Page 93 of The Dommes

I shriek, in desire and surprise, as Ira drives half her hand into me.

We’re gone.

It’s so instant. So animalistic. Not just her, but me as well. So that’s what she feels like. She sucks me in like it was always meant to be. I want her. I want this unadulterated feeling of fullness that overtakes me, my opening parting to take her fingers in one blessed stroke. It hurts. It invigorates me. It makes me fuck her harder without even thinking about it.

I’ve been wanting this all night. I’ve been wanting this all week.

I’ve been wanting this ever since I first met her.

She knows how to fuck. From the moment she’s inside, she’s working me, her wrist relentless against my thighs as her fingertips reach for my core. I’m wetter every time she even slightly pulls out. My hand is trapped between her leg, but I can barely move it, because she holds me down and pummels me below. I’m a conduit for Ira’s pleasure. She’s fucking me more than I’m fucking her. Both between my legs and hers.

The sweet heat of her pussy is undoing me. God! What is it about this woman that makes me do things I never thought I would?

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” She loves telling me that. I can’t say I want her to stop.

My free hand braces against her shoulder. Ira goes between staring into my eyes and closing her own, losing herself to the movements we create together. Because it’s not just her now as she finally lets go. It’s me, fucking her as much as she’s fucking me. The easier she slips into me, the more I want her. Shit! It sounds so good. The melody of her hand plunging into my folds, my pussy so fucking wet that it only serves as an intense reminder of what we’re doing.

I want to be wetter. I want to feel her wetness all over me. Even inside of me. What if it’s all the same to me already?

“Katie.” Don’t ever let her stop calling me that. I don’t care about the other pet names she peppers into our private conversations. I want to hear my name like that. I want to hear her come undone inside of me. I feel it starting to happen. Not only my orgasm, but my muscles clamping down on her knuckles as I force her deeper, deeper inside. No, I feel that sweet pulsing of her form as she rhythmically thrusts into me.

The mattress sinks beneath me with every thrust. The headboard hits the wall, my squeals of impending orgasm ripping my throat apart as Ira pulls me out of her so she can sit up, grab me by the hips, and drive so hard into me that I…

I…

I’m coming.

My eyes roll into the back of my head. All I know is that I feel so full and taken care of that I’m feasting on Ira, her energy, her ability to turn me into this kind of person. Her grunts turn into long, hard groans.

“I’m coming, babe.”

It’s the only warning I get. At first, I wish she hadn’t told me. But I grab her arms, holding myself firm as my orgasm hits a new peak and I swear to God she can do whatever she wants.

Like unleashing herself all over me using nothing but her other hand and the memories of what I had done to her.

My eyes snap open. Ira’s looking at me, drinking in everything she sees as she climaxes, her pelvis shuddering in sensations that I was so afraid of last time when we used the prosthetic.

I’m entranced. I’m hot. I’m wet.

Every pulse of her body is a revelation. I don’t feel afraid. If anything, I feel at peace. In paradise. As if this is how it’s supposed to be.

Her womanly cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure tickles my ear shortly before she comes on my mound. Not just once, either.

This is so different. This feels beyond. It’s making my brain melt and my skin scream in joy. I’ve never felt so connected to another human being before. Even when we don’t touch, she’s with me. I’m with her.

We’re one.

“Oh.” I don’t know which one of us says it as she collapses on top of me. My arms wrap around Ira, holding her against me as my legs tremble, sore. I’m not used to spreading them so wide for anyone. Yet she makes me want to.

I want to do so many strange things with her.

Before I want her to even think about it, Ira puts her hand on my stomach before bringing it up to my mouth. My lips curl around her fingers, tasting me, her, the product of our bodies entwined, but there’s no doubt about it. I’m the receiver, she’s the giver.

This is it. The moment my brain might jump ship on me.

It doesn’t. I feel so at peace before, and I do after. Probably because Ira’s smiling at me with a genuine kindness no one gives me in bed.

“You’re amazing.” Her limbs entwine with mine, spreading my legs open as I try to close them. “Can you feel it?”

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