Sexual healing in its fullest sense
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Sexual healing in its fullest sense
I’d had sex. More times than I cared to, with more men than I wanted to remember, and never because I desired it or felt attracted. It was a job to me. The price I paid for a safe place with a roof over my head. I didn’t really enjoy it. I didn’t dislike it either. I just didn’t feel much of anything- but since my body did what it was supposed to do I figured sex was just that way. I was young enough I didn’t know any different. I hadn’t experienced pleasure yet, not really. Hell, I hadn’t even felt the aching of sexual desire or the maddening hunger of intense arousal. Sure, I became wet, more than sufficiently. Occasionally, I even had an orgasm. The cruel part is that I couldn’t actually feel any of it. Not until him. He awakened something within me that had been waiting for the right person to shake loose or coax to the surface. Maybe he simply had the right combination of traits, features, knowledge, history, and anatomy to heal what had been broken and give what had been missing. I never expected to encounter him that day, certainly not there, a thousand miles from where we first met. I never expected him to knock at my door later that day. I never expected to be overcome with so many emotions and sensations. I never could have imagined having sex with him. Or anyone. But the moment of bodily contact, a simple and customary hug, sent waves through me that compelled me to press against him firmly and pull him tighter against me. I felt….desire. I wanted to kiss him. Touch his face. Feel my face against his chest. Press my thighs to his. I wanted to feel his weight on top of me. I wanted to feel him inside me. I don’t know who moved first, but before I had finished my montage of fantasy we were locked in a passionate kiss. My entire body felt like it was letting out a relieving sigh. I felt myself opening to him. I felt myself becoming wet. Not a little. A lot. I felt his erection. Clearly this was not a fantasy and this was nothing like any past sexual encounters. I wanted this. I wanted him, all of him. And I could FEEL. My God, I could feel. And he wanted me. I hadn’t felt an erection so hard and red hot. Or so thick. He was concerned about hurting me- he remembered what had happened to me all those years earlier- but the intense feeling of need was overwhelming for me. I needed him inside me. We didn’t get further than the entryway. We didn’t get undressed. I had undone his belt and unzipped his pants. He had lifted my skirt. I seldom wore underwear. He didn’t know that. The surprise was mutual when I pressed down against him. Hot, wet, and aching met hot, hard, and throbbing. I could feel every millimeter advance further inside me, my tense and tight body relaxing and opening to him until he was completely inside me. It took my breath away and made me tremble. He stayed there for what felt like hours. Fully penetrating me, not moving, only throbbing and making me wetter. I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed his ass and pulled him against me wanting more. Not realizing there was more until I could feel his balls pressed against me and the head of his cock squeeze against something deep inside me and then slide past it. I know now what that was. At the time I had no clue. I only knew that it sent shockwaves through me from head to toe that made my back arch, my abs tighten, my thighs open wide, my insides spasm and squeeze and quiver. I moaned uncontrollably. I felt like I could cry. Then he began to move. He pulled out slowly, only a small bit of his length, then thrust fully into me again, pressing against that same spot and pausing a moment before repeating the sequence. After a few minutes of this slow, deep, kneading, pressing, firm thrusting, I began to lose control of my body. Every movement became more intense to me. The pleasure was too much. I was crying, but not in pain or sadness. I was in orgasm. Intense, full body, convulsive orgasm. A ragdoll. He carried me to the sofa and laid me down. I felt his weight pressing against me and began to loudly moan and gasp. He kept me there in this state of ecstasy for what I felt must have been hours. I was helpless to him, to the trembling, throbbing, gushing, screaming, crying, uncontrollable pleasure of his body moving with mine. His hands, his lips, his thighs, his chest. I was enthralled. I was captivated. I was in love. He grabbed and held my hand, and looked into my eyes. He began to moan and breathe heavily. His thrusts became harder, longer, and pressed so deep. I could feel him getting firmer, thicker, pulsing. He was going to cum. That excited me more which made me clench his cock inside. Explosion is an understatement. I could feel him explode inside me, feel his hot seed pumping into me. I could feel my hips flare and thrust against his. I couldn’t stop cumming. We were a wet and sticky mess. And he didn’t stop until I had finally come down from my high. He held me, stayed buried in me, stroked my hair and face, kissed me all over, looked into my eyes, spoke softly to me as wave after wave hit me. I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want him to pull out. He didn’t. He stayed in me long after he had filled me, long after my orgasm had finally subsided, and long after he grew flaccid. And he would yet again become swollen and firm. We would spend several hours that night in naked bliss. I would wake in the morning to feel him growing erect inside of me. He would once again bring me pleasure and joy and release that morning before I went back to work. In an evening, night, and morning of orgasmic, passionate, tender, loving sex he had healed wounds of years of abuse and trauma. I also was impregnated, but didn’t know it or suspect it then. I didn’t think I would ever have sex again after the trauma. I didn’t think sex was something that could feel good. I didn’t know what orgasm felt like. I didn’t know that he loved and desired me all along and I could have had him years earlier. I didn’t know he was so perfectly fit for my body. I never would have imagined him to be endowed as he was. He wasn’t much bigger build than I was, but he had the biggest cock I had ever felt, a perfect cock. Perfectly shaped, perfect curve, perfect size to press into the magical place that sends me into unfathomable, unstoppable, cervical orgasm. Posterior fornix. One area of my anatomy not permanently damaged by trauma. One area far more sensitive and pleasurable than any clitoral contact. If ever anyone was perfect sexually for my body, a perfect match to me anatomically, it was him. He was the ideal lover for me. The way he moved, the way he touched me, the way he kissed me. The way he penetrated me. The way he felt. First sex I wanted. First raw sex. My first orgasm. My only orgasms. Thankfully there were thousands of them. Nearly 2 decades of incredible, orgasmic sex. I miss that. Such it is when a loved one dies. He was my love, my lover, my best friend, my life. I still get insanely aroused by him, by thinking of him. He’s been gone for 12 yrs. I still get just as wet and crazed in want of him as I did that first time.Comments for Sexual healing in its fullest sense
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