And yet here’s Soren, offering to bring me to orgasm just to relieve my pain.
Weirdo. The good kind.
“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I mean it. When it comes to you, I want every part of you.” He seems earnest. Truthful. Eager.
And so I let him.
He retrieves the towel and lays it down on the bed with reverence.
Then he helps me on top of it, lowering my ginormous, ugly panties. Not laughing at the thickness of the material, not put off by the expanse of my flesh they cover. Not judging the security blanket I swathe myself in each month because I’ve endured too many messy and embarrassing accidents to remember.
I move to cover myself, suddenly self-conscious about the blood that trickles from me.
“Don’t,” he says, moving my hand away. “Not with me.” He pauses. “You’re so beautiful, Ivy.”
“Even like this?” I ask, raising a brow, still not quite sure he’s serious even though his expression looks like he is.
“Especially like this,” he leans down and kisses my forehead, tender. “This is real.”
He uses his fingers at first, stroking my clit.
I moan, the sensation more intense than usual, perhaps caused by the extra blood that courses low in my body. Maybe exacerbated by the sensitivity of my nerve endings right now. All I know is that his touch feels really fucking good.
“Is this helping?” he asks.
“Yes,” I moan, letting myself exhale as he continues to caress my clit.
My body is loosening, yet my core tightens at his touch. I can almost anticipate the release and how good my body is going to feel when it finally gets to let go.
He moves backward now, dipping his head between my thighs.
I gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit, laying it flat against my swollen skin. He laps at my pussy, slow, patient.
And the coil in me contracts further, my hips moving in time with his licks. I reach down and fist his hair, and he brings his hands up to gently hold my hips in place.
I know I’m already close, the pressure building up in me withan intensity faster than it normally does. My core is on fire with anticipation.
And then my body releases, like it’s taking a massive, much-needed exhale. My hips buck, shooting up into the air and my back arching high off the bed as my pussy crushes into his face. I feel a trickle of blood, the pressure of the orgasm expelling it from my body as I come.
But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grips my hips harder, continuing to feast on me as the orgasm wracks through me, the pulses making my body shake against him.
He doesn’t stop, all the way until my orgasm subsides and I begin to squirm under his tongue. Satiated and languid now, I lie flat, the plush towel cushioning me.
Only then does he pull away. He looks up and I notice the blood on his face.
For a second, I’m concerned that he’s going to be upset. That he’s going to regret doing what he did, and that it’s suddenly going to be my fault.
But instead, he simply wipes the blood away with the back of his hand which he then wipes on the towel.
I smile and stretch more deeply.
Because he was right, as per usual, about what I need. What my body needs.
I feel looser now, the pain still present but gentler than before. Like an echo, a reminder of the intensity that made me weep earlier.
The endorphins from the orgasm give me a boost that makes me feel like this pain is something that will subside, that it’s something that I can and will overcome.
And then he grabs his pants by the waistband and yanks them down, his cock springing free. Hard, and clearly undeterred by my current state.