from behind

He pulled her toward him, right in the middle of the motion, his cock still deep inside her, and kissed her.

Roughly. Tongue first. Silke couldn’t pull away; his stomach pressed against her, his hand on the back of her neck. She tasted herself in her mouth—from earlier—and him, and made a sound in response that he took for a moan.

“Stay,” he murmured against her lips.

He kissed her again, more briefly, wetly, and thrust upward from below. Once. Hard. Silke felt him twitch. Warm. Inside her. Without a condom. It spilled out inside her, thrust after thrust, and she pressed her mouth against his because he wouldn’t let go of her head.

“There. That’s good.” He breathed on her face. “Stay seated for a bit longer.”

When he loosened his grip, she slid to the side. His cock slipped out, coated in semen, and it dripped down her, over her labia, onto his stomach. Silke automatically closed her legs. He forced them open again.

“Clean up. Before we continue.” He tapped the shaft. “I took one earlier. Viagra. It doesn’t stay soft for long. Until then… yeah. You know what I mean.”

Silke looked at him.

“You took Viagra.”

“Sure. Two hours. Would be embarrassing otherwise.” A brief grin. “Come on. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

It was worse.

She leaned over the grease, took it in her hand, the smell hitting her right away. Semen. Her. Sweat. He pulled her back up every now and then and kissed her when it took too long—a dirty, open-mouthed kiss—then pushed her back down.

“Tongue. Don’t just pretend.”

She licked the shaft, the head, wiping away the white stuff as best she could. A thin film remained. He moaned softly, his hand heavy on the back of her head—not roughly, just there. When she came up, he kissed her again immediately, reclaiming the taste as if it were part of the deal.

“Okay. That’s enough. Turn around. Butt up.”

No break. With Jonas, it was over after he came—water, blanket, cell phone. Here she was on her knees again, her face in the pillow, feeling behind her because he was just holding his cock out and had the cell phone in his other hand.

The head of his cock slid, found her pussy, and slid right in—easier this time, lubricated by everything that was already inside her. Silke let out a sound. He couldn’t kiss her in that position, so he kissed her back—damp, imprecise, his lips on her spine—while the phone glowed behind her.

“Come on, move. Impale yourself nicely on my cock,” he said against her skin.

“You want me to do this on my own.”

“I’m filming. It looks better if you push yourself onto it. Then the picture won’t shake as much, and you can see your little asshole nicely.” A slap hit her ass.

She impaled herself. Again and again. Back onto the thick shaft, off, back. The effort burned in her thighs. He held the phone steady, like someone trying to get a good video, and slapped her ass now and then when she slowed down. Then he gently stroked the spot. An absurd remnant of tenderness that made everything worse.

“You’re about to come again,” he remarked.

“No.”

“Yes. I can feel it. Wait.”

His free hand slid under her, found her clitoris—not elegantly, but it was there. Silke jerked forward and, with that, deeper onto his cock.

“Don’t—”

He spanked her ass while she continued to impale herself and his fingers circled. No pause. No change of pace that gave her a second to catch her breath. The difference from Jonas was exactly that: here, only one person was doing the work. He held a cell phone and spanked her ass. Silke came with her face in the pillow, her ass pressed against his belly, his cock deep inside her, her ass cheeks red. A wet, frustrating orgasm that made her clench around him. She cursed into the sheet. He made a sound, satisfied, and kept filming.

“See? It works.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

She stayed on her knees, filled to the brim, without a break, and pushed herself back onto him because the time wasn’t up yet.