Love her.

A rancorous weekend of lust so carnal as to be inhuman. You’ve mostly enjoyed it, but the time has come to finally decide how you will end this unforgettable break from your miserable life. Devi is still swallowing to clear her throat anew, a habit she must have mastered by now. You look her face over again, wanting to commit every detail to memory: her oily head of hair, the two small hairs between her eyebrows, the errant, nearly-gone pimple on her right temple, her visible bones wherever her skin is bared. She probably didn’t shower after your time with her, which strikes you as odd… until you determine, without asking, that it means she wasn’t disgusted with you. She looks up to you with those sad blue eyes, and you almost feel guilty for staying hard.

“Show me to your bedroom.” You speak only in commands to her, now. There is no asking, not anymore. Standing on weak, shaking knees, she walks slowly away, and you follow, deeper into her seemingly cavernous apartment, again striking you with how much larger it was than yours. You find yourself in the master bedroom, and the sight there causes you, even now in this moment of uncontrolled lust, to raise your eyebrows. Two dildos, one a smooth, inhuman probe and the other apparently modeled after the veiny pecker of some fantastical beast, lay glistening in the middle of the bed over a visibly damp spot on the bed. Your eye scans over her original clothes, scattered in a straight line from the doorway to the bed like a wrinkled path to what was to come. The rest of her room is uninterrupted, neat, and tucked away save for the underwear drawer, wherein a small explosion seems to have occurred, likely her pulling out these toys with wanton horniness.

She stands still as you walk behind her. You place your hands tenderly on her shoulder as you lower your mouth to her ear, and she quivers in your grip. “Who were you masturbating to?”

She shakes her head violently, whipping her hair in your unmoving face. “Derek, I’m not even a little bisexual, I have no… no…”

“Who.”

Her trembling increases, and her effort to press her lips into silence fails. “You,” Devi sobs. You lower your arms to spoon her while standing, nestling your face into her hair. She has an odor from likely spending much of the day sweating without a bath, and it was neither sexy nor foul, yet. But it was her, and you find yourself grinding against the thin fabric between her ass and you. She keeps trying to make excuses, “It makes no sense, I promise you I-“

“You love me,” you remind her. Her words die, and she stands there, crying. “You want me so badly, and you don’t understand it… but I do. I know what you need.” Her crying intensifies. “Now ask me to take your clothes off.”

“Derek, please, you… have… to… have to…” Her voice dies away, and you squeeze her tightly in response. Your cock grinds into her buttcheeks, which squeeze your head through the cloth. “… take my clothes off.” It’s a whisper, but it’s enough. Your hands dig into that forbidden space between pants and shirt, scooping upwards to lift the shirt and to let your fingers glide, gently, over her bare tits. She shudders, but lets her arms raise with your theft of the dignity she fought so hard for just hours ago. You spin your darling around and admire her. A perky set of breasts topped with thick, puffy, but inverted nipples that even under your delicate ministrations refuse to grow erect. You bend your knees and scoop one of them into your mouth, gently sucking it until her hands grip your shoulders. Her protest is so mild that you take it as encouragement… cautious encouragement. Slowly, then.

You don’t bother to rise up to grab the hem of her pants and, while still on one knee, you pull them down slowly. She isn’t wearing underwear with these pajama pants, and so you’re immediately greeted by the untamed, black bush of curled hair that reaches between her thighs and camouflages her womanhood. Pulling further, you can confirm she didn’t shave her legs since you last saw her legs, and so you’re to receive Devi Waltz tout naturel. With an arrogant smile, you note the large, wet patch on the crotch of the pants. You don’t even have to ask her to step out of them, and with a toss you’ve taken everything from Devi that she sought to guard earlier.

Well, almost everything.

You guide her to the bed, avoiding the coldly damp spot of her earlier, apparently wonderful, masturbation session. “You want this, Devi. Do you know how I know?”

“I- don’t know,” she replies, seemingly half-conscious.

“You opened the door for me.”

“You were-!”

“Almost instantly.” She falls silent, but keeps offering weak shakes of her head. Her eyes avoid yours, and she becomes the portrait of being caught in a lie. “You were practically at the door, ready to throw it aside and drag me in when I gave you an excuse… because you wanted this. You need this.” You sit her down on the edge of the bed, and her breathing becomes rapid and shallow as another anxiety attack grips her. From her point of view, your cock is once again threatening her mouth… and you have to hold her head back to keep her from diving onto it. “You don’t believe me… but I’ll show it to you, every day. I’ll show you how much we love each other.”

“No, God, please don’t-!” But her voice turns into an inaudible squeal as your head lowers and you pry her knees apart, and stare directly into her hairy muff. You love it. This wasn’t a porno or erotic fanfiction. You only ever met one girl who actually opted to shave her pussy bald, and she was nuts anyways. Sure enough, you like it shaved too… but here was that treasure you could only imagine before today: her meaty box, as if squeezed out of a tight canal that only ever tasted plastic cocks. You inhale her scent, pungent and damp; she’s glistening now, already prepared to accept you. But you’re no brute…

Well, fine, you are. But this is too special. You can’t treat Devi the way you might’ve treated Sandra, or Kristina, or Candy if that was really her name… Devi was the one. It isn’t just a narrative anymore; you truly believe it. Questions about your -like jizz were not nearly as important as what you knew to be the true love. The first way to explore that truth is to take your time, to show her you mean it… and to her to accept her own feelings.

You spend agonizing minutes not ramming into her: you lay her on her back and tease your hands across her body, half-tickling and half-tormenting her as you commit her entire being to the memory of your fingertips. You don’t hesitate around her spiky legs, and you don’t dive for her clitoris; if ever, your fingers only briefly brush against her nether lips, and it’s when you’re completely enthralled with her, tickling the inside of her thigh, that her back arches and her orgasmic cry fills the bedroom.

You sit up and look at her face. She’s gasping, perspiring, and beautiful. “Am I the first man to make you come?” Hesitantly, she nods with closed eyes. “I’ll be the last man to make you come.” Her brow furrows as she contemplates your meaning, but she probably puts a different face on when you finally plow into her with your tongue. You’re no cunning linguist, but between the rich taste of her cunt, your newfound stamina, and your eagerness to make her love you, you put your entire face and both hands into pleasuring her, from vulgar sucking to probing fingers to eager drinks of her cum, just to complete the cycle you two seem to share. Throughout it all her body convulses, she moans with need, and every now and again you peek up to see her squeezing her breasts and trying to fight the urge to dive in with a finger of her own.

By the time your jaw is exhausted, her own body has fallen limp, and your face is soaked with her. The room is a mist of hot air, sex, and the odd silence that fills a space when a lover’s screams are replaced with their rapid, breaths. You crawl up her body, your cock pointing between her open legs, briefly tapping her left inner-thigh until, as it finds her gates unbarred and unguarded, it’s nestling against her labia. She isn’t offering much resistance anymore; she looks at you with that far-away gaze and panting, mouth, having been soaked in your cum all day. She sees that you’ve received the same from her.

“Y’know,” you breath, “considering… what’s on my… this is probably a bad time for this, but…” You lower your head and press your lips, still moist with her nectar, onto hers. Your tongues wrestle and probe into each other’s mouths without hesitation, and you lose the impressive control you’ve practiced until now. Your hips scoop her legs up, thrust forward, and shove your entire length into her.

She moans into your mouth, and it’s immediately too much: you feel that pressure at the base of your spine, her vice grip on your dick, and all you can manage is a moan before you begin painting her box with cum. “N-no, I’m not-“ She tries to talk into your mouth, but you’ll have none of that as you fill her with seed, battering the already soft, semi-opened cervix at the end of that love canal. Some of your baby batter finds its way into her womb, while the rest floods her pussy, forcing cum out from the seal formed by her folds around your cock. “Derek, I’m not on birth… control…” She barely manages those words, and worry turns into overpowering pleasure. Whatever effect your jizz had in her mouth is apparently hitting her much harder this way: her eyes roll into the back of her head, an absurd smile splashes across her face, and the tiny moans and gasps she makes, along with the grip on your meat, tells you she’s coming again.

“Then get pregnant.” If she heard you, she isn’t showing it. You continue pumping into her as if you didn’t just blow your load. You’re past thinking yourself limited to one or two orgasms; you would fuck her here and now until you died, if it was possible. You wrap your arms around her and press her breasts against you. Her sweat mingles with yours, and your overheating bodies threaten to burn you alive before your coitus is even done starting. This heat is bliss, a fulfillment doubled as her canal grips you sporadically, and her entire lower body flexes and convulses with the effort as it works, desperately and wanting, to please more baby batter out of you. When her composure at last threatens to return, you come again, restarting the cycle of orgasmic bliss and pushing more threatening fluid into her womb.

You pull yourself up from her and tease her nipples as you fuck her, suckling the puffy, inverted meat as it hardens under your stimulation, and continue kissing her moaning mouth while driving deeper into her, your dick now absurdly lubricated thanks to your own sloppy seconds. Your body screams for you to stop, but it falls on the deaf ears of your fulfillment. You push against her. She moans as you dig in, and you continue rotating your crotch, feeling and outlining her cum-soaked cervix. You grind in more, spreading her legs to their limits, shoving the very base of your cock into her welcoming cunt, until the head of your cock feels a soft, tight hole grip its tip. You grip her shoulders and anchor her onto your cock, shoving half of the crown of your manhood into that forbidden place. The sensation annihilates you, and drives your third and largest orgasm out from every corner of your being. She writhes beneath you, torn between self-preservation and worldly nirvana, as you fill her womb so completely as to threaten it.

You finally collapse onto her. You're left breathing into her neck, inhaling her sweaty body and the smell of the mess you both made of each other, the latter likely emanating through the entire house. Devi, exhausted, perhaps even destroyed by you, mutters something while crying bitterly.

Your ears are ringing after all her screams and cries of passion, and so you don’t quite hear her words. Alarmed, you start to ask her to repeat it. “What-“

“I love you, Derek,” she sobs. Your heart begins to sing… “How… how could you?” Her tone worries you… but her words… you smile coyly as you kiss her neck. She still needs convincing, then. Devi wasn’t your first, but you could imagine being happy in a world where she was your last.