Her hand, thrown out to find something to hold onto as he had pounded her dripping pussy, now flew back to clutch his wrist. With the other, she held his neck and pulled him deeper inside her, the extra inch she did not think she could take before now sinking in with ease and threatening to tip into a madness born of sex. His lips on her neck tingled and she ground her hips up and down as he continued to kiss her hot skin. The rough fucking had dislodged both her tits from the black lace piece she was wearing, and his tongue found its way to her nipple, flicking it with the tip. She gasped, moaning as he tugged at her full breasts with his teeth, pushing her back into the leather of the sofa as he did so.
As he had fucked her, she had wrapped her legs tight around his back, and she found that she couldn’t move them without shaking. So eager had they been to get down to it that though he was stark naked she had only had time to remove her skirt: her black stilettos, decorated with little fake gems, locked together behind his back and she felt as though they were fused together. She didn’t want to move a muscle: the feeling of his massive dick impaling her was too good to ever let go. She wanted the moment to last forever, and as they both panted, breathless from the exertion she could feel his dick twitching, little bursts of cum still spilling into her.
She had never thought that one man could fill her so completely. Her pussy leaked over the leather sofa, and she moaned as he bit her nipple. Raising her hand to her face, she fought to ignore the stark white watch on her wrist. She knew it was wrong. She could do so much more with it than this. But it was so perfect: every time it was ten times more intense for her, every time she came harder, moaned louder. It was like some perfect drug without a single downside. She could have stopped there, let him pull out and lived her life with him like a normal couple. Of course they would fuck again, but it would never feel this good. At twenty times in, every orgasm felt as though it would rip her apart.
But she didn’t want to stop. No. She couldn’t stop. It was too good. Too passionate. He would never know of course, only her. She wasn’t hurting anybody. Tapping at her watch quickly before she changed her mind, she slammed her palm against the face, and everything reversed. The man before her became a blur, his movements rewinding before her eyes. His thrusts hammered in and out of her, and as she watched him she felt a pang of sadness that she couldn’t feel them: no man could have ever hoped to fuck her as fast as his rewinding frame seemed to be, and she wondered what it felt like. As the world turned backwards, she stayed still, separate from it all. She watched as birds flew the wrong way by the window, and cars appeared to reverse at speed along the road. Clouds scudded back the way they had come and even the sun shifted in the sky.
When the rewind stopped, she looked up at the man. He was leaning over her, the head of his dick clutched in his hand. Slowly, gently, he eased the head inside her, and her legs shook: at the twentieth rewind, even the head felt like she was cresting an orgasm. She could not imagine how intense actually finishing would be. She knew what would come next. He slammed the rest inside her and she howled out loud, throwing her head back as he began to pound her hard. She couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was going to drive her insane.
As he fucked her mind, however, she glanced down at the miraculous watch. It seemed so innocuous on her wrist as she gripped the leather so tight her false nails threatened to ping off. She knew she couldn’t take it. She knew that. But she was curious. How intense would it be on the twenty-fifth rewind? The thirtieth? The fiftieth? The hundredth? Each thrust feeling as though it was about to make her explode, or split her in half, she lied to herself that she could take it. She had to find out. She didn’t care if she was addicted. She just needed more…
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