that's the spot

You’re struggling. You’ll never get used to his size. Thick and long and always knocking the air out of your lungs. He’s buried in to the hilt, his balls kissing your swollen clit.

It’s easier to take when he’s moving. An ebb and flow. So full, then so empty. It balances the stretch, ensures it’s not too much. Each pull of his hips is a relief before he pushes back in, your pussy straining to take him. It feels so good, always makes your eyes roll back and your brain go blank.

Now, though, you’re forced to take every single inch without a break. You feel him in your stomach and nearly up to your throat. You’re not sure how he isn’t popping past your cervix. You can’t help but to squirm, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that builds and settles right where the tip of his cock nudges against the deepest end of you.

“Can’t,” you whimper, still struggling, instinctively trying to get away.

“You want me to stop?”

“Fuck — no.”

Steve groans, so low that it’s hardly audible.

“Tell me you want it.”

A tiny little roll of his hips makes you grit your teeth.

“I want you.”

You feel his smile when he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Then stop bitching.”

You’re dripping down his balls. So fucking wet and hot and tight. It takes all of Steve’s restraint to not tear you apart before putting you back together again. When he has you like this, he’s sick. Becomes depraved and perverted, a whole new person, pussy whipped to the point of stupidity. All carnal, primal.

“Please move,” you beg. “Steve, I can’t.”

Steve lets his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “I’m staying right here ‘til you get used to it. Gonna make it a perfect fit.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, clawing at his sheets. Your legs attempt to kick — purely instinctual, again — but Steve’s legs keep them spread.

“Where do you feel me?” he murmurs.

“Fuck — everywhere,” you breathe. “My fuckin’ — my lungs, Steve.”

You feel him pulse inside of you. It only stretches you out more.

He rocks his hips once, halfway out before slipping back in to the base. It’s somehow more torture than not moving at all. The relief that you need as his cock dislodges itself from your stomach is replaced quickly with the overwhelming feeling of him sheathing himself inside.

“Could stay like this all goddamn day,” he coos, a kiss pressed to your jaw. “Hear how wet you are?”

You can. It’s obscene. Embarrassing, actually, but Steve stops you from closing your legs.

“Don’t hide. Let me in, baby.”

You’re tearful, body going slack, giving in.

He kisses your neck, his cock kicking inside of your straining walls. “I know, I know. You’re doing so good.”

His praise is hardly any consolation. It aches. It’s driving you mad. Not just the pain, but the lack of your own pleasure, too.

He’s already given you two orgasms today, but still.