Warm-Up Lap
“Don’t hold back if a sound comes out. I want to know where you like it.”
Without ever stopping the motion of his fingers, Harold issued the command in a cold voice.
The high-handed tone made me flinch and open my eyes. Harold’s face filled my vision, those blue eyes flashing darkly, sunk to the color of the deep sea. He was no longer smiling.
“Stand up straight. Spread your legs a little more—you can’t move like that.”
At his words the strength drained from both of my hands where they had been gripping his wrist. The moment I obediently went slack, Harold drove deeper into me.
The fingers that had been rubbing my wet entrance now pushed inside. By sensation alone I felt every joint of those long, thick fingers.
Harold’s hand sank so deep it reached the absolute limit of how far a hand could go. The muscles of my thighs spasmed, and the muscles there clenched tight as if trying to bar the invader.
Paying no attention to my reaction, the fingers inside me scraped along the walls of my belly, rubbing the mucous membrane and prying the entrance open wider still.
“Nngh!”
It happened in an instant. A full-body shiver raced all the way to the crown of my head, and a whimper slipped past my lips.
“How is it? Good?”
Harold caught the sound at once and asked.
“Here?”
I had no mind left to answer. From that moment on I simply could not hold the moans back. Just staying on my feet was already the limit, and then his other hand came and pinched a nipple that had gone tight and burning hot. The jolt that shot through my breast sent strength all the way down to my toes.
In the end I could not endure it and moaned, knees bent, trembling.
“Ah—aah—nngh—hnn—nngh—ah.”
Pleasure raced up my spine and flooded every part of me. I wanted to deny it, yet it poured through my whole body. I lost my balance, staggered, and collapsed as if falling into Harold’s arms.
As though he had been waiting for exactly that moment, Harold pulled me in and sat me on his lap.
Seated on him like a chair, I felt through my own skin just how terribly aroused he was.
I had not seen it directly, yet the erection pressed against me felt so impossibly large I almost doubted whether it could really be what I thought it was.
But that thought did not last long. I was no longer capable of thinking anything at all.
“Ah…… aah—nngh—hnn—ah! Ugh—nnngh! Ah.”
Nothing except the feel of his hand.
One of Harold’s arms, wrapped around me, bound my waist like a rope. And the other hand—still buried inside me—began to rub the vaginal walls with relentless focus. Exactly the spot that had first torn the scream from me.
“Wait—stop—ah—nngh—aah—ah—ugh—wait, just a second—”
My moans had almost become screams. I begged him for even a moment to catch my breath, but Harold held me tight and moved his hand as if he could not hear a word.
And at some point I realized that the way he was doing this was the same in spirit as the way F1 drivers zigzag at the start of a race to warm their tires.
Heating the tires of a race car on the circuit was more important than anything. Only when the tires were properly warmed did the compounds on the surface soften just enough to deliver maximum grip against the track.
And that grip played the decisive role in shaving seconds off lap times.
That was why drivers, once out on the track, did not immediately push the pace; instead they rocked the car left and right or repeated acceleration and braking. They used the heat generated when the tires flexed and straightened, plus the friction heat from wheelspin, to bring the rubber up to temperature.
His caresses were exactly that kind of act. Harold never withdrew his hand from inside me; he kept moving it until I was screaming for him to stop.
“Ah—aaaaah……!”
And I was completely warmed up. Sitting on his knee I came with a sharp cry. I soaked Harold’s lap, panting hard, short breaths tearing out of me.
Is this how this man has sex?
The thought flickered through my mind the moment Harold released my waist and laid me face-down on the bed.
Always putting this much care into it?
From behind, both of his hands seized my waist. Even wrapped around me, his thumbs and ring fingers still met—hands that large. Those hands forced my waist and hips up.
When Harold’s cock split me open and pushed inside, my whole body had already gone limp, yet for an instant I could not breathe. The pressure of that size driving into me felt as if my body were being torn apart. I clutched the sheets and gasped, hah, hah.
How can it go this deep…… I can’t even breathe properly……
Harold, still gripping my waist, used both hands to spread my buttocks apart.
Ah—it still wasn’t all the way in?
So he could go deeper still. At last his pubic bone ground against my ass.
“Nngh……!”
“Tight. And warm.”
While I still could not draw a full breath, a satisfied murmur reached me from behind. And then he began to drive into me without mercy.
“Ah!”
Almost all the way out, then slamming back in—Harold moved like the piston of a car engine. Unlike the caresses, it was so fast I could not possibly keep up with him.
At the same time a pleasure so intense it would not have been strange to go mad from it— a thrilling sensation I had never felt even once before—shot up my spine and exploded at the top of my skull. Clutching the sheets with both hands I screamed.
“Ah—ahnngh—w-wait! Ah—ah—aah……!”
His voice came from behind me, but my screams drowned it out so I could not make out the words.
Every time Harold’s cock crashed into me it drove unbelievably deep.
Was this even the sex I knew? Something felt wrong; it was almost frightening. Each time he entered me it was as if explosions were going off inside my head.
Pleasure that went past the limit could no longer be distinguished from pain. Harold’s movements dragged me to the extreme.
“I knew you’d like it.”
By then my throat was raw and I could barely make a sound.
Above my head Harold’s excited voice reached me.
“I knew we’d fit well together.”
Fit well?
My own impression was completely different. I liked comfortable sex with a lover, and even more than that I preferred simply holding each other and falling asleep.
Being pushed to the absolute limit was something I hated. Honestly speaking, sex with Harold was terrible in its intensity.
If I had been a man I would have come several times in a row already.
I was wrung out to the extreme. While moving his hips Harold slipped a hand between my legs and stroked my clit. I felt like I was dying.
I wanted to say, Please stop. Wanted to say, If you’re going to do it, just pick one. But all I could do was spill moans.
No—wait—please stop!
Two different orgasms—one from my clit, one from the walls of my vagina—crashed over me at the same time.
I had never experienced anything like it. Whether he knew I was overwhelmed or not, Harold showed no sign of stopping. If anything the speed and force of his hips only grew stronger.
I feel like I’m going to die.
I thought it while tears ran down my face.
When the hell does this end?
At that point I still did not know that Harold had not even truly begun. By the time he finally exploded inside me I had already come more times than I could count.
I was lying limp when Harold seemed about to pull out, only to turn me onto my back and immediately cover my body with his own.
Just a second—
And then his mouth—exactly the way a lover would—Harold pressed his lips to mine. Startled by the feel of those lips I clamped my mouth shut hard enough to lock my jaw and tried to push him away with both hands, but his body was rock-hard and did not budge an inch.
Harold gathered both of my arms in one hand and pinned them to the sheets above my head. Effortlessly. With his other arm he lifted one of my legs and hooked it over his shoulder.
“Hnnph…….”
Between my widely spread legs he entered me. Far more easily than the first time. I moaned, trembling all over, and Harold did not miss the opening—he pushed both his tongue and his cock deep inside me.
His tongue filled every corner of my mouth without a gap. Of course Harold’s cock did the same.
Listening to the wet slap of flesh and the slick sounds of soaked skin, I wanted to let my mind go blank, yet I could not. I was simply too sturdy for that. But that did not mean I could keep up with Harold’s pace either.
Somebody save me.
Because my job required more physical strength than pure office work I made exercise a habit, yet there was no way I could match the stamina of an active professional athlete overflowing with power and endurance. Especially not when that athlete wanted his partner to scream with pleasure the entire time they had sex.
Harold’s style of sex was to relentlessly wring orgasm after orgasm out of his partner.
Until he himself was completely satisfied.