#saeeeeeeeee~

Sae runs a hand through his hair, clearing his forehead, before falling onto the mattress. He’s lying there, damp with sweat, cock throbbing, eyes fixed on you. A faint smile plays on your lips as you move. In one smooth motion, you settle astride him, your back to him.

“Fuck”, he groans when his tip, soaked in pre-cum and your fluids, brushes against your lips.

No extra help is needed for it to slide into your soggy walls. And here you go again, doing what you do best.

It begins fast—almost frantic: the rebounds of your butt on his thighs, the swinging of your plump chest with each impulse. He moans, his focus drifting between the curve of your spine, the mole on your shoulder blade, and the slick grip of your cunt. The tension rises, veins beating against your walls.

“I'm close,” he groans through clenched teeth. 

You pick up the pace. Faster now, paying little attention to the slight tremors of your muscles. Six, seven fiery thrusts, frenzied back-and-forth of his angry red tip at its quivering base. His head digs into the pillow, looking at the ceiling, and— everything stops.

Not controlled. Not intentional. Just a complete stop.

“Sorry…,” you giggle, kissing his knee.

The man takes a deep breath. His hips jerk forward by reflex. But he ends up saying, “It’s okay, keep goin’…”

You nod and shift back into position, rocking from one knee to the other. Then you lean forward, parting the cleft of your buttocks to reveal the little rim he's been eyeing for a while. 

Nothing feels as sharp as before—the fatigue is catching up with you. Your stomach contracts strongly, your heart beats fast. The pleasure is still there, but it’s dulled now. Blurred by the effort it takes to keep going. This time, his climax comes faster. “Don’t stop. 'm—, 'm close,”

The wet slaps quicken, doubling in pace. The curve of his cock slams into all the right spots that make you moan shamelessly. You love feeling his length throb, hearing his jerky breathing. So you ignore the burn in your thighs, pushing through it. When you can’t lift your little pussy anymore, you keep it full, teasing him with her contractions. She tightens around him, wanting to clamp, wanting to grip him tighter. Each little squeeze makes your boyfriend’s eyes roll with pleasure. “Don’t stop,” he repeats.

You promise yourself not to. Just a little more effort. A tiny bit. “Sae, I c-can’t,” you whisper, “my thighs are….”

“Fuck, bellita!” he yells. Now, annoyance is sharpening his features, cock pulsing within your heat, denied release twice. He’s not angry, he just wants to cum. His balls are heavy, desperate to spill.

When you lunge for the third time, the ache that’s been tugging at your thighs sharpens. Every flex ignites a new sting. Every contraction makes it worse. Until it pins you to the couch. Two hands settle around your waist—a subtle proof that he’s fighting not to turn you around and take what you’re denying him. Even unintentionally.

It’s almost funny to watch. You’re moaning a lot—more from the effort than the pleasure. Sure, your pussy feels good around him, but now it’s not enough. The lackluster performance of yours isn’t enough to make him come. And it’s holding back your own climax. The rhythm slows… if you can even call it a rhythm. It’s jerky, made up of pathetic pushes and failed attempts to lift your hips. “Cannooot!” you whine.

Sae’s patience is wearing thin. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. Enough is fucking enough!

Now, he's taking over, insisting that you finish your motions. His hips bucking into yours relentlessly, each thrust hard and selfish.

“I-It hurts!!” you protest, with teary eyes.

Nah, he doesn’t care. He bends his knees, which spread your legs even wider, your hole all his. “I’ll kiss it better.”

He’s not thinking about you. Not even a tiny thought for your poor swollen clit. Technically, you’re on top. In practice, he’s fucking you. So fast that your juices don’t even have time to drip onto him. That egoistic bastard is after one thing only: orgasm. His own.

When he reaches it, his whole body goes slack.

“lemme be on tooop,” he squeaks, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. You say nothing. You have nothing to say .“Gonna put ya through my training sessions. Between this n your cardio.”

“I have great cardio!” you protest immediately. “You just keep comparing it to yours. Which is obviously more optimized than mine. But that’s normal. Your job is to run after a ba-ba—”

“Yeah, yeah. Get up.” he says.

You hate giving him the satisfaction of being right but— “I can't move. Nothing’s responding.” you whisper.

“For sure, after such a performance. ” he smirks, biceps flexing again as he lifts you and sets you on the side.

©𝓮𝓷𝒕𝓮𝓷𝒅𝓼𝓶𝒂𝓻𝒂𝓰𝓮

𓂃✍︎ : 𝐈𝐗. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐌𝐌𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈, 0. 840 𝓴

➤ : Bellita is Sae's nickname for you.