Jennie
I reach down and position her to my sex. She's big, so big and I slide the head of her between my nether lips, getting used to the size of her, the feel of her. But I can only tease myself for so long before I press her inside of me and settle down, lowering my hips, taking her deeper. We moan in the same breath, forehead to forehead, lips grazing, as I slide down on her until I've taken her, fully, to the hilt.
"Oh God..." I whisper, "... you feel so good."
I'm not normally this forward. Normally, I'm the receptive partner. The passive partner. The go-with-the-flow partner. It feels good, for once, to be with someone who lets me take the lead. I start to gyrate my hips, moving slowly, in a way that feels good for me. She's so strong, so powerful under me, inside of me, and I feel the length of her hit that special place inside of me. I bite my lip, but I can't help the moan that leaves me, pleasure exploding through me every time she rubs me right there.
"That's good." she murmurs in my ear. "Just like that." Her arm encircles me, holding me tightly against her, and then her other hand reaches up and touches my lips. I let them part, and I take them in my mouth, nipping the tips of her fingers. She curls them against the flat of my tongue, getting them wet, and then removes them, sliding them down my body, over the thatch of curly hair at my pelvis, and lower. I feel her then; her fingers manoeuvre my sex until she finds it, that sweet, hard little nub, swollen with pleasure. Her slick fingers rub against it softly, coaxing me closer to the edge of release. I grip her, with my fingers tight in her hair, on her shoulders and I can't help but whimper now, loudly, as my thighs shake and my hips undulate in time with the drum of her fingers.
"Give it to me." she purrs. "Give me everything that you have."
My thighs clench around her hips suddenly, and I cry out as my orgasm seizes me. I grip her hair, and my body trembles and jerks as waves and waves of pleasure wash though me. I'm throbbing, twitching, squirming, lost in the lovely torment of this unending ecstasy. Her hand is on my back, anchoring me, holding me tightly against her as I ride it out. Only once I'm satisfied, do I feel her give up control, he releases with a shudder and a low moan, hot and pulsing inside of me.
I'm putty, like a string-less puppet. My limbs don't want to work, and I lean my full weight against her. Eventually, she caves too and relaxes onto her back, so I find myself lying on her chest.
We lie like this, entangled, for a quiet moment. I can hear the old barn creak; I can hear the crickets outside. Lisa's breath ebbs and flows.
Bits of straw and clothes hiss and crunch underneath her as we shift, that painful moment where she slides out of me. I don't want to leave her just yet, so I rest my head on her chest and my hand on her middle. She doesn't push me away, so I take that as a sign that this is okay. I can hear her heart, though. It's beating machine-gun fast.
"You were right about what you said, you know." Lisa says, the first to break the silence. "I'm a tank."
"You sure are." I say, with my fingers splayed out on her steel-hard stomach.
She laughs, but barely. The way her eyes wander the ceiling, I get the impression that now is not the time for jokes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask earnestly and lift my chin to look at her face.
She goes quiet again. But I've come to learn that, from Lisa, that's not a no.
"I've figured it out, you know." I inform her as I trace a fingertip around her navel. "It's not that you don't trust Bambam. It's that you don't trust anyone."
