Ulysses and Sophia part 13
The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence of the office, mixing with the heavy, ragged breathing of the two figures on the chair. Sophia sat her thighs on Ulysses’s thighs, her weight pressing him into the cushion, her body limp and glowing with the aftermath of the six hundred smacks. Her buttocks, suspended in the air, felt like two swollen heated coals against his skin, radiating a fierce throbbing heat that matched the ache in his own palm.
Ulysses kept his hands moving, gently kneading the inflamed flesh of her bottom. He worked his thumbs in slow, deep circles, trying to massage the sting out of the crimson skin. Sophia let out a low, rumbling hum every time he found a particularly tender knot, her eyes closed, her face turned toward the dark green laminate of the desk. For five minutes, they stayed like that, suspended in the dim light, the only movement the rhythmic squeeze of his fingers and the rise and fall of her chest. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the violence and passion that had just transpired.
Finally, Sophia stirred. She pushed herself up, her movements stiff and jerky. As she slid off his lap and stood, a sharp hiss escaped her lips. Her knees buckled slightly, and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her hair back, though her eyes still held a glazed, satisfied glint.
"Come here," she commanded, her voice husky but firm.
She reached down, grabbing Ulysses by the wrists. He allowed himself to be pulled, his legs unsteady after the ordeal. She tugged him out of the chair, guiding him down to the plush pink wool rug on the floor. He lay back, the soft fibers tickling his skin, looking up at her towering form. Sophia didn't hesitate. She swung a leg over him, planting her knees on his ribs, pinning him to the ground. The pressure was immediate and heavy, restricting his breath just enough to make him hyper-aware of her presence.
She leaned forward, capturing his wrists in one hand and forcing them high above his head against the floor. With her free hand, she tugged at the neckline of her blouse, pulling the fabric down until her breasts spilled free, heavy and pale in the low light.
"Time for a booby avalanche," she whispered, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
She lowered her chest, letting the full weight of her bosom descend onto his face. The sensation was overwhelming—soft, warm flesh engulfing him completely. She moved in slow, deliberate circles, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, grinding her breasts against his features. For a minute, she focused on his upper face, the soft mound covering his eyes, blinding him, then sliding down to press against his nose and forehead, cutting off his air in short, controlled bursts.
Ulysses lay still, his heart hammering against his ribs. His mouth watered, desperate to taste the skin pressing against his lips, to catch a nipple between his teeth and suckle. But he didn't move. Sophia hadn't given the instruction, and he knew better than to interrupt her performance. He was the instrument, and she was the player.
She shifted her weight, dragging her breasts downward to cover his mouth and cheeks. He could feel the heat of her skin, the rapid thud of her heartbeat echoing through her chest into his. She smothered him completely, then pulled back just enough to let him gasp for air before plunging him back into the soft, suffocating valley of her cleavage. The cycle repeated—darkness, pressure, a desperate gulp of oxygen, then darkness again.
After a minute of this torture, she pulled away, sitting back on his ribs to catch her breath. Ulysses panted beneath her, his face slick with sweat and the faint sheen of her skin.
"Look at you," she teased, her eyes roaming down his body to his groin. "You should’ve recovered from the soreness of fucking my asshole by now."
She began to slide backward, her knees dragging down his torso until she was hovering over his hips. She leaned forward, letting her breasts hang low, swaying just inches above his cock and balls. The soft skin brushed against the sensitive head of his penis, sending a jolt of electricity through his nervous system.
Ulysses moaned, a low, guttural sound. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more contact. He writhed on the rug, his hands still pinned above his head, completely at her mercy. Sophia giggled, enjoying his reaction. She began to drag her nipples back and forth over his shaft, using her breasts like soft, warm paintbrushes on his stiffening flesh.
"Just like when I had the vibrator in you," she mused, watching his face contort with pleasure. "I'm playing you like an instrument. I'm a musician, and you're my favorite piano."
The stimulation was intense, a maddening mix of soft friction and visual tease. It felt to Ulysses like a taser made of pure pleasure, jolting him without the pain. His breathing grew ragged, his toes curling against the wool rug. She kept up the rhythm, her breasts sliding over his length, teasing him with the promise of more.
Fifty seconds in, she changed tactics. She lowered her head, her long hair tickling his stomach, and extended her tongue. She targeted the very tip of his cock, flicking the wet muscle against the sensitive slit of his urethra. She wiggled the tip of her tongue, probing the tiny opening.
"Sophia!" Ulysses shouted, his back arching off the floor.
The sensation was too much. The direct stimulation to his most sensitive spot, combined with the visual of her dominant posture, broke his control. Sophia giggled at his outburst, the vibration of her laughter only adding to the intensity. She didn't stop; she kept wiggling her tongue, driving him closer to the edge.
Ten seconds later, he erupted. His cock pulsed violently, spurting thick ropes of cum into the air. Sophia was ready. She wrapped her lips around the head just in time, catching his release in her mouth. She swallowed quickly, her throat working to take every drop as he continued to spasm. As the pulsing subsided, she squeezed the base of his shaft, milking it for five final spots of semen, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.
She sat up, wiping a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. Ulysses lay limp on the rug, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed.
"I know you're sore down there from my boob job," Sophia said, her tone shifting back to business. "So I'm gonna go back into the store for a while. Maybe 5, 6, or 7 minutes. Let you relax."
She climbed off him, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Then I'll be back to impale myself on you, have your sperm fill my womb."
Ulysses blinked, trying to process the math and the promise. Sophia looked down at him, her expression softening slightly.
"Are you a virgin, Ulysses?" she asked.
He nodded weakly, propping himself up on his elbows. "I was... saving myself for the right partner."
"A smart boy," she praised. "Proxy abstinence. Very responsible."
"And STDs?" she pressed. "Have you been tested?"
"Yes," he answered, his voice gaining a bit of strength. "I was. I didn't want to pass AIDS or anything else on to anyone. You could still do that even if you waited until marriage."
"Good boy," she said, a genuine smile touching her lips. "I did the same. As soon as I graduated high school, at age 18. Safety first."
She turned away from him, reaching for her discarded clothes. She began to dress slowly, deliberately. She pulled her blouse up, adjusting it so her breasts were covered but the outline was still visible. She smoothed her silk pants, watching him in the reflection of the green laminate desk. Ulysses couldn't take his eyes off her. Even the mundane act of dressing became a performance, her movements graceful and calculated to arouse him once more.
Once she was presentable, she walked to the door, swaying her hips seductively. Sophia opened the door just enough to slide her whole body through, and then she winked at him, before closing it behind her.
Ulysses kept his hands moving, gently kneading the inflamed flesh of her bottom. He worked his thumbs in slow, deep circles, trying to massage the sting out of the crimson skin. Sophia let out a low, rumbling hum every time he found a particularly tender knot, her eyes closed, her face turned toward the dark green laminate of the desk. For five minutes, they stayed like that, suspended in the dim light, the only movement the rhythmic squeeze of his fingers and the rise and fall of her chest. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the violence and passion that had just transpired.
Finally, Sophia stirred. She pushed herself up, her movements stiff and jerky. As she slid off his lap and stood, a sharp hiss escaped her lips. Her knees buckled slightly, and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her hair back, though her eyes still held a glazed, satisfied glint.
"Come here," she commanded, her voice husky but firm.
She reached down, grabbing Ulysses by the wrists. He allowed himself to be pulled, his legs unsteady after the ordeal. She tugged him out of the chair, guiding him down to the plush pink wool rug on the floor. He lay back, the soft fibers tickling his skin, looking up at her towering form. Sophia didn't hesitate. She swung a leg over him, planting her knees on his ribs, pinning him to the ground. The pressure was immediate and heavy, restricting his breath just enough to make him hyper-aware of her presence.
She leaned forward, capturing his wrists in one hand and forcing them high above his head against the floor. With her free hand, she tugged at the neckline of her blouse, pulling the fabric down until her breasts spilled free, heavy and pale in the low light.
"Time for a booby avalanche," she whispered, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
She lowered her chest, letting the full weight of her bosom descend onto his face. The sensation was overwhelming—soft, warm flesh engulfing him completely. She moved in slow, deliberate circles, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, grinding her breasts against his features. For a minute, she focused on his upper face, the soft mound covering his eyes, blinding him, then sliding down to press against his nose and forehead, cutting off his air in short, controlled bursts.
Ulysses lay still, his heart hammering against his ribs. His mouth watered, desperate to taste the skin pressing against his lips, to catch a nipple between his teeth and suckle. But he didn't move. Sophia hadn't given the instruction, and he knew better than to interrupt her performance. He was the instrument, and she was the player.
She shifted her weight, dragging her breasts downward to cover his mouth and cheeks. He could feel the heat of her skin, the rapid thud of her heartbeat echoing through her chest into his. She smothered him completely, then pulled back just enough to let him gasp for air before plunging him back into the soft, suffocating valley of her cleavage. The cycle repeated—darkness, pressure, a desperate gulp of oxygen, then darkness again.
After a minute of this torture, she pulled away, sitting back on his ribs to catch her breath. Ulysses panted beneath her, his face slick with sweat and the faint sheen of her skin.
"Look at you," she teased, her eyes roaming down his body to his groin. "You should’ve recovered from the soreness of fucking my asshole by now."
She began to slide backward, her knees dragging down his torso until she was hovering over his hips. She leaned forward, letting her breasts hang low, swaying just inches above his cock and balls. The soft skin brushed against the sensitive head of his penis, sending a jolt of electricity through his nervous system.
Ulysses moaned, a low, guttural sound. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more contact. He writhed on the rug, his hands still pinned above his head, completely at her mercy. Sophia giggled, enjoying his reaction. She began to drag her nipples back and forth over his shaft, using her breasts like soft, warm paintbrushes on his stiffening flesh.
"Just like when I had the vibrator in you," she mused, watching his face contort with pleasure. "I'm playing you like an instrument. I'm a musician, and you're my favorite piano."
The stimulation was intense, a maddening mix of soft friction and visual tease. It felt to Ulysses like a taser made of pure pleasure, jolting him without the pain. His breathing grew ragged, his toes curling against the wool rug. She kept up the rhythm, her breasts sliding over his length, teasing him with the promise of more.
Fifty seconds in, she changed tactics. She lowered her head, her long hair tickling his stomach, and extended her tongue. She targeted the very tip of his cock, flicking the wet muscle against the sensitive slit of his urethra. She wiggled the tip of her tongue, probing the tiny opening.
"Sophia!" Ulysses shouted, his back arching off the floor.
The sensation was too much. The direct stimulation to his most sensitive spot, combined with the visual of her dominant posture, broke his control. Sophia giggled at his outburst, the vibration of her laughter only adding to the intensity. She didn't stop; she kept wiggling her tongue, driving him closer to the edge.
Ten seconds later, he erupted. His cock pulsed violently, spurting thick ropes of cum into the air. Sophia was ready. She wrapped her lips around the head just in time, catching his release in her mouth. She swallowed quickly, her throat working to take every drop as he continued to spasm. As the pulsing subsided, she squeezed the base of his shaft, milking it for five final spots of semen, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.
She sat up, wiping a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. Ulysses lay limp on the rug, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed.
"I know you're sore down there from my boob job," Sophia said, her tone shifting back to business. "So I'm gonna go back into the store for a while. Maybe 5, 6, or 7 minutes. Let you relax."
She climbed off him, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Then I'll be back to impale myself on you, have your sperm fill my womb."
Ulysses blinked, trying to process the math and the promise. Sophia looked down at him, her expression softening slightly.
"Are you a virgin, Ulysses?" she asked.
He nodded weakly, propping himself up on his elbows. "I was... saving myself for the right partner."
"A smart boy," she praised. "Proxy abstinence. Very responsible."
"And STDs?" she pressed. "Have you been tested?"
"Yes," he answered, his voice gaining a bit of strength. "I was. I didn't want to pass AIDS or anything else on to anyone. You could still do that even if you waited until marriage."
"Good boy," she said, a genuine smile touching her lips. "I did the same. As soon as I graduated high school, at age 18. Safety first."
She turned away from him, reaching for her discarded clothes. She began to dress slowly, deliberately. She pulled her blouse up, adjusting it so her breasts were covered but the outline was still visible. She smoothed her silk pants, watching him in the reflection of the green laminate desk. Ulysses couldn't take his eyes off her. Even the mundane act of dressing became a performance, her movements graceful and calculated to arouse him once more.
Once she was presentable, she walked to the door, swaying her hips seductively. Sophia opened the door just enough to slide her whole body through, and then she winked at him, before closing it behind her.
31-35, M