Breathing erratically, I said, "That—was unbelievable."
He smiled genially at me. "I'm glad you liked it." Then, almost casually: "I love you, you know."
As I tried to regroup, I had to deal with that ridiculous assertion.
"Jerad, you don't even know me," I said. I tried not to be unkind, but there must have been a sense of irritation in my voice.
"I know a lot about you," he said with a touch of resentment. "I've been on campus two years, and I've paid a lot of attention to you. I've talked with people who've taken classes with you. You're smart and beautiful and kind and tender-hearted, but you don't take bull from anyone, and you're just a little bit sassy. I like all that—I love it, in fact."
I admit this was an uncannily accurate summation of my personality. It unnerved me that he'd "paid a lot of attention" to me when I was entirely unaware of the fact; but I guess that's what obsessed people do. But that still made the idea of any sort of "relationship" between us implausible, even grotesque.
"How old are you?" I said.
"Twenty-four."
"Well, I'm forty-five. Do you really think we can—"
"Why not?"
"Jerad, you need to find women of your own age. What about that girl you mentioned?" The one who had instructed you so well about female sexual response.
"That was a long time ago—when I was an undergraduate."
"There must have been others."
"No," he said in a small voice.
I was dumbstruck. "You're telling me you've been intimate with only one woman? And I'm the second?"
"Yeah."
"Well, good Lord. I don't know what to say about that."
But our conversation was interrupted by another factor—namely, his getting hard again. Of course, I hadn't helped matters by casually fondling his cock as he lay on his side next to me. Remember, it had been a long time since I'd had access to the male organ! I guess I'd missed it more than I realized. For his part, he had been alternately squeezing one breast and then the other in an almost absentminded way.
I looked over at him and said, "I guess you want another round."
He didn't answer immediately. While continuing to massage a breast, he said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, go ahead."
But then he lapsed into a brooding silence.
"What is it, Jerad?" I almost snapped. "Tell me."
In a nearly inaudible whisper, he finally said, "Can I go into your bottom?"
I stared daggers at him. "You gotta be kidding me."
Again that crestfallen little-boy look. "You don't like it?"
"I did it a long time ago," I said, "and no, I didn't like it then."
"How long ago?"
That question irked me a bit. "Before you were born, if you really want to know!" I shot back at him.
He ignored my outrage. "What's wrong with it?"
"Well, for one thing, it hurts. You haven't done it, so you don't know what it's like to have a guy shove his cock—especially a big one like yours—into that tight place. And for another thing—"
"You're supposed to use lube!" he said eagerly.
I closed my eyes for a moment. "I know you're supposed to use lube. That doesn't always help."
But he wasn't paying much attention to what I was saying. Clumsily leaping over me in his haste to get to the bathroom, he came back in seconds holding in triumph a little tube of hand lotion that was evidently placed in all the hotel rooms.
"How about this?" he said.
"Jerad, I haven't agreed to this," I reminded him.
Once again he gave me that crestfallen, little-lost-boy look that I'd already come to recognize.
I sighed. "Oh, all right, we'll try it. But if it hurts too much, you have to stop."
He gave me a big grin, and I very much doubted whether he'd obey my warning—not out of malice or male dominance or lack of concern for my welfare, but because he was so excited about the prospect that nothing was going to deter him. In fact, I heard him mutter to himself, "That girl wouldn't let me . . ."—which was all I needed to know to understand why he was so eager for this procedure.
I actually felt a little weird having him lube me up: here was a guy who, although I may have seen him around campus for the past two years, I really didn't know at all—and now, all apart from his invasion of my vagina, was sticking his fingers in a spot that I myself had almost never probed. He made sure to coat the inside of my anus as well as the area all around it, and I felt as protected as I was going to be.
I thought he would want me on all fours, but he tosssed the tube away carelessly and plumped himself right down on my supine body, from head to toe, as if he was some large, living blanket covering me. He nuzzled my neck and brushed his face against my hair before guiding his member into my cavity. Getting the head in was the most difficult part; but after some moments it popped in unexpectedly, and we both let out gasps—for different reasons.
He, no doubt, felt the exquisitely tight sensation that comes from anal penetration; I felt that very different sense of filling from what I felt when a cock enters my pussy. I have to say it was kind of like a thick rod or pestle being forced into me. My anus unwillingly yielded to this rod, and it was almost as if it was trying to expel it. That may have been because of my own unconscious tightening of my sphincter, even though I knew that would only augment my pain.
Perhaps pain is something of an exaggeration; discomfort would be a more accurate term. As he began his slow in-and-out motion, my body yielded only grudgingly to this invasion. I tried to go limp, lapsing into a passivity and submissiveness entirely foreign to my nature; and I wasn't entirely successful. But Jerad gradually took complete control of the proceedings, bringing his hands around my chest and seizing my breasts while pasting kisses on whatever parts of my face and neck and shoulders he could reach. I felt totally helpless.
It could have been worse. I fell into a kind of dream state where time seemed to stand still and nothing existed except this man's relentless pummeling of my bottom. I was expelling little sighs or grunts with every one of his thrusts, and every now and then my legs gave a spasmodic kick all apart from any consious volition on my part. It seemed that I was nothing but a kind of live sex doll, serving my owner's pleasure as long as he wanted to enjoy me.
But no—that's not fair. Once he got into a working rhythm, he moved one of his hands down from my breast to my sex. At first I felt even more helpless than before: now he was completely in possession of all my sexual organs. But as he began stroking me, I felt the beginnings of another round of pleasure for myself. I couldn't even believe it was happening: that massive orgasm he'd just given me was, I thought, surely the height of ecstasy, and everything afterwards would be downhill from there. And while I didn't expect a second climax to come close to that earlier pinnacle, I was amazed that my body was able to respond at all. But those magic fingers did the trick.
He seemed curiously intent on a simultaneous orgasm for him and for me—and he managed it. Just as I heard him groaning heavily right into my ear, and then felt another cascade of his seed pouring into my rectum, his own fondling of me became more and more frenetic—until he suddenly induced my own paroxysm in a way that seemed to cause a slow explosion that proceeded from my clitoris through my entire frame and into my mind. We were both gasping and moaning and writhing with utter abandon, my body again twitching uncontrollably as the orgasm continued to spread all over me.
I was utterly spent, and so was he. He just lay there, a dead weight on me, his cock still buried firmly into my anus. He seemed in no mood to detach himself from me; it was as if this connection—even more intimate in its way than the last one—was one he wished to prolong forever.
But at last, as I finally came down from my high and became aware of my surroundings and feelings, I said to him:
"Jerad, can you please . . . come out of me? You're done, aren't you?"
He let out a kind of low growl that said, Yeah, I'm done—but I wish I wasn't. With extreme reluctance he did pull out—but that very act, especially the final emergence of the knobby head of his cock, caused me one final twinge that made me cry out.
Almost immediately he shuffled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. Evidently he was keen on washing his member. I silently thanked him for his consideration, since I didn't want to be anywhere near that object if it was dirty. I of course couldn't imagine any further bouts of lovemaking. Most men can't even do it twice in one session, so I didn't expect Jerad to be able to get it up a third time.
I was wrong. As he returned and unceremoniously dumped me on top of his recumbent body, kissing and massaging me all over, I felt what I couldn't believe I was feeling—he was in fact getting hard again.
I had buried my head in the crook of his neck, and now I looked up at him in amazement, even in alarm. "Oh, Jerad," I said, "you're not seriously wanting to—"
His expression of plangent yearning told me all I needed to know.
Almost apologetically, he rolled me onto my back and slipped into my vagina effortlessly. He was not quite as hard as he had been on the first two rounds, but he was hard enough. And although he was a lot gentler this time, he still seemed to want to be in total control as he peered down at my face with a strangely blank expression, almost as if he had forgotten who I was and was mildly puzzled as to what he was doing here.
I swear to you, he was in me for nearly an hour. I have never, ever had a man fill my pussy so long. Sometimes he didn't even thrust; he just stopped, remaining motionless for more than a minute, as if just relishing the fusion of our bodies. He continued to kiss me, but those kisses were light, quick, almost perfunctory. He seemed to want to plant kisses wherever his mouth could reach, from the space between my breasts to the top of my head. Once or twice he actually kissed me (or, more precisely, licked me) in my armpit. That sent a little tremor of surprise and pleasure through me, as did the time when he inserted his hot tongue into my ear as far as it would go.
I began to sense something about Jerad Sanders during this interminable (but, let me be honest, quite stimulating) copulation. He was one of those guys (and there may be many of them) who find everything about a woman inexpressibly fascinating. In other words, it wasn't just my own special charms that incited his insatiable appetite; it was my mere existence as a female. There was far more to this than the usual array of body parts—breasts, pussy, bottom. It was all the other areas, from the curve of my neck leading to my shoulders to the swell of my hips to the back of my knees. And beyond all physicality, it was my mind and emotions that seemed to hypnotize him, merely because they belonged to a woman. I never felt more feminine than I did with him at that moment.
As he continued to pump me gently, I wondered if he was even capable of—or interested in—coming a third time. Maybe the melding of our bodies (and, inevitably, our hearts) was enough for him. I myself came twice during his possession of my body—and I thought that that second climax—during which I distinctly felt my vagina tightening around his member—might make him come too. It didn't; but quite a bit later, a look of surprise came over his face, and then he shot his third emission into me. It was as copious as the others had been, and he gazed down at me with wide-open eyes as those streams of come flowed out of him.
When at last he was drained, his face crumpled into a kind of grimace as he said, "I love you."
I felt truly touched—and was more than half inclined to return his feelings. But I couldn't quite get the words out. So I said, "I know you do, dear." I hoped that silly little endearment mollified him a bit.
It seemed to. He gave me a broken smile, pasted a quick but hard kiss on my mouth, and then rolled off of me, sighing with immense satisfaction as he gazed at the ceiling.
I myself felt as if I'd been through a tornado. I was utterly exhausted and hardly able to think or see straight. It was well past midnight, and the room was eerily silent aside from some heavy, irregular breathing from both of us.
"Jerad," I said, "I need some sleep. I have a nine o'clock panel discussion tomorrow. So are we done now?"
He fell into something of a sulk as he said, "I guess so."
"Good." I gave him one last kiss on the cheek to show him my appreciation. "You're—quite something."
And then I turned my back to him and almost immediately fell asleep.
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