Chapter 35 Chapter 34: Polli Nations Penetration
My mind drifted to Silver waiting just beyond the door, and a thrill of anticipation ran through me. I was just about to reach for the tap to shut the water off when a hand, slick with water, cupped my breast from behind. I gasped as I felt a naked body crush against my back, skin to skin in the downpour. I arched into the pleasure of the touch, a low moan escaping my lips as the water splayed everywhere, cascading over both of us. Her other hand found the sensitive peak of my stigma, and her fingers began a slow, knowing massage that sent jolts of electricity straight to my core.
My neck arched back involuntarily, offering itself. Her answer was a trail of kisses that started at my collarbone, biting, nipping, kissing a searing path up the column of my throat to my ear. My earlobe became a toy for her tongue, a sensation so intimate and overwhelming that my knees buckled. All the while, one hand expertly played my nipple, cupping and kneading my breast, while the other continued its devilish piano on my stigma. I could hear myself moan, the sound raw and foreign, mingling with the drumming of the water.
My legs felt so weak I feared I would collapse. I turned in her arms, as much for a respite from the sensory overload as for the desperate need to feel her whole body against mine. Our mouths met in a frantic, water-chilled kiss. I lifted her onto my hips, and her legs crawled around my arse, locking me to her. The feeling of her, warm and solid and wanting, was the final undoing. I could bear it no more. I needed this Polli more than I needed air.
With a grunt of effort, I tried to carry her to the bed, our bodies still slick and dripping. I managed a few stumbling steps out of the bathroom before my weakened legs gave way. We fell together, a tangle of wet limbs, me on top of her as we landed with a soft thud on the mattress, laughter and desire exploding from us in equal measure.
She had fallen only halfway onto the bed, her legs dangling off the side, her feet still planted firmly on the floor in a pose of beautiful, abandoned surrender. I knelt before her on the soft rug, a supplicant at an altar of pleasure. I leaned in and began searching for her stigma with my tongue, the taste of her musky and sweet, like rain on warm earth, flooding my senses. But the sounds she made were an even greater blessing to my soul; each moan was a thread pulling me deeper into a shared ecstasy.
Driven by a frantic need for more contact, she arched her back, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling and guiding until I understood. I turned my whole body around on top of hers, settling into a perfect, dizzying sixty-nine. My face was now glued to her stigma, and my own damp, aching stigma was positioned directly over her mouth. The world narrowed to this single, reciprocal act. We were now pleasing each other with tongues and teeth, lapping up each other’s juices, a closed circuit of desperate, shared sensation.
My whole body quaked with every expert flick and stroke of her tongue. I could no longer define my moans from hers; our voices merged into a single, ragged soundtrack of pleasure that was racking me with wave after wave of building intensity. My body began to shake uncontrollably, my focus splintering, and she, feeling my rhythm falter, mischievously called out, her voice muffled but clear: “Concentrate.”
I was trying, gods, I was trying so hard to maintain the intricate dance of my tongue around her most sensitive point, but with every new, devastating touch of her tongue against me, I evaporated further into a shuddering, moaning mess. “Come on now, Nanda, you can do better than that,” she teased, her tone a mix of command and affection that sent another jolt straight through me. I was utterly electrified, every nerve ending pulsing.
Then, in a cruel and brilliant move, she stopped. Just as I was hitting the final, precipice-shaking tremor, she crawled out from under me, leaving me exposed and trembling on the bed.
“No!” I heard myself cry out, the word a raw plea against the sudden, aching emptiness.
“You left the water running,” she laughed, a sound of pure, playful power. I could hear the distant rush from the bathroom. “One sec and I’ll be back. Don’t. Move.”
I fell onto my back, my eyes squeezed shut, already missing her touch so acutely it was a physical pain, yet my entire body was still taut and humming from the interrupted climax. It felt like a lifetime passed between hearing the water stop and the soft sound of her footsteps returning. I lifted my head, my body aching with anticipation, and when I saw her, I was lost all over again.
She had returned, but she was transformed. She was now wearing that giant, intimidating strap and dildo she had bought, the harness accentuating the powerful curve of her hips. The polished silicone glinted in the low light.
“Payback,” she laughed, her eyes dark with promise as she floated the huge phallus in her hand, a predator presenting its weapon. The sight was terrifying and the most arousing thing I had ever seen.
“Know lie still,” she laughed, the sound a low, throaty vibration against my skin as she pressed her weight upon me. It was a command, not a request, her hips pinning mine to the bed. A reflex took over; I moved my hand down to guide her, to help her find me, but she caught my wrist with surprising speed and slapped it away, pinning it gently but firmly above my head.
“What don’t you understand about lying still?” she smirked, her eyes dark pools of playful dominance. Her gaze held mine, a silent dare to surrender all control.
I obeyed, my body thrumming with anticipation. Then I felt it, the firm, insistent tip of the strap-on pressing against me. A little too high at first, a teasing, misplaced pressure that made me gasp. Then she adjusted, and it found its mark. She entered me.
The initial penetration was a shockwave. It was so large, so unforgiving, that the air fled my lungs in a sharp gasp. A feeling of being stretched to my absolute limit, so intense I thought I would explode from the inside out. But that was just the beginning.
She laced her fingers through mine, both of her hands enveloping my hands, our finger plating locked in a tight, desperate embrace. It was my only anchor. Then she thrusted. What I had thought was the whole of her was merely the beginning. The large tip was now a full, deep impalement. A beautiful, searing pain arched my back off the bed.
With every slow, deliberate withdrawal, I felt a fleeting moment of relief, only to have it shattered as she pushed forward again, claiming another centimetre of me. Each thrust unmade me, peeling away layers of restraint and self-consciousness. I could hear moans and screaming, raw and ragged, and it was a moment before I recognized the voice as my own.
Every time I reached what I believed was the brink of what my body could contain, she would thrust again, deeper, proving my limits were illusions. Finally, her body was pressed flush against mine, her hips grinding against me. The entire phallus was inside me, splitting me open, filling me completely. I was remade in the shape of her.
Then the rhythm began to change. The slow, deliberate pace accelerated into something more urgent, more primal. My whole world narrowed to the shaking of the bed, the pounding of our hearts, the slick sound of our joining. With every pulse of my own clenching muscles, she met me with a faster, deeper thrust. I buried my face in her neck, my teeth baring down on the smooth skin there, biting and moaning as the sensations became overwhelming.
My hands broke free from her grasp, my nails travelling down her sweat-slicked back, finding the harness strap. I clawed at her, my nails cutting deep into her flesh, not in resistance, but as a primal plea, a physical manifestation of the ecstasy tearing through me. My screams were burning my throat, a raw, torn sound. I was a contradiction of sensations: I wanted more, yet my body felt like it could take no more.
The word tore from my lips, again and again, a broken mantra. “More… more… more…”
It was my undoing. My body arched violently, every muscle seizing in a climax that was less a wave and more a seismic rupture. I screamed like a banshee, a sound ripped from the very core of my being, as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot sensation.
If this was not a Trembling, then Trembling does not exist.
She rolled off me, the sudden absence of her weight and warmth a shock to my system. I lay there, utterly spent, every nerve ending screaming in the aftermath. And even though my mind was blank and my body felt liquefied, a profound, aching emptiness echoed inside me. My body, traitorously, yelled for her touch, for the weight of her, for the feeling of being whole that only she could provide.
She pulled me into a sweaty embrace, and I was done I was hers now and always.