“Okay,” I said.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for you to come,” she said.
“That’s totally fine,” I said.
“You’re a liar,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“Good boy,” she said, swirling her tongue across my head. I moaned wordlessly.
“Will you still respect me in the morning?” she asked.
“As much as I respect you now,” I said diplomatically. Then: “Ow!” Her love bite had actually hurt quite a bit; she was entirely unsympathetic.
I drifted in and out of a state of perfect bliss. An indeterminate amount of time passed.
“Okay,” she said.
“What?” I asked, trying to sort out whether she’d actually spoken or whether I’d just imagined it.
She wrapped her hand around my cock and began to slowly lift it off of my belly, raising it toward her face. “I want you to,” she said.
“To?” I asked, more for something to say to keep from ejaculating than anything.
“To come,” she said as she slid her mouth down over my head.
“Oh, God,” I moaned again. That was enough. It was beginning. I could feel it, deep down, that hardness that marks the point of no return. I watched it in my mind’s eye. She sucked gently, then less gently, bobbing her head ever so slightly up and down on my cock. I watched that point, that point of no return, as it approached, then passed, then fell far behind.
I had just enough presence of mind to reach down, to try to extract myself from her mouth. She grabbed my wrist with her free hand and held it tight.
I came.
She moaned.
The Earth disappeared. The room disappeared. A million stars came out, then began to spin around us at the speed of light.
She moaned again. I could feel my cock filling her mouth with my come.
The sun exploded, shockwaves of nuclear material passing through me like sunlight through a window pane.
Wetness, down there. Hot wetness dripping down. My come was leaking out of her mouth as I continued to ejaculate into it.
My come. Was leaking. Out of her mouth.
Civilizations rose and fell. I saw the face of God, and he was smiling. Smiling at me.
She moaned again, moaned around my cock, moaned with a mouthful of come. I heard her breathing. It was rough, panting, gasping.
I felt the sheet under my back, the pillow under my head. Gradually the universe returned.
She raised her head, slowly, a millimeter at a time. Come poured out of her mouth, down over my cock, down over her hand. Hot at first, then cold. Slippery. She continued to stroke me, an involuntary reflex.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, and it was a prayer.
We discovered sex together. That was the first night of many nights, of a thousand nights, and tonight, as I lay here at two thirty in the morning, I can remember it as if it happened only moments ago. I can feel the slick mixture of come and saliva on my cock, I can hear Rachel’s panting, feel her breath on my swollen, tortured balls.
I clench. I reach deep down inside and I clench that part of me. My hands grip the mattress. I will not touch myself. I clench, and clench, and clench again.
My body clenches back.
My cock spasms violently, a month’s worth of semen flowing out of it and onto my stomach. Again, and a third time. My come does not rocket out of me, it does not shoot or spray. It flows like wax from a candle, running down onto my belly in heavy drops.
I know that if I touch myself, if I stroke myself, my orgasm will increase, my semen will spray out of me and coat my chest, my neck, my face. But I do not. I let my orgasm subside, return to just beneath the surface.
My cock remains powerfully, painfully erect.
In a few minutes, I will have another orgasm. Then another after that. Then perhaps even another. None of them will be powerful. None of them will send me falling into a million exploding suns. But there will be one after another after another until my seed is all spent or I drift into sleep.
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