My Ice Queen free porn video

'Jesus Christ, Lottie,' Michael said to me once. 'Where did you even learn to do that?'

Michael and I had been seeing each other for a few months, perhaps, and I was getting to be quite impressed with how things seemed to resist going stale. We desired each other and consumed each other with a wild and imaginative passion, our lovemaking a kind of abstract expressionist canvas of jagged lines, extreme angles and liquid splatters. There on the pure, clean sheets of my bed, my room around us a sanctuary of white and off-white and patches of foliage, we set to each other almost daily until we were sweaty and sore and blurry-eyed.

Michael rolled over and lay there next to me, the pale and flat sheet of his stomach rising and falling with his breathing. I let my eyes travel down the front of him. His cock lay there, glistening and just a hint less than hard, having fallen softly into the muscular channel running up and over his hip bone, and the muscles of his legs ran in taut lines pointing down to his feet.

Anyway, the 'that' in question, on this occasion, was being fucked in the ass. And it was funny that Michael brought it up. It's not exactly a thing that I'm always desperate for—in fact, before he showed up, it had been years since I partook, and no negative consequences seemed to have arisen—but, ever since I had impulsively asked Michael to put his cock in there the first time we hooked up, it had become somewhat of a signature act of our relationship, whatever exactly that relationship was.

Michael and I had been classmates at university, and while I think I nursed a crush on him which was almost entirely physical in nature, nothing much happened until years afterward. By chance, I was walking down the stairs of a library in London, and I bumped into Michael, the two of us went for a drink, it turned out that we had both had proper romantic relationships turn sour in the weeks before, and one thing led to another, and all things led to their proper conclusion.

It wasn't as though there was nothing in it for me. I remembered immediately how fond I was of that sensation of the first entry, that desperate, straining tightness, how huge and firm Michael's cock felt as he grasped the flesh of my ass and splayed it beneath his fingers. Pretty soon, it became something I craved more than anything else; just thinking about the way Michael would slowly tease my asshole with the tip of his cock, letting me feel that same feeling over and over again before he entered me properly, and then fully, would have me sitting in a wet puddle at the most inopportune of moments. It got to be the case that only those deep-lying, shuddering orgasms would really satisfy me, and I liked the eagerness with which Michael responded when I told him, matter-of-factly, that fifteen minutes of him licking my asshole, his fingers digging almost painfully into the flesh of my ass, his tongue feeling so warm and wet and deep inside me, was the price of entry.

So we got through scores of those pump-top bottles of lube, rapidly installed as a permanent fixture next to each of our beds. Michael became happier, at least occasionally, to leave my cunt unfucked, preferring to let me look back between my legs and to watch long, thick strands of sticky fluid paint my thighs pearlescent white, hanging artfully from the peak of my clit until they snapped into a widening damp patch on the sheets. We eventually took the proper precautions and dispensed with the condoms, and he would leave me oozing thick streams of cum, my asshole pink and raw and a little bit sore. And, if I asked, he would lick it from where it leaked into the valley of my ass, and kiss me as he stroked the hair out of my face, his mouth tasting of asshole and cum and the wayward and glassy flow from my pussy.

I lay there on my back, next to Michael, looking up at the pure and flat and white ceiling of my bedroom, shifting my weight slightly and feeling the lasting, three-dimensional imprint of his cock as though it was inside me still. He had fucked my ass, again, long and hard, then pulled out to cum all over my ass and my cunt, thick rivulets which poured and pooled into the folds and furrows of my lips. I let my hand fall between my legs and played with it between my fingers.

Was it really something I had learned to do? I suppose, in a manner of speaking, it was. Michael's question sent my mind racing back years earlier, to when I was nineteen and only just beginning to explore the outer limits of what could be inserted where, how hard and for how long.

***

In some ways it would be perverse to call me a late bloomer, but in others, I had always felt it to be the case. I started dating a kind, gentle boy in school, and we spent the next five years—when we could find the time and the space to do so uninterrupted—having furtive, irregular, deeply sensible sex. Both of us being hesitant and slightly unadventurous, this turned out not to happen all that much; it happened in long afternoons in the school holidays in my small c***dhood bedroom or his, took the form of the occasional handjob in the middle of a densely wooded area or, once, behind a bakery on a school day trip to Dieppe.

But, since all vaguely-acceptable things must come to an end, my undergraduate years at an unremarkable campus university, somewhere out of the way of an already out-of-the-way town in England, turned out to be those of my sexual awakening. I was unencumbered by responsibilities to anyone, it seemed, other than my own cunt. And I was surrounded by sex wherever I went. There were spilling, day-glo fistfuls of free condoms, plucked from plastic buckets left at strategic and student-centric locations. There were thin, prison-issue mattresses, uncomfortable and yet strangely bouncy. There were clumsy efforts at styling one's pubic hair while a harrumphing line formed outside the bathroom, and there were drunken, aggressively-tonguey kisses. There was one time I saw a guy getting a blowjob behind a pool table, as though that offered any real privacy at all.

And then there was Elsa.

Elsa wasn't the first person I slept with at university. She wasn't even the first woman. But she was the only one I really remember now, years later, in such searing detail that I can run through my memories of our encounters at will in my mind, with multiple playback speeds, fast-forward and rewind functions, and director's commentary.

Elsa had a body I coveted from the start. She was tallish and blonde—already things that I am not—and she had astonishing curves which she demurely covered or provocatively enhanced with a wardrobe which was intimidating in its variety. One day she would wear a leather jacket, her cleavage spilling forth from the slender excuse for a top she wore underneath it, daring our lecturers' eyes to be drawn as inexorably to her breasts as everyone else's were. The next she would wear a boyish, preppy collared shirt; the one after that, perhaps a pair of fishnet tights and a Bad Religion t-shirt. Her makeup was a similar cornucopia of looks, blending perfectly with the outfits, soft and natural one day, neon and sparkling as though she'd just come from a rave the next.

Elsa was a few years older than me, and she never spoke about what she had been doing in the ensuing years, after she left school and before she decided to go to university to do a history degree. She barely spoke unless called upon to do so, didn't seem to socialise with anyone outside lectures and seminars. She also had a sulky, aloof demeanour, the worst case of resting bitch face you've ever seen and, I eventually and tortuously learned, saved any flashes of warmth for special occasions and even more special occasions.

Literally all of this made me desperate to fuck her.

Of course, I didn't believe I would. Like everyone else, it seemed, I watched her from a distance, marvelling at how cold and condescending she seemed capable of remaining, how if a teacher really forced her out of her shell, she would make some laser-precise remark concerning the Rights of Man and then disappear back into her own bubble as quickly as it had been perforated. And—surely I wasn't alone in this part either—I looked at the way the curves and the angles of her body seemed to rise and fall with her outfits and with her posture, and I allowed myself to drift off for minutes on end as I imagined what she might look like underneath her clothes.

And yet, so slowly and so carefully that you might not have noticed it happening, she seemed to allow me to draw closer to her. She didn't object when I took the seat next to her, week in and week out, in the class we shared. I ran into her in a bathroom once, and she said 'hey, Lottie,' so quickly and so quietly that I barely caught it as she was swishing out. And, eventually, we found that our conversation was so urgent and so necessary that it overflowed the class, and in an empty university seminar room on a wet October evening, we fell into one of those long, freewheeling late-adolescent talks where the subject matter is irrelevant, except that in the moment it feels like the most important thing in the world.

I wish, terribly, that I remembered what I said that evening to make her laugh. It was just a semblance of a laugh, really, a barely-open-mouthed, nervous gesture, but as she parted her lips and raised their corners just a hair, I felt this was the strongest signal I was going to get, and I kissed her. And, incredibly, she kissed me back, and she kept kissing me back as the room and the campus darkened around us, until there were just the pale shapes of us both in the orange light of a streetlamp, wrapped around each other as best we could as we pivoted in our chairs.

And so we made our way back to my flat, and perhaps any of my flatmates who saw us might have raised their eyebrows as I showed up at home with none other than Elsa in tow, but me made straight for the bedroom anyway. Shutting ourselves safely inside, I learned that Elsa wore Disney boyshorts underneath her pencil skirt; we fell asleep to one of her confusing Spotify playlists, and at about six in the morning, well before it was light outside, she shrugged her clothes back on and slunk out, the surly mask falling neatly back over her face.

***

It happened again, though, and it kept happening.

It was a Friday night, all Elsa's flatmates were out, and I was lying naked on her bed. Her sheets felt cool and expensive, her pillows springy with the feel of some serious and heavy-duty neck support about them.

Elsa sat between my legs, her knees folded sideways underneath her, her knickers still on, this time not adorned with any cartoon characters, just plain and black and trimmed with lace. She looked—almost stared—at my cunt with a careful and fascinated interest, exploring me with her fingertips. She stroked and pressed and splayed me, watching the subtleties of my every reaction, and every now and then she paused to take a sip of her drink, which was bottom-shelf red wine, drunk from a coffee mug.

As Elsa reached to her side to pick up the mug, then brought it up to her mouth to drink, she bared, then framed, then slightly compressed her breasts between her upper arms. Elsa's boobs were an absolute marvel, heavy and round and soft like a pair of great sad teardrops on her chest, with big, darkish pink nipples. They made me feel like a lusty teenage boy, so badly did I always want to weigh them in my hands, squeeze them, kiss her sternum between them and her collarbones above them, suck hungrily at her nipples while she looked down at me, amused and slightly condescending, but with a warm glow of pleasure in her eyes.

Often, as the weeks went on, Elsa would make me come with practiced, commanding gestures, then lie back, calm and seemingly uninterested, and wait for me to do her bidding, which I would. Sometimes she would give me crisp instructions as to how I ought to pleasure her, and I would do exactly as she told me without argument or embellishment. Other times, she would just let me slowly, freely lick the large, slick and salty lips of her cunt, allowing herself some high whimpers of pleasure which grew strangely vulnerable as I neared her clit. But other times, still, she would be the one to calmly explore my body with that strange, amused intrigue, her desire mingling with something like fascination, pulling a little roughly at my nipples or, now, probing and splaying my pussy as though amazed that it looked so different from hers.

I lay back and closed my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose as Elsa shifted her weight between my legs, the skinny mattress creaking on its wire frame underneath her. The room smelled of wine, of vanilla and, I think, just a little of pussy. Though there was something in Elsa's manner which intimidated me a little, the way she touched me—even the way she looked at me—always had me dripping wet, and I sighed with contentment as she drew delicate circles on my clit. Then her finger snaked wetly below the slit of my cunt, into the cleft of my ass, and I yelped a bit and drew back.

'Don't you want me to?' Elsa said.

I told her I didn't know. Over five years with my ex-boyfriend, he had never once expressed any interest in putting anything up my ass. Nor had it come up, yet, in any of my university fumblings, and I hadn't really had any curiosity to try it out on my own. Perhaps this was one of the ways in which I was a late bloomer.

'Just let me try a little bit?' she said.

'Okay.'

A little gingerly, I shuffled my bum down the bed, lifting my legs a little more, not entirely sure how I felt about Elsa's steady, inquiring gaze being fixed on my asshole. Everything was wet and warm between my legs, and to Elsa's credit, she was very gentle. She stroked the outside of my ass with just a fingertip; first she went only upward, then switched to small circles. She even deigned to put down her wine mug, and as she applied the thumb of her other hand to my clit, I started to relax, allowing my eyes to flutter closed. Only after minutes passed, and it seemed as though I felt Elsa's eyes looking intently down at me, did I feel the tip of her finger make the slightest of explorations inside me. It didn't hurt, or anything, but instinctively I tensed up.

'Relax,' Elsa said.

Again, she gently stroked the sensitive area around my asshole, and I started to like the way it felt, the way it spread a kind of warmth which seemed to flow into and around my pussy from below. When next she eased her finger inside me, I sighed with pleasure; as her finger went deeper, my eyes widened involuntarily at how much, how intensely I felt it. Still it wasn't exactly painful, though perhaps now it was closer to it, but I was amazed that a single finger could feel so deep.

As gently as she had started, Elsa stopped.

'Not so bad?' she said, and I shook my head.

'How much was that?'

Elsa held up her index finger, and pointed at it with the other one, identifying somewhere about halfway up her fingernail.

'What?' I said. 'You're k**ding me.'

'Mm-mm. Want to try some more?'

'Maybe a bit,' I said.

Elsa told me to roll onto my stomach, and I did. Almost immediately, I felt her weight shift again on the mattress below my feet, her palm slip between my thighs to part my legs, and then her warm lips and tongue on my pussy from behind. I gasped. Her tongue was amazingly dextrous, as limber and as precise as her fingertips only wetter and hotter, and she focused its soft attention on my clit until I almost forgot what she was there to do.

I moaned into her pillow for a minute, and then her tongue slipped upward to my ass. For a moment, again, my instinct was mostly just to cringe with embarrassment at the thought of someone licking me somewhere so intimate, but this felt even better than what she had been doing with her fingers. Again there was that incredible sensation of warmth, of thousands of nerves lighting up with pleasure, and I was amazed at the thought that the girl who, a few weeks ago, I had known only as the bitch from my Introduction to European Thought seminar was licking my asshole on her bed.

The sensation was so intense that I felt like I could come from it, if only Elsa would carry on for long enough. But she drew away, said something about how I had a cute little bum, and started rummaging in the drawer next to her bed. I wondered, with some trepidation, what tool or toy or implement she was about to remove, and was relieved to see it was something very small. I heard Elsa tear something, then felt a blob of something shockingly cold dripping into my ass.

'Fuck, that's cold,' I said.

'Sorry,' Elsa said.

She threw the plastic lube packet down onto the bed. It was a shiny bluish green, and had some jaunty slogan on it about men's dicks and where they ought not to go without the proper precautions being involved.

The sensitive skin of the inward curves of my ass began to warm up as Elsa stroked it with the fingers of one hand. I was almost impatient to feel her finger inside me now, and again she didn't keep me waiting for long. With a slightly wet, lubey sound, her fingertip slid back into my ass, a little easier this time than the first. I still wasn't sure if Elsa had been teasing me before, but this time her finger felt shockingly deep. The pattern was just the same as before, though: it felt weird for a moment, maybe even hurt a little, and then my body belatedly told me that what I was feeling was pleasure. I started to moan a bit, and I felt Elsa gently twisting her finger, very slowly allowing more of it inside me.

Things suddenly felt a lot better as Elsa again used her free hand to play with my pussy, and it was as though there was pleasure radiating outward from the middle of me, from my cunt and my ass, tingling in my stomach and making my thighs shake. I shivered with delight as Elsa's finger entered me deeply again, then whined a little when she took it out.

I thought I heard Elsa snicker behind me, and then suddenly I gasped again as something big and wide entered my ass. I'm quite sure it was only two fingers, clamped tightly together, but it felt like my asshole was being stretched all over again. My self-consciousness didn't exactly disappear, but there was a delicious kind of vulnerability to it, the way I was opening myself up to Elsa in ways I hadn't to anybody else. Combined with Elsa's other hand, working tirelessly on my pussy, the pleasure of it all started quickly to overwhelm me.

'I think I'm going to come,' I said.

'I think so too,' Elsa said, and then seconds later, quietly but strangely sincerely, she said 'good girl.'

This was more than enough to push me over the edge; my breath caught in my throat and turned seamlessly into a gasp, and then into a moan. The normal pulsing sensation of a deep, long-lasting orgasm felt five times as strong, and I could feel my ass clenching hard around Elsa's fingers. It felt like my orgasm was never going to end, and it drew from me a series of panting, yelping moans, and I felt as though I was convulsing under Elsa's hands. As the final throes died away, Elsa slowly drew her fingers out of my ass, which was met with a final whimper of pleasure as I collapsed, gasping, into the thin mattress of her bed.

For only the second time, I was sure I heard Elsa laugh. It wasn't a remotely unkind laugh. She wiped the lube from her fingers with a tissue and threw it down next to where the lube packet had ended up.

'I thought you'd like it,' she said.

***

Given her stern, unsmiling disposition, it always surprised me how calm and cosy Elsa's bedroom was. Her mattress was just as uncomfortable as anyone else's, but her sheets were weighty and soft, and always smelled like they had just dried on a summer's day, fluttering on the breeze as they hung on a line by a grove of lemon trees. The floor was the same hard-wearing, sedge green carpet as in all the other rooms, but she had hidden most of it artfully underneath a rug. Her underwear—in all of its wild variety of fabric, colour and cut—was folded neatly and obsessively into the drawer by her bed. And here and there, on square black ceramic dishes, she had trios of little tealight candles from Ikea, which filled the room with dessert-like smells of raspberry and vanilla.
Little wonder, then, that we spent so many of our evenings here, in an oasis of calm broken only by occasional drunken yells which ensued from the corridors of the building, the open square outside, and pretty much anywhere else on campus which was within earshot. Often we would lie facing each other, naked, covered or half-covered, talking or looking peacefully at each other, occasionally reaching out hands and fingers to touch whatever we wanted to touch. I don't think we ever again kissed as much as we had our first night together; reasonably often, Elsa would give me a fairly chaste peck, warm but tongueless, after one or the other of us had had an orgasm, as though she deigned to give me a tiny reward.

I don't think I ever once tried to cuddle with Elsa. Looking back now, I'm sure I was wrong to jump to the conclusion, but I felt like if I dared to try, she would tell me to fuck off and leave her alone, and I'd never get near her again. Something, perhaps, of that icy exterior she projected never quite seemed to wear off for me; though before long I had seen, touched, kissed and licked and tasted and smelled the most intimate parts of her, it always felt as though I was being granted temporary permission to apply myself to those places. Attempting to take the whole of her in my arms, to pull the very warmth and fullness of her being close to me, felt like a boundary I was, ultimately, too afraid to cross.

Still, it wasn't as though there was no intimacy, no lingering mood of affection and care between us. Elsa seemed, I think, to love just looking at my body as the minutes rolled past, every now and then reaching out, tentatively or more assuredly, making a compulsive grab for some part of me as though it was new to her. And it did feel as though, despite her constant and exacting gaze, Elsa never ran out of things to be excited by. If at first the way she looked so steadily at me made me feel uncomfortable and shy, I found that giving her the same treatment was the perfect distraction. I learned that it was true that, no matter how much I looked at her body, I could always find some new detail which would instantly renew my desire for her.

Sometimes Elsa would undress the moment we got to her room. And if I loved the novelty of each of her various outfits, the way she treated her body as a blank canvas to be styled as elaborately or as offhandedly as she wished, I came to love watching them come off her even more. The soft, billowing fall of the fabric of the colourful harem pants that made her bum look unbelievable. The way she might peel off one of the tiny lace thongs she wore under her jeans. The way her stomach tightened and narrowed as she pulled a t-shirt over her head, or the weighty drop of her breasts as she unfastened her bra.

And so I would happily lie with her and revel in the details. She had a couple of freckles on the side of her neck, somewhere not far from the corner of her jaw, and it took me weeks to summon up the courage to kiss them. There was a slight asymmetry in the way her collarbones stood out, which was mirrored interestingly by the way her breasts hung, the right one just ever-so-slightly bigger, its large, soft areola a tiny bit less circular than the other one. Her stomach was so flat it was almost concave, which only made her pubic bone more prominent: sometimes, if I drew my fingers up over it, there would be a little nap of stubble there; once or twice, a couple of millimetres of sleek, amazingly pale hair, which would be whisked immediately away the day after I told her I thought it was pretty. Her clit was tiny, pearl-like, but her inner lips were big, and would turn a shining, flushing pink when I touched her there; they made me understand finally the metaphors that people use for women's pussies—some of them cute, some of them unkind—and she liked more than almost anything the way I would take them in turn into my mouth, delicate and unctuous and salty, and dip my tongue between them where she tasted just slightly more musky and sour.

And so, again, we lay there, and the smells of summer and dessert were all around us even though the evenings were still grim and rainy outside her window, like late autumn in northern England tends to be. Three candles flickered not far from my head, on a dish on the nightstand, sitting on top of a thick volume which might have been Marx's Capital, causing a fire hazard that both of us were only dimly aware of.

We basked in the comfort of each other's naked bodies, amidst the warmth and the sweetness of the room, the gentle and expensive caress of the sheets underneath us. I had shifted onto my back, and Elsa lay alongside me, her hand snaking way down between my legs, her fingertip playing lazily with my ass. I had become a little more used to this, having banished some of my fears, and I liked the way that Elsa, now, would help herself to my asshole as freely and as casually as she would the rest of me. By now, I think, I had even allowed her to put two fingers knuckle-deep inside me, aided by two or three of those little free packets of lube, while she went down on me. One of Elsa's flatmates, she told me later, had made an unkind joke about the sounds I had made while, in the moment, I had had an orgasm which actually made my vision go blurry.

'Want to try something?' Elsa said.

'Maybe.'

I was on my guard, still tending to be a nervous soul, but prior experience with Elsa's experiments had me more enthusiastic than I might once have been.

Elsa went to the uppermost drawer by her bed—not the one with her knickers in it—and took out the sleek, purple-and-silver rabbit vibrator that I had once used on her.

'I have tried one of those before, you know,' I said, though I probably already imagined where Elsa's mind was headed. She gave one of her tiny, almost-mirthless ghosts of a laugh. She took out a couple of sachets of lube and held them up in one hand, almost giving them a jaunty little wiggle which seemed out of character, while she held the toy up in the other.

'Oh,' I said. It wasn't really a toy that was supposed to be used that way, but at least it wasn't all that big and, I reasoned, there was no chance of it getting lost in there either. Still, I eyed it suspiciously, as though what I would usually recognise as an object of pleasure carried within it some dark and dangerous secret.

'You're such a worrier, Lottie,' Elsa said.

Taking the bait, bristling at even the most gentle suggestion that Elsa might think less of me, I turned over with some trepidation. I got onto my hands and knees as Elsa gently pulled up on my hip from one side, until my ass was facing upward. Elsa threw the toy and the lube down on the bed, settling herself behind me.

'Go slowly,' I said.

'Shush,' Elsa said, but she said it very gently.

She continued in this vein, too; she was firm, as though I needed to be quiet and benefit from her worldly expertise, but it was somehow in moments like these that she was at her most gentle and yielding.

She ran her fingers up and down the backs of my thighs, even tickling the soles of my feet and snickering when I jerked them away from her. She made a couple of teasing passes over my clit, not lingering with her hand on my pussy for longer than a second at a time, but long enough to remind me how wet I was. She bend forward to kiss the small of my back, my tailbone, the gentle inward curves where my sacrum turned into my ass, then kissed my asshole more wetly, tenderly and lovingly than she usually did my mouth. Her tongue drew soft, wide circles and broad lines, and I sighed into the pillow at the amazing warmth, the little, shooting bolts of pleasure. I even heard Elsa give a long, slightly vocal sigh of contentment, and I wondered what on earth had made her so interested in my bum.

'I think I could come like this,' I told her.

I regretted it immediately, because as soon as I told her this, she stopped what she was doing and drew back from me. I heard a tearing sound, and then a familiar cold trickle of lube, which Elsa spread carefully into my ass, pushing it lightly into me with her fingertip. I gasped as the cool liquid went inside me, starting to sigh a little with pleasure as it warmed between Elsa's fingers and the tight opening of my ass. Then a second packet tore, and I looked back and watched her carefully spread lube onto the lightly-curved shaft of the toy. I wondered, for a moment, if Elsa had ever given a guy a handjob.

I felt the tip of the toy nestle against my ass; no vibrations, just cool, plasticky smoothness. Elsa ran it up and down a couple of times, then settled it on the opening of my ass and applied a little bit of pressure. I felt my asshole stretch, tried to relax, then felt a warm flash of pain as it grew thicker. I yelped. Elsa eased up a touch.

'It feels so big,' I said.

'Don't be silly,' Elsa said. 'It's tiny.' She spoke with a withering sternness, as though I could practically hear her rolling her eyes, but she stroked one cheek of my ass gently with her fingertips, giving it a little squeeze as she seemed otherwise dismissive of my concerns.

'It hurts,' I said.

'It won't,' she said. 'Try pushing on it a bit.'

I did as Elsa said, trying to relax back onto the toy as she inserted it. This time it seemed to slide in a little bit easier, but again I felt it begin to hurt as Elsa edged it toward the thickest part. Hearing my sharp intake of breath, Elsa paused, rotated the toy ever so slightly back and forward, and went on stroking my lower back and my ass with her other hand.

'That's better,' she said. I breathed deeply, and I felt my ass relax a little around the toy. Elsa drew it back a few millimetres, then reapplied the pressure, and my asshole willingly took more of it than before. It felt so much bigger than Elsa's fingers that I could hardly believe she hadn't switched the sleek, purple vibrator for something else, but I knew she wouldn't. But, gradually, just like every other time, my mind slowly caught up to the realisation that, whatever weird stuff my body was feeling, it wasn't pain, not exactly.

Elsa made only the tiniest movements, but somehow she seemed to sense exactly what kind of stimulation I needed, exactly how much depth and pressure I could take. Very slowly, so I barely perceived the change, Elsa ceased merely to explore my ass with the toy, and started to fuck me with it.

'Oh my god,' I said.

'What?' Elsa said, sounding amused.

'It feels really good.'

The movements were shallow and regular, and I felt pleasure start to swell in me in waves. Any pain I felt had melted away so completely that I barely remembered what it felt like for this to hurt. I gasped as one thrust went a little deeper than the others, and I could no longer assemble words into a sentence.

'I can tell,' Elsa said. 'Your cunt's dripping.'

Naively, I thought this would be the immediate preface to Elsa touching me there, but she wasn't in any hurry, calmly filling my ass, clearly enjoying the deep, shuddering breaths that she was able to draw out of me. And when finally Elsa decided that my pussy deserved some attention, she wasn't the one to give it.

'Why don't you touch your clit for me?' she said, as though the idea ought to have occurred to me earlier. I obeyed her greedily, shifting the weight of my upper body so I could put my hand down between my legs, and I rubbed my clit as though desperate to make up for lost time.

'Are you going to come?' Elsa asked.

I barely managed to say 'mmhmm'. Elsa didn't change the speed or the pressure, just squeezed my ass a little harder as she went on firmly fucking me with the toy. I rubbed my clit frantically, and the spirals of pleasure seemed, again, to take root deeper inside me than they ever had before; when I came, it felt like I was coming with my whole body, and it seemed to last forever, my ass grasping the toy hard, my legs shaking, my breath turning into shocked, wide-eyed yelps of pleasure.

I was vaguely aware of Elsa pulling her vibrator out of my ass, because it hurt a little bit, then I collapsed face-down on the bed, my breath stubbornly refusing to return to normal. I was sweating, my limbs felt weak and jelly-like, my back hurt from arching it. Incoherently, I mumbled things like 'Jesus' and 'fucking hell' into Elsa's pillows while—I guess—she washed the toy in the bathroom.

She came back into the room and stretched herself out on the bed next to me, while I still lay face-down and trembled. She rubbed my back, my shoulders and the back of my neck, with a gentle but reassuring pressure, then she brushed the hair out of my face as I turned slightly toward her, my eyes still closed.

'Give me a kiss,' she said. Without looking, I inclined my mouth toward the sound of her words, and she kept her fingers in my hair as she kissed me. It went on for longer than I expected; she even saw fit to let me put my tongue in her mouth, and she tasted like cocoa butter Vaseline.

'What was that for?' I said as our mouths parted.

Elsa shrugged. She barely smirked, and she lay back on the pillows next to me. I watched her breasts rise and fall, and gradually my breathing fell roughly in sync with hers.

***

'I can't believe her name was Elsa,' Michael said.

'Why?' I asked him.

'Never mind.'

I had started to get cold, the slick of fluids having turned chilly and then dry and sticky on the insides of my legs, in my pubic hair and in my ass. I wrapped a sheet around myself, becoming all shrouded in white up to my breasts, like a post-coital woman in a movie.

'Did you love her?'

This seemed like a strange question for Michael to ask. I wasn't sure I had said anything to apply that this was the case. But perhaps there was something perceptive in the way that Michael had listened so intently to what I had told him, sifting through every detail of mine an Elsa's story as though it betrayed something I hadn't intended it to. And I didn't have a quick answer, as it happened, and I lay there in the silence as the London evening drew in chilly and damp around us.

'I don't know,' I told him, brushing the messy hair out of his face with cum-flecked fingers. 'Does it matter?'

He thought for a moment, swivelling his eyes up to the ceiling as though to concentrate carefully on his answer.

'I suppose not.'

He let his hand fall back down between my legs again, my skin crackly and dry underneath his fingers as they snaked their way underneath the sheet. Even though my mind was elsewhere, I felt my body began to warm again as he touched me.