Porn Star

“I don’t think I can,” she says, a little wildly, but I keep going, crooning words of encouragement to her, you’re gonna feel so good and such a good, brave girl and I’m so deep, baby, so fucking deep and then I see her hands clawing at the sheets and the cords in her neck strain.

And then it happens. Devi’s stomach starts visibly tensing and every muscle in her body tremors and her back arches clear off the bed, her face contorted in the throes of ecstasy. She can’t speak, can barely make any noise other than the soft keening that comes from somewhere in her throat, and she’s on another plane, in another world, her body convulsing in long, deep, slow contractions that consume her, swallow her, transform her.

Cervical orgasms, ladies. They’re a thing, and they are intense. Devi has completely fallen apart underneath me, oblivious to everything but the deep waves of release rolling out from her womb to the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet. And unlike her clitoral orgasms, this lasts an eternity. Seconds and minutes and what feels like hours that I get to watch (and feel) the most beautiful woman in the world quiver and fracture into billions of glowing pieces. No man can last feeling that around his cock, watching that happen underneath him, and I’m no exception, because it’s never been this good, it’s never felt this good, and God fucking damn it if I haven’t completely lost myself in her.

“Do it,” she pants. “Come inside me.”

“I’m gonna,” I grunt, letting her legs fall back to the bed and driving into her fast and hard. “Gonna come so good for you, Cass.”

Her hands find my ass, her fingers digging into my cheeks and urging me to go harder, faster, and she feels so good and she looks so good, all soft and sated underneath me. Her cunt is so fucking tight, squeezing me and squeezing me, and holy fuck, I want to marry this woman, and then with a juddering groan, my balls contract and I explode.

I rut into her hard, pumping hot jets of cum deep inside her, our eyes locked and the air heavy with magic. My whole torso is spasming, my entire pelvis a fiery, burning sun of release, unleashing waves and waves of deep, roiling pleasure. I pump and thrust and fuck my way through the climax, feeling high and drunk and dizzy, intoxicated by Devi, empowered by her, totally alive and exhilarated because of her. I feel the wet heat of my orgasm inside of her, I see the dark points of her erect nipples and the scorching lust on her face, and it draws it out. And the pulses keeping coming, again and again and again, and I empty myself inside of her, drain my balls until she’s filled with me. Until she’s dripping around us both.

When the pulses finally subside, the room smells of earthy sex and cinnamon, and we are messy everywhere. Sweat on our stomachs, and cum and arousal smearing our thighs. Devi’s long hair is tangled as fuck, my bed looks like a hurricane tore it apart, and I can feel scratches blooming into light, teasing pain on my back and ass cheeks.

I’m so fucking in love.

I lean down to kiss her, a deep, soul-felt kiss, without the urgency of earlier. I take my time exploring her mouth, lavishing attention onto every crease of her lips, every silky slide of her tongue. She’s making a humming noise in her chest, a happy, contented noise, and I pull back with a smile.

“Are you…purring?”

She giggles. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

My chest puffs a little. I’ve given many women many orgasms, but I think this is the first time that I’ve actually made a woman purr with satisfaction.

“Let’s see how long I can make that purring last, kitten. Flip over.”



* * *



After Round Two, dinner, and a shower (which turned into Round Three), we are back in bed. It’s nighttime now, and we’re cuddling, Devi’s back pressed against my chest and my arms around her. We’re both drowsy, even my cock, which is content to be semi-hard and nestled against Devi’s luscious ass. I think she’s finally drifted off when she asks, “Do you have an EpiPen in here?”

“Yeah, somewhere,” I say sleepily. “There’s one in my medicine cabinet, I think.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t you have it with you at all times?”

“I’m allergic to bees, Cass. It’s not something I worry about happening in my bedroom.”

“But do you carry one on set? Shouldn’t you have had one in the desert the night we went out there?”

More awake now, I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at her. She doesn’t turn to look at me. “I was planning on eating you out, not foraging for honey. At least not that kind of honey,” I say with a smirk.

She doesn’t smile.

“Why are you asking me this?” I poke her shoulder gently. “Are you planning to introduce bees into our sex play? Do you secretly keep bees in your *?”

Still no smile.

I sigh. “If it really worries you, I always keep one in my glove box. And why did this come up, anyway? Did I mention the bee thing to you?” Because it’s not something I normally talk about, not because it’s some sort of painful secret, but because it’s really not a big deal. Honestly, sometimes even I forget about it.

She doesn’t answer right away, and when she does, her voice is measured. “Raven mentioned it today on the set.”

Her name drops like an anvil, thudding and lifeless.

Raven.

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