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My pelvis exploded. My pussy went from simply being warm and twitchy to convulsing uncontrollably. I began screaming, and she quickly undid the straps on my thighs so that I could press them together.
As my legs wrapped around my spasming genitals, she undid the wrist cuffs…and finally I was able to hold my pussy and ride out the convulsions. She opened the corset, letting me sit up, and sat behind me…she took my hands away from my private parts, replacing them with her own and expertly stroking me to prolong the orgasm. Her fingers, longer and more skilled than my own, made my softest flesh throb in ways I never could on my own, pulsing and quivering, the pleasure intensifying in ways I couldn’t fathom despite having experienced her love before. It was almost frightening, beyond my understanding, but a perfect vindication of the trust I placed in Michelle every time I exposed myself for her and confessed my need. She owned me. I needed her to own me, needed to be her plaything, her pet. Her domination of me meant bliss, meant safety, meant satisfaction.
Finally I collapsed in her arms, smiling, coughing, my body spent, unable to lactate or lubricate any more. She leaned over to disconnect the cushion, and swung it off the bed. It was followed by the milk and lube soaked towel. She had another towel ready, and used it to wipe the sweat from my forehead and the juice from my pussy. As I snuggled up to her, pressing my back against her breasts, she pulled the heavy comforter from its folded position at the foot of the bed and wrapped us in it. And we lay there, her hand cupping my swollen vulva with the soft towel, until I fell asleep in her arms.
