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Sage lays with the devil.
I was coming in white-hot bursts of sensation. I started to panic partway through, however; I could feel my urgent need for a bathroom suddenly escalate to unbearable. I whimpered and tried to pull away, but his fingers hooked into me, holding me fast, and pressing even harder into my gspot.
"Do it," he ordered.
"No!" I wailed, but it was too late. I came again with an enormous rush of contractions. And pee. My burning ass, the hooked fingers beckoning into me, the hot liquid streaming over his hand...I screamed with both pleasure and angry frustration at him forcing this to happen. But I looked up at him, ready to yell at him and saw such an excited, mischievous smile. He was grinning at me, then he said, "Oh god, thank you, that was amazing."
I was confused. I did not want to play games like this, did I? He was so happy though. And he was continuing to curl his fingers into my gspot. I came again, hard, with more gushing, this time of pee or female ejaculate, or whatever. I didn't care. I was coming. And coming. And coming.
After we stripped the bedding and took our showers, we sat and had breakfast together. Matthew was deeply repentant. "I'm so sorry I pushed you. It was so hot, and I knew you'd say no if I asked, so I forced the issue." He looked a little distraught. "I never should have done that."
I rolled my eyes. "Did I 'yellow?' or 'red?'"
"Give me some respect, then, for knowing my own mind and deciding I was willing to do that. I could have safeworded out any time, you know." I was a little irritated.
Matthew sighed. "I know I pushed you though. You didn't really consent because you were all amped up. I took advantage of that."
I laughed. "We take advantage of each other in that way all the time. That's what our games are all about-sometimes pushing or pulling the other person along with us on our fantasies. We're both perfectly capable of putting a stop to things. And that's why we do talk about most of this stuff before and after-to check in with each other. So, thanks for checking in, but I'm good."
He could see that I was starting to feel offended, that I felt as if he didn't trust me to be able to take care of myself. He backed off, but somewhat unconvincingly.
"Of course, I just..." he trailed off as he took a bite of granola. "I really liked it though."
I was less sure I'd liked it exactly. Or if I ever wanted to do it again. I said so. I could see his disappointment, but he simply said, "I won't push it on you again when you're in a state where you may be too turned on to refuse." Then he grinned, "Or will I?" I rolled my eyes. So much for worrying about pushing too hard, I thought.
But all that day, I thought about his concerns. He seemed to really think he was forcing me into some acts, I realized. As if he were using orgasms as a way to lure me into a dark sexual forest that frightened me or I didn't want to explore. He was so wrong, and he needed to know this.
That night, as we prepared for bed, I took extra pains to shave and slather myself in softly scented oil. I put on my sexiest stockings and lacy bodysuit. When I strolled into the bedroom, Matthew's eyebrows shot up. I normally wore a t-shirt to bed, if I wore anything at all. Before he could comment, I rushed forward, "I would like you to fuck my ass, please. Hard. Just like you want it."
This was one of the hardest things I'd ever said. I was embarrassed. I was also unsure I really did want that, but I wanted to want it, and that would have to do.
He looked into my eyes for a moment, searching for some clue about whether I meant what I said. Then he said, "Good thing I didn't come this morning. I want to fill you up with come." And grinned.