Lucy’s Pussy

“In here,” you tell Lucy.

You’ve already lined up your cock with her snatch. In one smooth motion you push yourself inside. Her love hole welcomes you back. Welcomes your full length. Her response is to close her eyes and bite her lip and sigh in satisfaction. You pause, waiting, waiting for her to open her eyes. Eventually she does, to look at you quizzically. You smother any question with a kiss. Then you start to thrust. Halfway out. All back in. Halfway out. All back in. You’re overwhelmed in the joy of her snatch, hot and wet and burning for you. She’s all yours. You grab her and raise them. A brief pause to let her grab a pillow and prop her head on it. Then you resume your thrusts, starting slow, picking up speed and intensity.

Her moans are quick to come. Followed by her squeals. Followed by her. You ignore her orgasm as best you can, refusing to relent as her pussy spasms around your shaft. Her squeals turn into screams. Doesn’t matter. You carry on pumping. All the time her eyes are fixed on your eyes, your eyes are fixed on her eyes. Through orgasm after orgasm. You see her pleasure in the blurring of her vision, fixed on you, lost in you, fixed on you, lost in you. Until at last you can’t control yourself and pump another load of semen into her. Only then do you look away, closing your eyes in the pleasure of your own release, your thrusting lost in your own hips bucking, mimicking the bucking of her hips, in her desire.

You disengage and slump beside her, wrapping your arms around her naked body, pulling yourself so as much of your flesh can press against hers. For a while you lie like that.

You can’t lie like that for long. You’re wrapped around a naked Lucy, a woman whose body has driven men wild with lust, a woman whose body has given you more pleasure than you can remember. You remember the first time you saw her, standing at the bar at your first model party. You were already overwhelmed by beauty, but her beauty was among the brightest. You remember the moment Anna presented her as the third member of your first ever threesome, and all the blood in your body had flushed to your cock in response. That threesome will never fade from your memory; despite the fact you have repeated it numerous times and surpassed it just as many. But your strongest memory is of two weeks later, Lucy in your then lounge begging to be your third girlfriend, almost in tears with her desperation. Just holding her brings back those memories, brings back your desire.

You’re no longer holding her, you’re fondling her, you’re kissing her. And she’s kissing back. Lips soft and welcoming and hard with desire. Flesh salty with her previous exertions. Nipples hard with her lust. You’re on her again. You’re in her again.

Her exhausted moans are a backdrop to each thrust. Both of you are sluggish but still eager. You can no longer kneel. You’re lying on top of her. Your elbows either side of her propping you above her. Your knees keeping your pelvis above her, so that you can keep thrusting. Her breasts keep you from collapsing on top of her. Your dick slips in and slips out. Not as deep as your previous attempts. Just as pleasurable. For you. For her.

Her orgasm is muted by her exhaustion. The next even more so. She’s no longer screaming her joy. She’s letting out ragged breaths instead. The quivering of her muscles is just as intense but not as controlled. Shivering body. Shimmering flesh. She’s like this at the end of every Saturday night. Every solo night duty. Lucy, so calm, so collected, so much in control, during the week. Tonight she’s just a living fleshlight, a hole for you to plunder, hot and wet and welcoming. She’s so tired you can’t tell whether she’s having an orgasm or she’s recovering from her last. It doesn’t matter. Her cunt is there for you to use, and you’re using it, and she wants you to use it. Use it, until you’re pumping another load into her. And now you can see the orgasm written in her face and in her body. Even in exhaustion she can’t hide a super-orgasm.

And once spent, you finally relent and roll off her. The darkness is dancing with colours in your eyes. Somehow she finds the energy to shift beside you, to roll over, pull herself closer and fling one arm over your chest. Then sleep claims you both.