Chapter 30
His tongue went higher. It passed the entrance, circled there, then went down a little more. It brushed my ass. Light, hesitant at first, just the tip of his tongue circling the tight entrance, exploring. I froze for a second, my whole body snapping in a different way. No one had ever done that. Not even I had thought of it. But the heat that rose was immediate—a hot wave that came from my ass, passed through my belly, squeezed my small tits, prickled the back of my neck. It was weird and good, really good.
He kept sucking my pussy, tongue going in and out, sucking my clit, but now his thumb was circling my ass at the same time, light pressure, wet from my own wetness. Every brush sent a new jolt, different, that mixed with the pleasure of his tongue on my pussy. I moaned louder, without meaning to, my body shaking, hips bucking on their own to seek more. My ass twitched around his thumb, clenching and releasing, like it wanted to pull him in. The arousal was different—deeper, dirtier, more intense.
I thought, while I trembled and took it all: this could be good... My whole body responding, the emptiness filled in a new way, the pleasure rising in layers I didn't know. He sucked harder now, his tongue covering everything, thumb pressing my ass without going in, just circling, and I felt like I was gonna come again, hard. In a way I'd never felt.
He got me on all fours on the bed, hands firm on my slim hips, keeping my ass up, legs a little spread, my body soft and hot waiting.
He positioned himself behind, his small cock rubbing the wet entrance. He slid in all at once, slow at first, then harder. He thrust firm, straining, his body slapping against mine, the sound of skin on skin filling the empty room. It felt good and exciting. The hot friction, the cock sliding in and out, filling a bit, rubbing the inner walls. But it wasn't enough. It didn't go deep enough and it wasn't thick. It didn't hit the right spot. It was like an itch that wouldn't ease—good, but insufficient. The arousal grew, but the emptiness stayed, my clit throbbing without being touched right, my pussy clenching around something too small to satisfy.
I moaned low, hoarse, my body trembling with each thrust, but the pleasure was shallow, on the surface. He sped up, sweating, moaning loud, hands gripping my waist, trying to go deeper, harder. But it didn't change. It didn't get there.
Then I turned my face to the side, voice animal, heavy, coming from my throat like a growl:
"Enfia o dedo inteiro no meu rabo."
He stopped for a second, cock still inside me, pulsing. Then he obeyed. He spit on his hand, wet his middle finger, circled the tight ass entrance slow, testing. I arched my ass more, making space. He pressed. It went in. Inch by inch, the finger sliding hot, tight, filling my ass completely. The sensation was immediate: a full, deep pressure, different. My ass clenching around the finger, pulsing, my whole body snapping in a new way. The small cock in my pussy, rubbing the walls, and the finger in my ass, curving a little, pressing against the thin wall that separated the two.
It was too much. Sensory. The cock sliding in and out, wet, hot, the smooth but insufficient friction on its own. The finger in my ass, full, thick, moving slow, then faster, hitting the spot that sent electric waves up my spine. My ass twitched around the finger, clenching and releasing, the pleasure coming from two places at once—superficial in the pussy, deep in the ass. My whole body shook, thighs weakening, small tits swinging with each thrust, hard nipples rubbing the sheet. The wetness ran down my thighs, dripped on the mattress, the smell of sex filling the air—sweat, wetness, pure arousal.
He sped up. Cock thrusting hard, finger going in and out rhythmic and burning. The orgasm came fast, violent. First a strong contraction in my ass, squeezing his finger like it wanted to trap it. Then my pussy pulsed in empty spasms, clenching the small cock, milking it. My clit throbbed untouched, the pleasure exploding from my belly to my tits, to the back of my neck, to my shaking legs. I came moaning low, hoarse, my body locking up, then convulsing in deep waves, wetness gushing, running over his fingers, over the cock, dripping on the sheet. My back arched, hips pushing back on their own, wanting more, deeper, harder.
He had come with me, in the middle of my orgasm I didn't even notice. We stayed there still, me on all fours, body soft and shaking, him behind me, panting, his cock softening slowly inside my pussy that still pulsed in empty spasms. The silence was heavy, just his breathing and mine, the smell of sex strong in the air, wetness running down my thighs, dripping on the sheet. I was dying of shame to say anything. I'd just offered myself like a slut, asked for a finger in my ass, come moaning low like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he just smiled. A dumb, satisfied smile, looking at the ceiling like he'd won the lottery.
I looked at his face from the side and knew he was thinking about his girlfriend. Any minute now he'd open his mouth to comment something about her. Like "she doesn't do this," or "she doesn't come like that." And I remembered Gustavo, that day at Fabiano's house. Basically I wouldn't have to choose much to have a guy if it was just sex. I'd just offer. And that power—of deciding when, how, with whom—gave me a huge feeling of existing. Of being worth something. Of being in charge.
Then he let go, voice low, laughing and still panting as we lay side by side:
"Damn, I'm surprised, you fuck like crazy, Nicole. You could give her some tips."
Hearing that was cruel to me.
I'd never liked rudeness, confrontation, but the feeling of power went to my head and I shot myself in the foot. I turned to the side, grabbed the tip of his cock with my fingers like I was disgusted—it was all cummed and wet from me, sticky, hot—looked in his eyes and let it out:
"Babe, it's not that she's boring. She probably just doesn't like fucking you because your cock is like... really small. I'm tight and inside me I barely felt it."
Right away I regretted it. The air got cold. He took it with a laugh—a forced, short laugh—but the nervous and upset look was obvious. His eyes darkened, the smile died at the corners of his mouth, his whole body tensed.
"But I know how to eat pussy and finger really well, she doesn't complain. You didn't like it?"
Her again...
True. He had some damn good fingers. But I don't know why—maybe from hearing so much about this girl, maybe from the urge to crush him, to show I was better, that I was in charge—I kept going:
"Yeah, you gotta compensate somehow, right?"
He disguised it and got up quick, grabbed his boxers from the floor, muttered a "be right back" and went to the bathroom. He took forever, from the bed I heard the faucet running, the sound of toilet paper and flush. When he came back, he dressed fast, saved the files on the computer and sent them to his email.
"I'll finish it alone at home and put your name on it. Cool?"
He didn't look directly anymore and didn't even give a little smile. He just grabbed his backpack and left.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. The room was empty, the sheet stained, the smell of sex still in the air and my body soft and satisfied, but my chest tight with regret.
I lay on my side, naked, looking at the ceiling. The orgasm had been intense, the finger in my ass had been new and good, but now only a bigger emptiness remained, and it wasn't the usual emptiness, I'd hurt someone I liked and didn't even know why I'd done it.