Page 25 of Rather: The Therapist

“Again,” I breathed, dick still hard in my hands.

“Again,” she agreed, still catching her breath.

I regained feeling in my fingers and managed to untie the rope. Indentions pierced her skin. She was a beautiful burgundy beneath. As she massaged the pain away, I dug into my slacks and retrieved another condom and a warm cloth. The wash area was stocked with small towels. I turned the faucet on and put one underneath the water. It was warm upon contact, saving me time and energy.

I found the distressed damsel sitting up on the bed, polishing the sheets with more of her lubrication. She was still quite impressive. I enjoyed the disheveled version of her as much as I did the well-groomed one. Her messy hair. Her naked body. Her labored breathing. Her low lids. And, the lust that radiated from her frame.

My dear. I thought, sealing the distance between us.

With the damp towel, I pressed against her center.

“Ssss.”

She winced, not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure. Her sensitivity was the result of two orgasms, one right after the other. In an attempt to soothe her discomfort, I invited myself in for a forehead kiss. Then, one on the nose. Then, the lips where I lingered.

She was magnetic. She was the healthy sugar my body needed to function. The dosage for the night was high, but it would last for days to come. Possibly weeks.

“All fours, dear.”

“Um hmm.”

Nodding, she pulled away. The task was as hard for me to watch as it was for her to complete. That’s why I’d given it to her.

She spread her arms out on the bed and lowered her top half onto the comforter. With her ass in the air, she loosened every bit of restraint I thought I had. The condom was out of the wrapper and on my dick.

“Urgh.” Groaning, I parted her walls for my accommodation.

“Uhhhhhhh.”

The arch in her back was offensive. Her knees nearly touched the bottom of her breast. A few more inches and they’d make contact.

Lethal.

She didn’t fight fair. With all her beauty, that mouthpiece, her aura, her essence, her request, her pussy, her gushes, and her ability to fold in half while accepting every inch I had to give was sending me on a fucking trip.

“Throw that shit back,” I insisted, slapping her right cheek with every intention to leave a mark for days to come.

She squeezed her muscles, involuntarily pulling me in deeper. I removed myself completely, knowing that if I stayed off in her shit, I’d be busting again. I leaned in, stuffing her with three fingers as I kissed her pearl.

“My God.”

I licked her patiently, calmly as she fought against the sheets, trying to dig her way underneath the bed. Realizing she was attempting to flee, I dislodged my fingers. I held her tightly with both hands, my arms wrapped around her legs.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

Just as she edged, I released her.

“Nooooo,” she begged.

“You’ll cum, my dear… when I’m ready for you to.”

I plunged into her, again, hitting rock bottom.

“Now, throw that shit back and don’t stop.”

Graciously, she balanced her body on her shoulders and began shoving her pussy into my pelvis. With her hands planted on the sheets, palms flat for stability, she drove me to the brinks of hell. I doubted, highly doubted, heaven would even allow this type of behavior. It was blasphemous.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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