THOUGHTS: TERZO AND THE FEMALE ORGASM
There was something about his approach to sexual pleasure that you found both refreshing and unnerving. With every partner you'd had before your own climax was something that had to be earned, or something that was so tied to their own pride and personal hang-ups that it was hard for you to even enjoy it. And if you never got there...it was your fault and somehow a personal insult to them.
With Terzo it was different. He handed out orgasms like a Goddamn sexual Pez dispenser, like it was simultaneously no-big-deal and the thing he was born to do and would do every second of every day if you let him.
I know you're running late, but can just make you cum before you have to go?'
I am sorry you had such a bad day, amore. Why don't you sit on my face and tell me about it?'
And at the same time he acted like his own needs were an afterthought, as if when you wanted to lavish him with attention with your mouth or hands it was some sort of chore. He legitimately couldn't equate the two things in his mind. How you could enjoy giving him pleasure as much as he did for you? His needs were so basic. Yours were sacred.
As matter-of-fact and shockingly blunt as he could be about giving you satisfaction, it was never just 'getting you off' in his mind. He treated your orgasms as something to be worshiped, every one a gift to both of you from the Dark One himself.
It was the source of much of his distain for Christianity and any other religion that approached female sexuality as something to be viewed with shame. What kind of God would give women anatomy that serves no purpose other than pleasure and then punish them for taking full advantage of it? Why bother giving them the gift of unlimited orgasms and then treat them like they are something depraved or dirty? It defied logic.
And so he'd made his own personal mission to unravel the web of hang-ups and self-doubt you'd encased yourself in, one touch, one lick, one thrust, one brain-melting climax at a time. He'd happily spend every hour of the day splayed out between your legs, suckling at your clit and feeling your heartbeat hard and strong against his lips, or rocking you in his lap, knuckle-deep in your pussy until you'd soaked his gloves and robes with your release, trembling and depleted. In the moments of quiet when his weight pressed you into the soft surface of the mattress, his hands tangled in your damp tresses, his cock buried in your slick walls as they twitched with aftershocks, he'd study your face with a look of no less than adoration. Pressing kisses to your dewed face with reverence, whispering praise like psalms. And just when you felt like he'd pushed you to your limit, like you'd both given and taken all you were capable of, you'd hear the words that made dread sit like lead in your stomach and yet you craved like a drug, needed with an intensity that made you feel insane. 'One more, amore.'
