“Such a good girl putting it inside you,” I praise her. “Such a good girl.”
Her cheeks and lips are dark-rose with her characteristic sex blush, and her pupils are wide with lust. She slides down another inch, and my toes are curling in my shoes, she’s so fucking tight around me, and then with another one of her adorable gasps, she’s fully impaled on me.
I lean back a little, admiring the way her plump little clit rubs against me, admiring the way that greedy * starts moving and grinding down on me right away. We both watch for a minute, our eyes on the place where we’re joined, where the thick base of my cock stretches her folds.
“Bounce on it,” I tell her. “Make it feel good.”
She eagerly obeys, bracing her knees on the sides of my thighs and then working herself up and down in fast, hard strokes. My head drops backward to rest against the back of the chair, and I hear my graduation cap fall to the floor. I don’t care. Instead, I lace my hands behind my neck and watch Devi work, her tits bouncing and her stomach tight and her eyes closed in bliss. And when I feel my balls drawing up, I grab her hips and stop her, changing her movements from the fast strokes to the slow, grinding rolls that I know will get her off. Within seconds, she’s falling apart on top of me, the tassel from her cap swinging as her head drops forward and her body shakes.
“That’s it,” I murmur to her. “Give it all to me.”
And she does, her fingernails digging into my biceps as the quivering accelerates, peaks, and then finally, finally subsides. After she comes down, I start thrusting up underneath her again, but she stops me with a smile and a hand on my chest.
“One minute,” she says. “I want to give you a graduation present.”
I groan. “I love presents, babe, but is now really the time?”
But she’s already climbing off me, walking into the kitchen, leaving my cock still hard and aching. But then she returns with a medium-sized tube, and my face splits into a grin. That’s lube, and I think I know where this is going, and I love graduation day! I should really try to graduate more often.
Biting her lip in an expression of naughtiness so delicious that I want to devour it, Devi spreads some of the thick, clear lube on my cock. It’s cold and I give a little shiver until she curls her strong fingers around my length and gives me a few tight, slow strokes.
“God, I fucking love you,” I say hoarsely.
“And I love you. Now finger me.”
Those should be our wedding vows, right there.
I spread a dab of the lubricant on my forefinger and do as I’m told, teasing the pleated rim between her cheeks, rubbing and pressing and gradually coaxing it open for me. And after I can easily work a second finger in and out, she crawls back on the chair and positions herself so that my tip presses against her back entrance. I watch her face as she guides my cock into her ass, the intense concentration as my crown passes through the tight rings of muscle at the beginning, the gut-deep pleasure-pain as she lowers herself farther down. Her channel is a tight, hot furnace around me, and the moment she finally buries me and her perfect ass comes to rest on my thighs, I decide I'm in heaven.
She opens her eyes. Goose bumps pepper her skin and a small sheen of sweat glows on her face and chest. We do the occasional anal scene for our series with Vida and sometimes anal just for ourselves, but it's not such a frequent occurrence that Devi’s blithely expert at it. Instead, she squirms and groans trying to find just the right angle to ride me, she sweats and shivers every time she moves her ass up and down my cock. It's a constant negotiation between pleasure and pain, and the moment she wins and hones in on the pleasure, she becomes luminescent and beautiful and wild.
I reach up and stroke her face, moving my hands to her hair where I pluck out the bobby pins holding her graduation cap in place. And then I take her hat off and toss it to the floor. (The high heels I let her keep on, for obvious reasons.)
My hands are everywhere, gentle and soothing, rubbing her tense thighs and caressing the full teardrops of her breasts and cradling her flushed face. “Logan,” she says, and it’s not so much a word as an exhalation, as a prayer.
“Devi,” I exhale back. “Come here.”