"I meant ."I meant ... my head. I'm so ashamed of the way I look ... I'm scared by all this." He touched my head while I kept my eyes carefully lowered. He didn't have to tell me he thought I was beautiful: I felt him stirring within me almost immediately. Within a minute I was on my way to a terrific orgasm, made all the more terrific by this sudden vision of myself as a kind of sex-machine that felt nothing, but drove him wild. I kept my face immobile and hid all outward expression of emotion while I squeezed him tightly and ground my hips against him the way I imagined such an appliance/being would. All the while, though, I was secretly building to one humdinger of a climax. I really tried to suppress the first one, and I think I was successful: I kept up the rhythm in my hips right through it without making a sound. I lost control on the second one, though. It was as though he made me have an orgasm despite myself. Although I am almost never noisy during sex, my breathing grew hoarse and merged with involuntary moans that got louder and louder until there was this other person in the room panting and crying out in near hysteria and it was me. I rolled my head back and forth and spread myself extra wide to pull him deeply inside me. He lifted my legs up onto his shoulders and plunged into me, filling me up. Right in the middle of his orgasm, I reached the peak of mine and for some daft reason I threw my legs apart, my feet in the air. I don't know why, because it didn't feel any better, just different. I just kept going and going, and so did he. I was moaning and babbling incoherently, nearly having convulsions. I planted my feet on the bed and pushed up, lifting him with my hips and opening myself as fully as I could for him. |