One of my favourite parts of sex, apart from my own orgasm, is that bit just before the man comes. It’s that eternally long drawn out moment where he tries to hold back and I agonise in a state of heightened anticipation, waiting for his release. There is something purely animal about a man who has reached the point of no return and is just about to flood your cunt full of cum.
I love to feel the tension in His body as Master C tries to hold on, milking every moment of His pleasure before he erupts. I love to feel the way His breathing becomes more laboured. I love the involuntary moans Master C makes in those final moments as He fights to contain the inevitable. I love the way his Hips thrust of their own volition between my thighs, counting down to the moment of eruption, knowing that His climax is inevitable.
What I love most of all, however, is the fact that, deep down, I know Master C, or indeed any man in this position, isn’t thinking of me any more; In those moments those men aren’t even fucking me, they are simply fucking. At this point in the proceedings, it doesn’t matter how considerate a lover the man in question is, the only thing that matters to him is his own climax; the fact that it’s my cunt his cock is buried in no longer matters, it could be any cunt; my body is simply the means to his end, my cunt, the receptacle for his seed.
As those last powerful few thrusts fill me, as his body goes tight, as the pressure insides him mounts and the doomsday clock ticks down to the point where Master C can hold back no longer, I know He isn’t thinking of me, He isn’t thinking of anything; He is simply a male in rut, just like any other, and the overpowering need for release blinds Him towards everything else.
Ironically, at this point, I am completely His. Master C owns me; He has used me and I long to feel Him release inside me, filling me, emptying Himself into me.
Time seems to come to a standstill. That final moment; that eternity of anticipation and then, with that last surging thrust, He comes. The tension drains from His body as His cum drains from His cock. As He comes, Master C moans my name; I have Him back, He is mine again and I am very definitely His.
When Master C slumps, spent on top of me, kissing me passionately, stroking my hair from my face, His cock making those post-climax, involuntary little thrusts as He basks in the afterglow of His release, I know Master C has retuned to me; He is once again the caring, considerate lover and no longer just a man driven by his urges and I am, once again, His devoted submissive and partner, not just a female body to be used for His pleasure.
Time begins again, and afterwards, as we lie snuggled together, I am so grateful that I am His and that Master C is mine.