," I begged, pushing damp strands of hair away from my face. I wanted to be close to him but I'd just gotten enough air.

"I won't," he assured me. "Is it all right if I fuck you, though?" It wasn't really a question, though it was phrased as such. He pressed his hard-again cock against me and I moaned.

"Oh, yes, please," I whispered, leaning forward more, rubbing my backside against him, bending so his entrance would be as easy as possible for him.

"Girl isn't tired of fucking?" he asked as he pushed into me in one smooth stroke.

I moaned deeply in response. "Girl is for fucking," I murmured, pressing back into him and squeezing. Oh how I do love being his.

Good thing the man took a brief mid-sex nap.

I recommend it.