Page 49 of His Virgin Vessel

"Oh my God, Asa," she whispered, when she could speak again. "Oh my ... I never thought it could be like that without ... I mean you didn't even ... It was just your mouth, but I'm ... Holy crap!"

For the record, that's the sort of response a man wants to get from the woman he's pleasuring. Moving more quickly now, I kissed my way back up Corinne's body to her face.

"I hope you're not too tired."

Corinne's answer was to reach for me, and guide me into position. We kissed, long and deep as I began to ease myself into her. Over the past few days she had become so accustomed to me that this was no longer the difficult process it first had been, but I took my time by choice, slow and steady, letting her feel each swollen inch as it stretched her.

"Oh, I need you so badly," Corinne murmured, clutching at me and writhing.

It would have been so easy to just go for it, as we had before, hard and fast. And that would have been great for both of us, as it always was. But it wasn't what I wanted tonight, and, whether she knew it or not, it wasn't what she wanted either. This would be different. It might be agony from time to time, but it would be worth it.

Corinne stroked her hands the length of my body as I finally butted up against her, filling her completely. She didn't urge me on this time. She had gotten the message that this would be something a bit special, and that I was going to do it my way. And after how that had already paid off for her, she was happy enough to let me continue and see what happened. What happened, initially, was nothing. I was comfortable enough, lying still on top of her, buried in her to the hilt, kissing her tenderly. She answered my kisses with equal affection, her small hands ever on the move, roaming across my body. When I began to move, it was as slowly as I had done everything else. I was not stroking in and out yet, but just starting to caress my hips against hers in small, tight circular motions, teasing her nerves, firing her up, and making her breath come in short, hot gasps. Her legs locked around mine, sliding up to my hips and down to my ankles, rubbing herself against me as if any contact at all was good.

Seamlessly, I changed from stirring her into the sinuous undulations of sex, and Corinne moaned, then whimpered, then shook as she came for a second time. I just kept moving rhythmically into her, achingly slow, riding her through it.

"Oh, I can't believe how good this feels," she moaned. "So good, so good, SO good."

Now I had her where I wanted her. Her whole body was one big nerve, alive with sensation, desperate for release. She was constantly on the very verge of orgasm, even straight after she had climaxed, she was already teetering on the edge of her next spend. Keeping her at this point of permanently thwarted completion was an art, and a skill, and a lot of hard work. I fought to control my own need and to keep myself from speeding up when my whole body screamed at me to fuck this woman. But it was worth it to be able to make Corinne feel like this. I could make her come practically at will with a touch here, a little extra pressure there, or a slight change in my metronomic rhythm. Over she went again, gasping and clutching at me, not knowing how much ecstasy her body could endure, but determined to find out. She talked as she went, a constant stream of nonsense flowing from her mouth, endearments, obscenities, urging, begging, yes's and no's. Her brain was so overwhelmed with pleasure that it had lost higher speech functions.

If I had not been able to put my feelings for her into words, I could put them into actions. I could let her know how much I loved her by making her feel like this. I could channel my love into her the only way I knew how. So, I made her happy. She came in hot, tight orgasms that flushed her face and made her bite her lip; she shivered through mini-comes that left her eager for more; she lay back, wallowing in unctuous pleasure that seemed to soak into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went stiff as a board, mouthing words that refused to form. She giggled and grinned, eyes wide with surprise. She kicked at the bed and scratched my ass with her nails. She buried her face in my shoulder, whimpered, and whispered promises of love. She came in more ways than I had ever seen a woman come.

But all good things must come to an end. However high an opinion I had of my own sexual prowess, and however determined I was to give Corinne everything I had to give, no man could last forever. I had no idea how long we spent like that. I had no idea how many times she came, but, finally, I began to speed up. I had not meant to. It had not been a conscious decision, but my body was done being used like this and had taken over. My hips began to smack more firmly against Corinne's, and, in spite of all she had already been through, she ground back against me.

"Yes. Oh, yes. Make it now. Take me there one more time. Take me to the stars."

After holding back so long, the moment had crept up on me. One minute it seemed that I could go all night, the next I was hurtling towards orgasm with nothing to stop me. All self-control was gone, all stamina spent. The best I could hope was to pound Corinne to one more stellar moment of release on my way to my own inevitable, unstoppable conclusion.

There was a moment when I genuinely thought we might break the rickety old bed, so hard did we go at each other in those dying seconds. But this section of the evening was destined to be brief. I simply could not hold back any longer, and, for the first time in my short sexual history with Corinne, I came first, and harder than ever in my life. When I was nineteen, I got shot in a street fight, and the sudden shock, the blank, white heat coming from nowhere overwhelming everything as my body redirected all resources to this one catastrophic emergency—that was the only thing in my life to which I could compare that orgasm.

Corinne was only a split-second behind me, and, after watching her come a hundred different ways tonight, it was strangely gratifying to see one simple mind-blowing climax. It was as if every orgasm she had had that night had only been ninety percent, keeping that ten percent somewhere in reserve. Throughout the night, those leftover percentages had been building, waiting for this moment, the moment of her one hundred percent orgasm, at which point they all flooded into her, making it about five hundred percent.

Or perhaps all this stuff about gun shots and percentages is bullshit. It's easy to reach for wild superlatives when you have the best sex of your life, because it's hard to find words that adequately describe it. But the words don't matter. What mattered to me was that, when the fireworks had died down, when we had gotten our breath back, and our hearts had slowed down to a normal rhythm, when we were lying on the bed together, bathed in sweat, holding each other, Corinne whispered into my ear, "I love you too."

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