Breaking Your Toys

I am, perhaps, slightly rougher with her than usual. I fuck her from behind with her flat against the bed. Nowhere for her to squirm away to. Nothing she can do to control the depth I am inside her. She wriggles and bites a pillow, pants. “It’s… so… so much,” she says.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes. But… but it’s good… don’t… don’t stop.”

She doesn’t normally vocalise, but this time she does. Long, desperate moans. She flinches a few times when I dig into her extra hard. I can feel the tip of my cock ramming up against the limit of her cunt, filling her entirely. I increase my pace. Our bodies slap together heavily with each thrust.

I can tell she’s struggling to take it. The look on her face. The tight grip she has on the edge of the mattress. “Good girl,” I tell her. “I’m almost done.”

“Please,” she says.

“You can take it a little longer?”

She nods. “For you… sir… I can… for you… I want to…”

I finish. Not gently. As I come she lets go of the edge of the mattress and grabs blindly for my hand. I let her hold it. She squeezes tight, biting her lip, moaning in the back of her throat. I stay inside her after I’m done. I can feel her cunt convulsing around my cock.

“You’re okay?” I ask.

“Sore,” she says. “Really…” She swallows. “Really sore.”

I pull out of her slowly. She lies with her hands underneath her, both of them clutching her cunt. She lies still, breathing steadily. She groans whenever she moves.

“Still hurts?”

“I can feel it in my stomach,” she says. “It’s like… like you’re still in there. Or… like I’ve done a thousand sit-ups. Everytime I move…” She moves as if to sit up, but stops. Groans. “That really hurt. It was good, I mean. But fuck…”

We lie entangled for a while. She clutches her cunt, pressing the heel of her hand into her abdomen. She breathes slow. Eventually she rolls to the bedside table to take some painkillers. She is incapacitated for the rest of the evening, and so we shelve our plans for more filth and watch a film instead. She clutches a hot water bottle, groaning intermittently.

The next day, by text message, she assures me she’s fine. Explains that she’s always more sensitive when she’s close to her period. Thanks me for staying. And then, an hour later, sends another message, an afterthought. As soon as my period is over, she writes, I really want to do that again.