The pleasure is too much. It terrifies me, how out of control I feel. I wriggle and pant and then—
Oh, God.
Dima presses his other thumb—which he oiled up for me, against my anus.
I squeeze it up tight, my pelvis lifting off the granite countertop, and he spanks my pussy in punishment. “Nope. You’re taking it in the ass for that little cocktease,” he tells me at the same time he breaches my back hole.
“I didn’t tease!” I cry out, my eyes rolling back in my head with the new sensation. It feels good—wrong—but so good. “I sucked you off.”
“That’s true.” Dima’s voice gentles, and so does his touch. He holds his thumb in my ass but doesn’t move it. Instead, he lowers his head to slide his tongue slowly around my clit.
“Dima,” I croon. I’m already desperate to come again. I’m trembling from the waist down. My legs somehow found their way onto Dima’s shoulders, and I’m blind with need. No man has ever done any of these things to me. No anal play, no decent cunnilingus, definitely no kitchen countertop bringing me to orgasm in seconds kind of thing.
He penetrates my pussy with his other thumb, keeping his tongue on torture-duty with my clit.
My belly quivers as I suck in short, panting breaths. “Please,” I beg. “Please, I need…”
Dima starts slowly alternating pumps—first in my ass, then my pussy.
I tremble from head to toe, each sobbing breath is a low keening cry.
“Oh, Dima.”
He starts pressing both thumbs in simultaneously.
“No!” I exclaim in alarm although I mean yes because my orgasm is storming down the door, just about to pass-through—
He pumps faster.
“Yes!”
There’s that moment of stillness—the zero point between inhale and exhale, between desire and pleasure, the pause just before the climax. The ceiling spins, my palms slap the cool countertop, and then the release hits. I cry out. My internal muscles squeeze and shake around both his thumbs.
“Dima, oh my God, Dima…”
I lie with my eyes closed, my breath sobbing in and out as I wait for the last aftershocks to pass.
Dima pulls both his thumbs out, and I hear him washing his hands in the sink. He dries them, and I sit up.
“Come here.” He takes my waist and lifts me down.
“Um, we’d better sanitize the hell out of that counter,” I say, suddenly embarrassed over what just happened.
Dima’s lips twitch. “I’ll do it,” he mutters. His hands still rest lightly on my waist. He tugs the hem of my t-shirt down, even though it won’t go lower. He reaches one hand behind me and squeezes my ass. His other hand comes to the front, and he lightly rubs his knuckle over my slit. “You keep this covered, or I’ll put my cock between these milky white cheeks and fuck your ass until you’re sorry.”
A tremor runs through me—not of fear—of white-hot desire. I like Dima unleashed. I like seeing his passion show, to feel how hot it burns for me. I don’t care if it comes in the form of punishment—hell, I think I actually love that part.
I catch his wrist when he starts to move it away and press his fingers over my dripping sex. That tremor told me I could orgasm again with almost no effort at all.
Dima doesn’t leave me hanging. “You didn’t get enough?” Two of his fingers dip into me, and my breath catches. I mold my hand over the top of his and grind against the heel of his hand to rub my clit. The ripple comes on within seconds, and my knees dissolve, leaving Dima to hold me up as my lips part on another choked cry.
Dima stares at me, seeming to forget to hide his fascination. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, as if in awe. His voice sounds rough. “Do I need to put you back on that counter and eat that pussy until you scream?”
He phrases it as a threat, like that would be a horrible punishment, and it makes me squeeze around his fingers again, another little aftershock rippling through. He watches my face as if with avid interest. Without removing his fingers from inside me, he presses my ass back against the cabinets and reaches for something.
“Maybe you require something firmer.” He spins me around to face the countertop, and I see he’s grabbed a wooden spoon. My butt clenches in response.
“Do you?”
I realize he’s checking for consent, at least I think that’s what’s happening. It’s hard to sort it all out, but my head wobbles in my neck in a shaky yes. With his palm still cupping my sex, fingers sunken inside, he smacks my ass lightly with the wooden spoon.
“Ooh.” I squeeze around his fingers. My belly is all kinds of flutters. As I pant and wait for more, I’m seconds away from yet another orgasm.