This was my entry in the Dulcinea Memorial Writing Festival. This entry exists because Alexis (Bronze Medalist), Denny (curmudgeon and editor) and Shon (Head Warlock Coven of Bliss) would not take "no" or "I'm too tired" for answers. With minds like those rubbing up against you, you never know up with what you'll come.
Thank you. :)
She could hardly move. She didn't think she'd want to move much, not for a week at least. All her energy was gone, used up in the glorious night before, and early morning after. She wanted to move for him, from him - it couldn't be comfortable with her weight still pressing on his chest. She still couldn't will her arms to lift, her legs to shift. Those last orgasms, like rolling thunder, had drained what reserves of strength she ever had. All her efforts lifted her less than half an inch, before settling back, exhausted.
He felt her move, just barely up, then back down. The darling. Although there was nothing he could do to help her. He was acutely aware of her nipples, pressing against his ribs just south of his own. Her body, in intimate contact with his along it's length, was a warm embrace. A drip from her wet pussy onto his cock was a reminder that they *should* move.
His regular breathing lifted her as much as her own efforts had. Up, then down; up; down. Had he been on top, she would be suffocating. She really must give him more room to breathe. She concentrated on drawing her left hand from beyond his shoulder blade to anchor it next to his chest, to use as a lever to move.
He felt her hand, carressing his shoulder, her fingers weaving a trail of erotic fire along the muscles there. Was she trying to awaken lust, after so many feasts, so many repletions? His cock, lying limply at the portal of her sweet pussy, twitched gamely, once.
She felt a twitch below. Lacking the strength even to open her eyes, she managed to lift an eyebrow ever so slightly. Again? The poor, ambitious, loving fool. In her exhausted satiation, there would be nothing she could do to help. She needed to tell him so, but first must lick her dry lips to speak.
He felt her lips at the short hairs of his neck move, her tongue awakening those hairs to sensation. His cock twitched again in response, and began to stiffen.
She felt another twitch at the rim of her pussy, and a slight pressure from the cock-head nestled there. Oh, the dear, darling man! The words she was trying to form were forgotten, replaced by a low moan.
Her moan affected him at an instinctual level. He thought ruefully that even if some small amount of flesh were willing, the rest was too weak. That thought did not prevent his cock from growing a little more, nestling between the folds of her outer lips and pressing apart the inner.
.... There is more of this story ...