Her Pleasure, My Burden

The rain hammered against the windows of the penthouse apartment, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. Below, the city lights blurred into an indistinct, glittering smear, but my attention was entirely focused on the woman lying beside me. Seraphina. My Seraphina. Her skin, pale as moonlight, stretched taut over her curves, promising a pleasure both exquisite and perilous. I’d been wrestling with this problem for months, a persistent ache in my own ego and a constant source of frustration for us both. The shame of it, the sheer awkwardness of the situation, had built up into a simmering resentment that threatened to boil over. Tonight, I was determined to break free from this self-imposed prison.

I’d spent the last few days researching, experimenting, pushing the boundaries of what I thought was possible. The anonymous forum post that had ignited this obsession – “How can I help my wife take my whole length?” – had been a lifeline, a desperate plea for help from someone else trapped in a similar predicament. Their experience, coupled with the countless hours I’d poured into self-exploration, had led me to a grim realization: I was larger than I’d ever imagined. Not monstrously so, but definitely substantial. The thought of her pain, the subtle flinch she gave when I pressed too hard, was a constant reminder of my inadequacy.

Seraphina stirred slightly beneath the silk sheets, her dark eyes fluttering open. A slow smile spread across her face, a silent invitation to the chaos that awaited us. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable. Tonight, I wasn’t just trying to satisfy my own desires; I was trying to conquer my own limitations.

I began by meticulously cleaning myself, a ritualistic cleansing that felt both strange and strangely satisfying. The scent of sandalwood and amber filled the air, clinging to my skin like a second layer of armor. As I moved closer, I noticed the delicate swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her hips. It was a beautiful body, a masterpiece crafted by nature, and the thought of inflicting any discomfort upon it filled me with a strange mix of guilt and excitement.

I eased myself onto her, my weight pressing down on her body. Her moan was soft, hesitant, a plea for mercy. Ignoring her discomfort, I began to apply a generous amount of lubricant, a thick, silky concoction that smelled faintly of vanilla. It felt good, slick, a welcome sensation against my skin. But as I moved further, pushing myself deeper, the familiar pain returned, sharper this time, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

“Careful,” she whispered, her voice strained. “It hurts.”

Her words were a stinging rebuke, a confirmation of my own fears. I tried to adjust my position, shifting my weight, angling my body, but nothing seemed to alleviate the pressure. The frustration mounted, building into a desperate urge to push through, to force myself into her, regardless of the consequences.

“Don’t be afraid,” I murmured, my voice low and insistent. “Let me show you what pleasure feels like.”

My hands moved slowly, deliberately, exploring every inch of her body. Her skin tingled beneath my touch, responding to my advances with a mixture of pleasure and resistance. I continued to apply lubricant, creating a slippery surface that seemed to amplify the friction. The pain intensified, but I refused to yield.

As I pushed deeper, I felt a sharp, stabbing sensation in her cervix. Her screams pierced through the rain-soaked night, a primal cry of agony. I paused, listening to her cries, analyzing her reactions. It was clear that I was causing her considerable discomfort. But I couldn’t stop now. The desire for her pleasure, for her complete submission, was too strong to ignore.

I adjusted my grip, applying more pressure, pushing myself further into her. Her body convulsed, her muscles tensing in response. The pain was excruciating, but it was also exhilarating. It was a testament to my own power, a reminder of my dominance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I felt a breakthrough. Her cries subsided, replaced by a soft moan of pleasure. Her body relaxed, surrendering to my will. I had done it. I had pushed myself to the limit, conquering my own limitations and achieving the ultimate goal.

The rain continued to fall, but the sound was now a distant murmur, drowned out by the sounds of our shared pleasure. Seraphina arched her back, her body trembling with excitement. Her hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer.

“More,” she breathed, her voice husky with desire. “Please, more.”

I obliged, continuing to push myself deeper, deeper into her, until there was no room left for anything but the raw, unbridled joy of our intertwined bodies. The pain was still there, but it was now intertwined with pleasure, a constant reminder of the limits we had both pushed and broken. As we lay entwined, lost in the depths of our shared ecstasy, I realized that the true pleasure wasn’t just in the act of penetration, but in the connection, the vulnerability, the shared experience that bound us together.

Later, as the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, we lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies aching, our minds filled with the echoes of the night before. Seraphina leaned into me, her breath warm against my skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. “You didn’t hurt me, you gave me something truly unforgettable.”

Her words were a balm to my soul, a validation of my efforts. I had not only conquered my own limitations, but I had also created a memory that we would both cherish forever. As I gazed into her eyes, I knew that our journey had just begun. The rain had stopped, and the city below was slowly waking up, but our world had remained suspended in a blissful, ecstatic twilight, a testament to the power of desire and the boundless possibilities of human connection.

Did you like this story? Her Pleasure, My Burden look, but like these, here Mom sex stories.