He Made Me Beg For It

August 16, 2013 | Posted in Editorial Features by hyacinth-jones

x-art_baby_jake_new_romance-5-smlThe Neighbor lay across my bed, his arm wrapped around me as I splayed my fingers through his silky chest hair.  I was relaxed, sleepy, sated from a long weekend of adult frolicking on roller coasters and in our beds.  "I want to have sex every day for a week," he said out of no where.  "Maybe even 8 days, like last time."

I lifted my head up to look at him.  "Really??" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered and pulled me back down to him.  "I think it'll be fun."  It was a Monday and we had last had sex on Saturday.  "Too bad we didn't start then!  We'd already be on Day 2!"

I laughed and noticed his enormous erection laying quietly under his basketball shorts.  I gently squeezed it and it pulsed hotly in my hand as he stretched out like a cat beneath me.  I slipped it out and he shimmied out of his shorts and I took the big head in my mouth, tasted the salty drop on top, and thought about how lucky I was to have this man in my life.

The past month and a half have been brutal: Sara's death, the looming funeral, the funeral itself, and then a  health scare with my mother wherein the possibility of her dying was very real.  And through it all, he was there holding my hand, driving me to the funeral, the hospital, watching my tears fall, soothing my heartaches, and alleviating my fears with hugs, all the right words, and with his magic cock.

That first night of deliberate sex was no less titillating because we agreed on it than any other spontaneous night.  He purred under my ministrations and pounded into me like a colt rounding the last corner on the track.  My pussy squelched its juices, my orgasm bloomed through me, I gripped his arms, his thighs, cried out and hung on again and again as I lay a helpless, humming vessel below him.

Night after night, no matter how exhausted we were or where we were, we connected.  And it being entirely his idea in no small way exacerbated the thrill for me: he wanted this, me, us, it.  I was his slut and he finally had the opportunity to coax me into something.  He was full of bright ideas.

"C'mon, Hy," he said one night when Peyton was tucked into my bed and I lay on the couch watching Law & Order.  "It's time."

I had been dozing when he came over and felt as though every muscle in my body wanted only to melt into the lumpy fibers of the couch.  "Can you just stick it in and count that?" I asked mostly seriously.

"No," he replied firmly.  "We're doing this." And as if to demonstrate he kissed my jaw and trailed his fingers down the lines of my breast and to the dip of my waist.  "Mmm," he murmured.  "You're so hot."

I let him stoke the burn within me mirthfully, willingly.  I wondered what he'd do to me next.

"Get up," he grunted.

I did.  Slowly.

He pulled my ruffled pajama shorts down to my knees and spread my legs and motioned for me to bend over.  He pulled out his erection and I felt it bob against my bottom then butt against my folds.

I arched my back a little and bore down as we engaged like one of those flying fuel jets and a cargo plane.

He sunk in till he hit my throat, then gripped my hips tightly as he began to move.  My face was pushed into the pillows and my body thrummed the instant we joined like a faking porn-star, only I was for real.   His thighs slapped against the backs of mine and I heard him grunting his satisfaction and pleasure.

"There are people down at the pool," he said.  I lifted my head to look at the sliding glass door, its long, vertical blinds pulled back half way and creating a sliced reflection where we were, but also a clear view to those below.  I giggled.

My haunch looked round and firm, his big paw laying on it gentle.  I heard laughter and splashing as I watched the man and woman in the reflection move together.  Then I put my head back down and rode the waves of pleasure until he exhausted himself and let me flop back down to Law & Order and a long kiss goodnight.

He almost never cums anymore or even tries.  We used to have a 3 out of 5 rate, but as we've grown closer, deeper issues have bubbled to the surface for him.  Not cumming with me, we both realize, though never verbalize, keeps us apart as the rest of us smash up against and into each other.  Sex ends when I am exhausted and pleasured to the point of stupid, not him.  I ache for him, but I don't blame him.  He gives a lot to me, how could I possibly complain?

On the last day of our sex spell, Day 9, as he pulled aside my black lace panties and sunk back into me I teased him for being so spoiled.  For never having to warm me up, for always having a warm, wet, receptive cunt to slip into with virtually no prep time.  "You don't have to do anything, but show me your pretty cock," I panted as he oh-so-slowly ground into me.

"You're right," he grinned.  "I am spoiled and lucky.  I used to have to warm up up a woman for a long time to get this thing into her," and for emphasis he pinned me to the mattress with his appendage buried deep inside of me.

"I can see why," I stammered and my eyes fluttered to his.  He was looking down at me intently, a slight smile on his bow-shaped lips, his whiskers a light shadow on his boyish face.

He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders, a favorite move of his, and he kept his unbearably slow rhythm.  I started to panic as the pleasure lay out of my reach and I feared its crash upon me, my dependency on his tempo, and my inevitable loss of control.

I felt a trickle of juice spill out of me and run down the crack of my bottom.  I tossed my head from side to side.  "No, no, no, no, no, no," I blabbered,  "Please…" I didn't know what I was trying to say.  My hands pushed and pulled at his hips, gripped his broad shoulders, poked at his belly, but his slow, steady pumping, like a dogged Freddie Kreuger stalking his next victim, kept at me and I began to unravel.

"Say, ‘Fuck me,' and I'll stop torturing you," he said calmly.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Say it."

I moaned and cried out, my leg twitched by his ear and my pussy gushed involuntarily.  It went on for long, endless moments until I finally whispered, "Fuck me."

"No, say it louder."

I said it louder.

"Yell it."

I whispered it again.

"Goddamnit, Hyacinth, yell it!" he said between gritted teeth while I wriggled on his hook like a worm.

I whined a little whine then said with increasing volume, "Fuck me!" Then even louder, "Fuck me! Fuck me!  Fuck me!"

The hurdle of my embarrassment suddenly cleared he leaped out of his self-imposed control and let loose on me.  I burst into sobs immediately, as I knew I would, and came and came and came like my tears were orgasms and my soul a stuffed and pulsing pussy.

I hung onto my laboring steed and watched him watching me as I melted under his care.  Minutes melted into each other as I convulsed and tumbled down the rabbit hole.  More, more, more.  Too much, so much, just right, enough, enough, enough.

He sat up and stopped then and reached for my Hitachi.  He swung around so he lay on his right side and my legs hung over his hip, his cock still inside of me.  "Here.  Now," he said gently as he flicked the vibrator on.

I placed it gently on my shaved mound and climbed the stairway to motherfucking heaven.  He squeezed my breasts with his free hand and moaned approvingly as he gazed at his favorite thing: me cumming.  I cracked myself open for him and slammed back into my body, the explosion of orgasm curling through me, then waning quietly away.

We lay entwined as we always do, nestled within each other.  It was calm and quiet in the room.  I wondered how many ways over the months I had expressed my love for him and he for me without ever saying the words.  I could only come up with, "countless."

That last night I stood up to hug him and said, "I hope to some day make you feel even half as good as you do me.  You truly have no idea how amazing this is."

He looked at me knowingly, orgasm-less for the night as usual, and nodded.  "You're right.  I don't.  Maybe we'll figure it out someday."  He smiled.  I nodded hopefully, too, my mind whirring with ideas.

"Goodnight," I said at my front door, my fingers trailed down to his round rear end and gave it a bright, little smack.  "Maybe next time I'll make you beg for it."

"Maybe," he said as he bent to kiss me.  "Goodnight," and he disappeared next door.

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