His fingers parted her inner lips on the hunt for moisture. They would not be disapointed. He would never dream of touching her clit with dry fingers. His damaged left hand was a secret weapon only a few lucky women had experienced. The bent and twisted fingers could simultaneously touch places that most men could not. Slowly his fingers entered her wet canal and then he started. Working as two small vibrators, one finger pressed against her pelvic bone, the other against the sides of her walls. She bit down on his shoulder drawing a few drops of blood. He took the pain. There would be a bruise tomorrow. He didn't care. He withdrew his fingers, now slick with her nectar and slid them along her folds one touching each side of her clit. Her hips rose to meet his touch. Her well manicured nails digging into him. One hand was behind his ear, nails in his scalp. The other was clawing at his back leaving long scratches across his ribs.
He rolled the hard bud of her clit between his thumb and finger. Her hips bucked of their own accord. Again her teeth found flesh. Her thighs clamped down on his hand but he would not relent. Her nails dug into his back, teeth buried in the flesh above his collar bone. Like a mantis killing her mate, she attacked as she came. Only, she let him live. She would want this again.
Finally she released her grip and collapsed on her back. He teased the center of her chest with one hand while the other stroked her hair. Softly he kissed her cheek. Her body shivered as an aftershock of her orgasm shook her body. She was satisfied yet she wanted more. She needed more. She hopes he gives more. Yes, there would be more.
He first kissed her neck, then down to her chest. Gentle kisses fell on each nipple before he moved lower. He turned as he moved down her belly. Her hand on his head encouraged him to keep moving downward. He kissed her inner thighs, worked his way ever closer to her center. She moved frantically, longing for more contact. His tongue entered her, spreading her folds. He sucked on her lips, pulled them up away from her body. She reached for him and gently stroked his cock. Only then did he reach full hardness. He focus was only on her. His tongue flicked her clit and again she started to flow. This time it would not be just a little moisture. He was doing what he loved, and he knew how to please her.
He loved going down on her. Her smell, her taste, her sensitivity drove him to satisfy her. While the assault on her clit continued, he again inserted two fingers into her. Two fingers searched, teased, and probed all to give her pleasure. Her attention to him had stopped, a sure sign that she was close. He doubled down on his efforts. He was focused only on her clit. Yes, his fingers were still in her, but he didn't even know if he was moving them. Then it happened. She filled with that sweet nectar and he pulled his fingers. Her juices sprayed across the bed, not once, not twice, but four times. He tried to catch it in his mouth but had limited success. The sheets are soaked. Some had even landed over a foot away.
He stopped. She was ultra sensitive and he knew it. He turned around and stroked her face. She snuggled tightly against him, spent. He had given her great pleasure but has not had a release of his own. He found her so sexy and so beautiful that he would not force the issue. Maybe in an hour, or in the morning, or tomorrow night he would receive his reward. For now he let her sleep, happy with what he had done for her.
