Beg him to cum inside you — surrender completely to the feeling

Megan's House, Westwood Heights, at 12:12 AM on Friday November 1st, 2024

"Cum inside me — please — I need it — I need you —"

The words pour out of me like they've been waiting my whole life to be spoken. My hips buck backward, grinding my ass against his pelvis, taking his cock as deep as my body will allow. His hand tightens in my hair and he pulls my head back until my throat is exposed, until I'm staring at the ceiling with tears streaming down my cheeks, and I don't care. I don't care about anything except the feeling of him inside me — that impossible fullness, that raw heat, that thick veined shaft splitting me open and reshaping everything I thought I knew about my own body.

I thought I'd had an orgasm before. Late at night, alone in my dorm room, fingers working between my thighs while Diego's face faded from memory. Little shudders. A pleasant warmth. Something that made me sigh and roll over and go to sleep.

That was nothing.

His pace changes — harder, deeper, more urgent — and each thrust drives the air from my lungs. His cock hits something inside me that makes my vision fracture into white sparks, a spot so sensitive I didn't know it existed, and the pressure building in my core tightens into something unbearable. Something enormous. Like a wave gathering far out at sea, growing taller and more powerful with every passing second, and I'm standing on the shore with no way to run.

"I'm — oh god — something's — I think I'm going to —"

"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl against my ear. His hips slam forward and his cock swells inside me, stretching my walls even wider, and his balls draw up tight against my throbbing clit. "Take my cum, Selena. Take every drop."

The wave crashes.

My first real orgasm tears through me like lightning through glass. My pussy clamps around his shaft — rhythmic, violent contractions that squeeze him so tightly I can feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his cock as it begins to erupt. My whole body seizes — back arching, toes curling, fingers clawing the sheets so hard my nails tear fabric — and I scream into the pillow, a sound I've never made in my life, raw and animal and broken.

And then I feel him cum.

Hot. Thick. Flooding. The first pulse hits my cervix like a brand and my pussy milks him involuntarily, those desperate contractions pulling his seed deeper, guiding it into my womb with biological precision I have no control over. Rope after rope of scalding cum fills me — I can feel it, feel the heat spreading through my insides, feel my womb drinking it in, feel the impossible volume of it pooling inside my unprotected body. He groans above me, his cock throbbing against my walls, pumping load after load directly into my fertile core.

The orgasm doesn't stop. It builds — each pulse of his cum triggering another contraction, another wave of pleasure that crashes over the first, stacking on top of each other until I'm sobbing, shaking, completely lost. I've never felt anything like this. Never imagined anything like this. My pussy is a greedy, clenching thing, milking every last drop from his cock, my body doing something primal and ancient that my conscious mind has no part in.

When it finally ebbs — minutes later, maybe hours, I can't tell — I'm face-down on the mattress, trembling, his cock still buried inside me, still pulsing weakly. Cum is leaking around his shaft, running down my thighs, pooling beneath my hips. My pussy twitches with aftershocks, each one sending a small shudder through my exhausted body.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand releasing my hair, stroking down my sweat-slicked spine. "You took all of it."

I can't speak. I can barely think. All I know is the warmth spreading through my belly — thick, heavy, alive — and the bone-deep satisfaction of being completely, utterly filled.