And More

He thrust up fast. He pounded up into me and while he did he held me tight and still above him, making me take it.

The **** of his hips pushed a cry of pleasure out of my chest, ripping its way out through my throat and shuddering at the edge of me as my arms, clenched over me, tightened on me and I held on knowing that as I did so I was doing so for dear life.

Holding onto myself with everything I had and everything I could. Holding onto myself as he showed me what he could do.

He took me. He pounded himself up into me and he made me take every last inch of him and there was no rest for the weary here, he didn’t stop or even pause.

“More!” I cried out, “Faster!”

My silent lover answered me not with words but with actions, giving me precisely what I’d asked and begged for. He pounded up into me, filling me with every last inch of himself and as he did he redefined what it was to be taken.

He showed me another form of pleasure, completely different from any I’d ever felt before.

The heat radiated out from the place where our bodies met in waves, pushed onward from the **** of his thrusts. With each pounding repetition of him it spread a little further in me and though the heat ebbed at the edges it spread within me bit by bit.

Until it met the edges of me, my skin and my toes and my hair and my fingertips and then when it was there it didn’t stop. Though it had nowhere else to go it didn’t stop.

It kept on building.

Rising. Pressing. Burning inside of me.

The heat turning up and with it the pressure of the whole thing until I felt it pushing at my skin and making me feel like I was going to explode. Like my skin was going to tear and I would become a being of pure light and pleasure. A being so far beyond anything that I’d ever been before.

But I didn’t rip and I didn’t stop and I couldn’t take it or I could but I could barely help or understand it and the whole moment was nothing but confusion for me as I shuddered and let him continue his relentless ****.

Fuck if it was more than I’d ever had before. If it redefined my understanding not just of womanhood or sex or fucking but all of it and more. It changed the way I could look at the world and the way I could understand how good things could be and I knew that this shift in perspective was a shift in everything for me.

This wasn’t a high I would keep on chasing for the rest of my life. This was an eye opening moment where I knew this was out there and I could have it.

With the right one. With the wrong one. With any lover who could give it to me.

I could have this again and again and in this feminine body I could have it over and over without end. I could keep on going, missing the refractory period that is one of the many curses of manhood. I could cum and it could be more than an ending for me, it could be energizing.

It could make me want more.

“More,” I begged him, crying out as the pressure built on my skin, “More!”

My head moved around, bouncing and lolling from the **** of his thrusts and I kept my eyes closed but I turned my attention onto not only him now but all the visions around me in the dark.

And it was to them that I spoke next, to them that I instructed.

“More.”

Like a conductor with a symphony. Like a dancer alone on the stage.

I held their attention and then I instructed, drawing them in as they joined me closer.

“More.”

And god. I meant it.

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