Her feet are not touching the ground. The arm of the couch will act as a fulcrum, giving me full leverage to use her body for my pleasure. This position will indeed enable extremely deep penetration, but it will only result in equal pleasure for her if I am very measured and controlled in my approach. The furniture could also produce clitoral stimulation, given the right angle and amount of friction.
“Do you require foreplay to be aroused enough for comfortable penetration?” I grind out.
She glances at me over her shoulder. A low chuckle from her threatens to dismantle my resolve. “Oh, I’m ready. Tear me open and knock me up.”
“I do not wish to cause you pain,” I snap then breathe deeply to regain control of myself. “Tearing you would be painful. I will not do that. I will also not knock you up.” I dislike that phrase. It implies impregnating a woman without caring for her needs during gestation or having any desire to remain a part of the child’s life. “I will do my best to inseminate you to achieve our goal of conception.”
“Ollie,” she whispers.
This single word focuses my attention very well.
Her expression conveys clear lust. “I want it hard and fast. I’m very aroused, and I promise it won’t take long for me to orgasm. Can I ask something of you though?”
“What?” I bite out. I am two point five seconds away from losing control.
“Can you talk dirty to me?” she whispers. “I really like it, and you’re very good at it.”
“Does it heighten your arousal?” I ask as I slide the head of my cock along her folds. She is indeed slick, her flesh swollen and primed for mating.
“Yes,” she breathes.
That is very good news. I am more than capable of fulfilling her wishes. I have studied this type of discourse carefully. Maintaining the focus to produce meaningful speech while engaged in sex will also have the added benefit of distracting me from the pleasurable sensations which would otherwise turn me into a greedy monster.
I apply steady pressure at her opening. “Do you want my hard cock to fill your tight pussy?”
“Yes,” she whimpers.
“Beg me for it.” This is a well-tested phrase. Many women very much enjoy the idea of being submissive to a man sexually. To be clear, it truly does heighten their arousal.
“Please, Ollie.”
“Please, what?” I need more distraction. I need more control. I need Liv to direct me on how to make her fall in love with me. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Fill me up,” she whispers. “Make me yours.”
Her response is not expected. She has deviated from the usual script of describing lewd acts in explicit detail which provide me with clear direction.
Still, her answer could prove to be very insightful.
“How? How can I make you mine?”
“Love me,” she says simply. “Let me love you.”
I study her naked body that is laid out for my viewing pleasure over the arm of the couch. The expanse of her bare back stretches out before me. Unfortunately—in this position—her tits are hidden from my sight. My cock is positioned at her opening, framed by the beautiful, soft cheeks of her ass. Her legs are spread around my hips; her feet dangling in the air indicative of her submission to me.
This is not love. This is sex.
Those constructs are not mutually exclusive. While love and sex do not necessarily coincide, they can also be mutually inclusive. It is possible to experience both at the same time.
I have never performed sex acts with a woman in a way that also included love.
I step away and pull Liv up from the arm of the couch.
Her expression is full of obvious distress. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at dirty talk.”
“I can teach you if you would like to learn,” I whisper, pulling her close to me. Her lips are so soft, so perfect beneath mine. The vile scent emanating from them is distracting, but not enough to keep me away. I kiss her because I know she likes it, but also because I give in to the deep desire to learn every part of her. To explore the topography that is Liv’s body in a way that will make me a master of this knowledge. To share breath with her that I have not shared with anyone else.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and she moans into my mouth. She suffuses her voice into me.
I have been taught very carefully that I cannot control anyone else. I am only capable of controlling myself. I have no choice in Liv’s type of love for me. I also have no choice in my type of love for her.
That does not mean I do not hope for the desired outcome.
“I love you completely,” I tell her. “I am autistic, not stupid. I understand love. You taught me the meaning fourteen years ago. I am only asking for the chance to teach you the same.”
She hiccups then slaps a hand over her mouth. Her voice is muffled. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to distract you.”
I pull her hand away and kiss her stinky mouth. “I love your hiccups. I do not love your combination of coffee and morning breath.” I lift her into my arms and stride toward the stairs that lead to the second floor and her bedroom. “I do not want to be your sperm donor. I want to be your life partner.”
She holds on tightly to me. The pressure around my neck is welcome. Her hiccups continue. “I love you, Ollie. I always have.”
Her statement confirms what I have always known. I will work very hard to achieve more. “Of course, you love me. We are best friends.”
I lay her down in the middle of her bed. My pride is absent. Second chances are statistically rare, let alone third, fourth, innumerable. “May I show you, Liv? Words are not easy for me. Please allow me to show you the depth of my love for you. It is not selfish. I am not selfish with you.”
She does not answer with words. Instead, she stretches her arms out toward me.
I am powerless against her pull. I always have been.
I am not strong enough to continue to resist.
Her body molds to mine when I lay on top of her. The sensation of her bare, smooth, warm skin submerges me in feelings of relief and happiness and rightness. My hands are greedy—touching, groping, exploring, experimenting with every rise and fall of her anatomy. I cannot possibly satiate my hunger for the flavor of her skin or the texture of her in my mouth, but I allow myself the time to savor her moans and whispers and meaningless words that are lost in the haze of my pleasure. I delight in the sensation of her fingertips digging into my muscles, in the caress of her hands exploring my body in the same way I am learning hers. I lose myself in the way she makes me feel.
When I can no longer resist her temptation, I push into her heat. The sensation of her lips is no longer a byproduct of my imagination.
“I love you, Liv.”
She whimpers and wraps her legs around my ass, pulling me deeper inside her. “I love you, Ollie.”
I lose track of time, of meaning, of everything except the pleasure of her pussy surrounding me, the sensation of burying myself inside her without barrier, the warmth, the wetness, the tightness of body.
I fight through my ecstasy to pant against her lips. “I’m going to come. Come with me.”
She cries out into my mouth, her muscles contracting in a perfect rhythm around my cock, pulling me over the edge as I empty myself inside her with ecstasy that blurs with agony.