Seven Years Back, Forgiven

The rain hammered against the windows of the secluded cabin, mirroring the tempest raging within me. Seven years. Seven agonizing years since I’d last held her, since I’d last tasted her skin, since I’d last known the exquisite torment of her touch. Seven years of regret, a slow, festering wound carved deep into my soul. Now, here we were, tangled in the worn sheets of this dilapidated room, the scent of pine and damp earth clinging to the air, a pathetic attempt to mask the years of unspoken accusations and simmering resentment.

She read my letter, the yellowed paper trembling slightly in her hand. Each word, each desperate plea, felt like a brand on my skin. The ink bled slightly under the dim light of the kerosene lamp, mirroring the blurring of my own thoughts as I replayed every mistake, every careless word, every selfish act that had driven us apart. My hand instinctively reached out, tracing the curve of her cheek, desperate for some sign of forgiveness, some flicker of recognition in her beautiful, haunted eyes.

“Finally,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion, “after seven long years, we are lying in bed together.” The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of our history. My cock immediately tightened, a primal reaction to the proximity, the warmth, the sheer, overwhelming joy of her presence. It had been so long. The memory of her touch, the feel of her hair against my skin, the intoxicating scent of her perfume, had become a phantom limb, an unbearable ache in my soul. Why had I waited so long to confess, to beg for her forgiveness? Masturbation had become an easy escape, a temporary distraction from the gnawing guilt. What a fool I’d been.

As my body responded to the proximity, I began to gently kiss her, my lips tracing the delicate contours of her face, my tongue seeking the familiar taste of her breath. The desire was an inferno, consuming every cell in my body. Her hand descended, a slow, deliberate movement, and found its way to my erection, the tip glistening with pre-cum. The heat intensified, pushing me further into the depths of pleasure. “Oh, how I love sucking on them!” I moaned, my voice thick with anticipation. Her fingers tightened their grip, pulling slightly, as if savoring the moment, prolonging the agony before the release. It was a cruel, exquisite torture. Her hand reached down, her nails digging into my flesh, drawing blood. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious blend of pleasure and pain. I was hard, undeniably so, a testament to the years of pent-up longing. She stroked my cock slowly, deliberately, her touch electric, igniting every nerve ending. “How hard you are!” she breathed, her voice laced with both tenderness and possessiveness. I let out a choked gasp, pleading for her to stop, but my words were lost in the rising tide of sensation. "Not yet," she murmured, her voice a silken command. "I never want you to cum outside of me." The thought sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't about control, not entirely. It was about the intimacy, the shared experience, the complete surrender to her will. I was good with that. Cumming inside her wet, yielding vagina was a feeling beyond description. Masturbation simply couldn't compare. There was something about the complete absorption, the complete merging of our bodies, that transcended physical pleasure. It was a communion of souls, a sacred act of devotion. How could I even begin to articulate the intensity of it? It wasn't just a physical release; it was an emotional torrent, a flood of love and longing that threatened to drown me in its depths. Cumming inside spoke volumes: "We are one. I love you so much that filling you with my seed is the only way I can fully communicate it to you. You and you alone are worthy of my seed. I love you so desperately."

My hand moved to her hips, slowly unbuttoning her jeans, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her navel. The anticipation built, a tangible force pushing me closer to the precipice. Her breath hitched as my hand continued its descent, my fingers finding purchase on her sensitive flesh. I leaned in, whispering promises of pleasure, of ecstasy, of a reunion that would erase the pain of the past. Her body tensed, her muscles clenching, ready for the inevitable.

I shifted my weight, positioning myself above her, my muscles coiled and ready. The rain continued to lash against the windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop to our impending union. As she arched her back, her hips rising towards me, I felt a surge of primal instinct, a desperate need to connect, to lose myself in her embrace. Slowly, meticulously, I guided my missile to the target, my body trembling with anticipation. Very, very slowly, a little at a time, I entered her. The sensation was overwhelming, a searing heat spreading through my body, igniting every nerve ending. I could feel her shuddering against me, her breath catching in her throat.

“Oh, the feeling!” I cried out, my voice barely a whisper, lost in the symphony of sensation. As I penetrated her, my control began to slip, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure. Suddenly, I could no longer wait. I thrust fully into her, balls deep, surrendering to the moment, abandoning myself to the exquisite torment. Her cries of pleasure were a sweet, intoxicating sound, a validation of my repentance, a testament to the enduring power of our love.

“Make love to me!” she shrieked, her voice strained with excitement. “I want you to cum inside of me! Fill me with your seed!” Her words were a challenge, an invitation, a desperate plea for release. I felt a pang of guilt, a flicker of hesitation, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the overwhelming desire to please her, to fulfill her every whim.

I can wait no longer. It’s been too long. I began to pound her like I’ve never pounded her before, fast and hard, pushing her to the very edge of pleasure. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of ecstasy through her body, her moans of pleasure growing louder, more frantic. Oh, the feeling! As I felt myself about to the point of no return, I used a technique I’d learned from a sweaty stranger in a back alley – a quick, controlled pull just before the release. I tensed my cock, holding it in a state of intense, pulsating tension, savoring the moment, prolonging the agony before the inevitable climax. The building pressure was almost unbearable, a delicious torture that only heightened my anticipation. As the pulsating stopped, I re-entered her, thrusting in and out with renewed vigor, each thrust more forceful than the last. I felt my breath coming in ragged gasps, my muscles burning with exertion.

I took a pause, drawing a deep breath, my body trembling with exhaustion. "If you don't want to cum, it is okay," she said, her voice surprisingly calm amidst the chaos of our passion. I looked at her incredulously, my heart pounding in my chest. “Are you kidding me? I’ve waited so long for this!” Her words were a revelation, a shocking admission that shattered my expectations. I realized that her desire wasn’t just for physical release; it was for connection, for intimacy, for the shared experience of ecstasy.

Finally, I could feel it. The point of no return. I exploded inside of her, releasing a torrent of pent-up desire, a primal scream of pleasure that shook our entire bodies. Exhausted, I lay on top of her, my quickly-softening cock still nestled deep within her warm, yielding flesh. I lay my head on her chest, breathing deeply, savoring the lingering scent of her body. We cried softly together, tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of a shared understanding that transcended words. It has been so long. The rain continued to fall, washing away the remnants of our past, cleansing us of our regrets. We were finally, truly, together. As I looked into her eyes, I knew that this reunion, this passionate embrace, was more than just a physical release; it was a rebirth, a renewal, a testament to the enduring power of love.

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