Feeling to Filling

... subscribe to the show, or is it special invite only?"

You reach out and touch his shoulder, rubbing down the area where his traps turn into his pecks. You can still feel Emily's kiss on your lips, your heart is pounding, and what you're seeing and touching is more than enough to get you going again.

Jack's face splits into a small smile but you can't tell what he's thinking. He hasn't pushed you away or called Emily yet, so bonus.

"I don't know, shouldn't you see what the show is all about, first?" He takes your other hand confidently bring it to his cock. His basketball shorts do nothing to hide it, and you're sure he isn't wearing boxers. "You know, check out to plot."

"And the plot thickens," you smirk as you feel his man meat grow harder in your hand.

You push the shorts down. You were right about the boxers.

"We don't have long.. well maybe you do," you emphasize your point by stroking up his length. "Just give me a quick synopsis, mk?"

He simply nods and turns you around, bending you over. Your shoulders collide with the counter top, your hands already too busy undoing your jeans to catch yourself.

You'd just got the button lose when you feel them already around your knees. Somehow your heels are turned out, with your knees together, although you didn't assume that position on purpose. You briefly wonder if Jack is always this rough, this dominant and self assured, or if he can just sense your heat.

Briefly because a moment later, Jack is sailing his boat right into your ocean.

You're so wet, that despite the fact he is the biggest (read: only) thing to be inside you for months, you take him relatively easy. There is a slight discomfort, but those are like the ridges on this phallus of pleasure inside you.

Right away, Jack starts hannering. Full, long, powerful strokes lift you off your feet, your sandals falling off when your toes leave the floor. On every out stroke you fall, but his in-stroke is always so quick and powerful that it lifts you again before you ever touch the floor.

Faintly you are aware of a bread crumb, the temperature, of the shower running. You hear moans and can't tell if it's you or Emily during her habitual shower masturbation.

All that you know is the pleasure of being filled, and the despair of emptiness, before the pleasure consumes you again.

You cum. Once. Twice. Again. Again. Again, again, agaim, agaim, again. You're a train wreck of orgasms. You're not screaming, but only because your body is reverting any extra energy to the flow of pleasure bombs you are experiencing.

In the back of your mind, you note something is different, but you can't put your finger on it. You hear a new sound, Jack grunting behind you.

"Shower's over... but I'm almost there."