The Muse's Undoing

“You really want me to fuck you to sleep?”

“Mm…yeah…”

Fuck, I love him like this. All trusting and relaxed. So unlike him in general. It’s just for me. It’s always only ever been just for me.

I nudge forward again, and the way his hole gives way proves he’s ready for anything. I enter him slowly, and he groans long and low. As I push to my full depth, I bend over him, bracing my forearms on the mattress. When my hips meet his ass cheeks, I kiss the back of his neck. “You take my cock so fucking pretty…”

His hand moves, getting a handful of my hair as he gasps. I rock and swivel slightly, letting him adjust. He does the same.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he sighs like it’s the best pain imaginable.

“Do you like it?”

“Fuck yes.”

I know exactly what he means. “So fucking perfect.”

He hums, relaxing into the pillow beneath his head, like he’s beyond content—basking, even.

I work myself into and out of him, my cheek resting on his shoulder, my eyes closed as I breathe through the intense relief of being exactly where I’ve wanted to be for hours. Years.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” I say as an afterthought, my hips doing their own thing, providing the immense pleasure being inside him gives us both. Endorphins flood my brain, released by the delicious clenches of our bodies as we move fluidly together.

“I’d never stop you,” he whispers, and fuck if that’s not the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. The ultimate green light.

It doesn’t take long for him to come the first time. His dick and that pillow are having a very intimate relationship, but after that, his body relaxes again, and I rise onto my hands so I can watch myself fucking him. It’s goddamn beautiful, the sight of my length being swallowed by his perfect ass.

He lies still while I experiment with pace and angles, finding one that has him groaning nearly non-stop as my cock strokes his prostate. I keep at it until his hips begin to grind again, and he’s choking out another orgasm, complete with the saddest, softest, most defeated whimper.

“Had enough, princess?”

“Noooo…” It’s a complaint, a plea, and a surrender.

I pull out, re-lube, and sink back in at a less torturous angle. He moans as I stuff him full again. I savor the slick grip of his tight channel. The thump of my hips meeting his ass. The soft slap of our sacs.

After long, blissful minutes of hypnotic strokes, his breath deepens. When I think to check on him, he doesn’t respond.

“Fischer? Still with me, princess?”

No answer. Not even a moan. I examine his face only to find it slack with sleep.

And if this isn’t the filthiest, most mind-blowing moment of my life, I don’t know what else would be. It’s so intensely wrong, it has me clenching not to come the moment I realize what’s happening. I have a lot of kinks, and this one might be new, but it’s been a long time coming. And it’s burning hot.

I should stop, but… Shit…

I don’t think I can stop.

I find myself trying not to make any noise, trying to keep things smooth and not jostle him, but I get this savage feeling in my chest, like I’ve been entrusted with the holy grail. My hips stutter, and he jerks awake, his head turning to face me. Our eyes meet, and I lose all restraint. I dig my hands into his hips, pinning him down and fucking him hard, holding his dazed gaze. I drive him into the pillows over and over again, chasing a release I want so bad I can taste it.

“Fuck, Fischer, I need to come.”

“Matthew…” he breathes, like he’s just now realizing what’s happening. “I’m gonna come again.”

He sounds mortified.

“Fuck yeah, come with me. Milk this cock with your perfect ass…Fuck…fuck…”