I gasp at the sensation, but it’s a gasp of pleasure rather than pain. Now I’m bouncing up and down on your penis, and you support my thighs to help as you thrust in and out. You obviously enjoy being able to see your erection pumping in and out, in and out.
I rub at my clit with my left hand, then grasp your balls. They’re wet where my juices have gushed out over your penis. You let out a cry as I gently massage your balls, taking care not to squeeze them too hard, just enough to add to your pleasure, feeling the intense hardness of your cock thrusting in and out. You’re pumping harder now, your penis squelching faster and faster in and out of my slit.
"Oh yes, yes, fuck me harder" I gasp. "Fuck my cunt, fuck me deep, oh yes, that’s it!"
I can feel myself approaching a second orgasm, and I scream out, my body going into an intense convulsion of pure sexual pleasure as I come. I contract my vagina tightly around your penis: this is clearly too much for you, and you give one final thrust before you come yourself, your sperm gushing out of your cock, splashing deep into me again and again. I fall onto your chest and your cock slips out, so the last few spurts of semen splash over my buttocks, already damp with perspiration.
We lie together, both still trembling slightly, holding each other close as we both come down from our orgasms, your cock slowly losing its stiffness as it rests against my thigh, my breasts squeezed close against your chests. I can feel your cum inside my cunt, the first few dribbles running out over my pubic hair. We kiss again, and I feel very close to you. Why can’t all sex be that good?
I wonder for a moment if I should leave, but you carry on holding me tight, pulling the bedclothes over us. So I stay. We drift off to sleep together. In the morning, I wake first, and take your cock into my mouth so that you wake to the sensation of my tongue licking it to erection again. We fuck again, slowly and sensuously, then shower together, washing the combination of sweat and sexual juices off our bodies. I hide in the bathroom while you order breakfast in your room; I’m sure the waitress who brings it must realise what is going on, by the state of the bed if nothing else, not to mention the intense scent of sexual juices.
I’m never quite sure how to deal with these morning-after-sex occasions. Sometimes both of you feel rather embarrassed by memories of what you got up to the night before, but that’s not the case this time. The prime feeling is one of frustration that we can’t do it all again - but you have your meeting to go to, and I have things to do too. The worst thing is that you then have to leave completely, back to Yorkshire. But somehow I think this could be a beginning rather than an end. We arrange to meet again in the Winchester for lunch before you go back: I’d really like to see you again, and somehow I think I probably will.
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