by Amber Heart
He placed the slimmest graduated one on her clit and let it vibrate there. Kara needed to cum so badly that when he took it away she called him a string of dirty names.
He laughed and dipped the butt vibrator inside her cunt. “So wet. You’re dribbling all down between your lips and cheeks.” He took it from her pussy and slid the slimmest part inside her butt. Kara held her breath. He pushed it back and forth a little and around in circles. “Look at your tight ass eating up this vibrator. You are such a greedy little bitch.” He pushed it all the way in until the widest part of it stretched her and the rim of her ass closed around the indentation of the base and held fast.
“There. You like that. Bet you wish it was bigger. But you’ll have to wait until you’re good for that.” Damien held the larger one against her clit and Kara clenched everything she had. The vibrator in her ass gave her a new thrill. “Now, let’s fill you up.” He slid the thicker one slowly inside her cunt and Kara cried out at how fantastic it was to have both holes stretched and filled.
Damien leaned in and flicked his tongue over her clit a few times. “I’d love to suck your clit until you came, Kara. But you’ve been so bad. You’ll have to wait.” He pressed the buttons that turned each vibrator on and the slow buzz at her most intimate places made her whole body feel like it vibrated.
She groaned.
“Kara, you can scream. No one can hear beyond these walls. I will be back. When I do come back, I am going to make you cum, in fact, I’m not going to stop. You’ll beg me to stop because you can’t possibly cum again, but you will. I’ll make your body just keep going.”
“Let me up. Please. I promise I’ll do whatever you say.” Lying here like this and not being able to cum was going to be a special kind of torture.
He laughed at that. “See you soon, Kara. Have a think about if this is what you want for the rest of your life, because this is what I’m offering. There’s much to explore in my world.”
Then he was gone and the low buzzing inside her took over her world. She growled and made all manner of noises trying to make something happen. But the stimulation wasn’t quite enough to get her off and she couldn’t move in any way to assist that happening. She might be here for three hours before the baby had lunch and was back in bed.
Had his wife lived like this? Look at how poised and confident she’d been in all the photos and from what Kara had seen of her in the media. Could she have lived this sexual life and still been that flawless being?
Kara let the vibrations from her very core take over her mind. There was nothing she could do to stem the constant need it’d built inside her. Her skin was on fire and her clit ached so hard. If only she could cum. She lost track of how long she’d been waiting.
It wasn’t three hours though. Maybe an hour. Her body was so keyed up now, she was almost angry. She didn’t know how she felt. She could start laughing and never stop, or scream. Maybe she might just cry and cry. One thing was certain, Kara was a huge, mixed-up bundle of raw emotion and she still needed to cum.
Damien never spoke he just laughed a wicked laugh and came in and turned the vibrators up the full speed.
“Oooh God. Fuck.” Her groans and moans filed the room and her own ears. She was past thinking clearly let alone making a sentence.
She stared at him, begging for the release she so needed. He smiled and held up a vibrating massage wand. Kara had heard about them. The large bulbous head glistened.
“I’ve got plenty of lube on it for you. It’s on the highest setting and this is so hard-core you might just explode. You’ve behaved, so I’ll give you your orgasm.” He touched the extreme vibration head to her clit for a split second.
“Do it. Just do it. Please. Please.”
Kara became a tangled mess of nerve endings when he touched it to her again, for longer this time. Her body jerked and twitched. He stopped again.
Kara felt the tears running down her face. She couldn’t stop them. Given up trying. The need to orgasm had taken her over.
The wand touched her clit again and her body jumped. Then nothing, meanwhile the vibrators inside her continued to keep her on the edge of the precipice.
“I think we need to see your gorgeous pink clit exposed first.”
Kara almost screamed as he was making her wait again. He’d gone back to the drawer and came back with something Kara had no idea about.
“These clamps won’t hurt. They’ll just hold your labia apart and up so you clit is out of its hood and getting maximum stimulation.” He set about clamping her lips open and up.
“I’m going to take the vibrator out from your pussy because I want to hold my cock on there and feel how tight you squeeze when the orgasms hit you. I’m not going to move. You aren’t to stop having orgasms until your contractions make me cum. I’ll get a fresh condom and more lube.”
Kara panted and she couldn’t say anything. She just wanted relief.
He wasn’t long and the vibrator was out and he’d pushed his cock hard up inside her cunt. She wished he would just fuck her hard again. Once he was in position he squirted the ice-cold lube over her erect clit and she jumped at the shock.
“Now, Kara, you need to make me cum so be sure to cum as hard as you can.”
Kara held her breath and squeezed her cunt as tight as she could around him, and when the massage wand touched lightly to her open clitoris, the feeling was altogether too much and she cried out.
“Get ready, Kara. Here it comes.” He pressed the wand hard to her clit and Kara’s whole world split open. She could only scream as her body turned inside out with the extreme orgasm ripping through her.
Her contractions went on and on and her back tried to arch so hard, but she could barely move. Just the jerking, shuddering and contracting that went with an orgasm time one hundred.
Damien cried out as well. “Fuck. You’ve almost made me cum on the very first one. One more and I’ll lose my load I swear.” He held the wand even harder to her clit and just as the orgasm subsided, the next one smashed into her body and Kara went stiff as it felt like her brain rewired for a few seconds.
‘Go baby. Go.”
She panted and pulled against her restraints. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” She cried out.
Damien moved the wand around in circle over her over-sensitive clit and she wanted to push it away, she wanted it to stop, she couldn’t take any more.
“No more. No more. Please. I can’t.” She begged him to stop.
“But I haven’t cum yet. You have to make me cum and then I’ll stop. You aren’t trying hard enough, Kara. Cum harder, squeeze me tighter.” He pushed the wand onto erect clit again and never let up no matter how much Kara begged him.
She couldn’t do it again. She just couldn’t. But she did. This time she roared as it hit her and Damien cried out her name as at last she knew he was cumming. Every part of her was wet. The sweat had poured from her and the come had squirted out of her.
Kara knew that she had to marry this man. A lifetime of hard orgasms was too good to pass up.
His Biography
A Clean Football Romance
By Amber Heart
Chapter 1
Call it momentary amnesia or morning-fueled absent-mindedness. Whichever you choose, Kennedi Kincaid was right in the thick of it. Though she opened her eyes, one at a time, and stretched groggily as though it were a normal day, that was by no means the case – not even by a long shot. Today was, quite poetically and rather logically, the first day of the rest of her life for two very distinct, very magical reasons.
Magical reason #1: this was officially the inaugural day of her senior year at Douglas State University (DSU). Four years prior to this very date, at freshman orientation, when she was told to look to her left, then to her right, and warned that “one of you won’t make it”, Kennedi had no doubt that she would definitely not be the “one” to fall by the wayside. At the outset of her journey at DSU, actually getting to senior year was only a tangible idea that
lived in her mind, buoyed by her determination. Today, it was in fact a reality – a yet-to-be celebrated reality– but a dream that had achieved fruition, nonetheless.
Magical reason #2: this would be her first official day on campus following a game-changing summer experience. After not only landing a highly coveted internship at Sports Illustrated (SI) but standing out amongst the rest during her tenure, Kennedi would now have the professional bona fides to call major shots as a reporter at her campus newspaper, the Douglas Weekly. While she had been a member of the Weekly’s writing staff for two years and earned some level of seniority as a result, Kennedi knew that working at a nationally-recognized publication – if only for the summer – would definitely give her the increased clout she needed to make major moves at her home institution. All throughout the summer, as she thought about returning back to campus, she couldn’t wait to wield her shiny, newfound street cred. Today would be the first opportunity to do that and – so far – she had met the day as if it was as humdrum as any other.
That was, until she didn’t – until lightning struck and she was instantaneously reminded why her ho-hum transition from deep sleep to consciousness needed a serious do-over. Suddenly, as if a switch was flipped and a bulb illuminated over her head, Kennedi went from yawning and nonchalantly stretching in bed, to the wide-eyed look of excitement and anticipation worthy of a day like this one. Kennedi quickly realized that the faster she got out of bed, the sooner she could take full advantage of everything that the day had in store for her. Freshly motivated by a carpe diem-fueled zeal, she swatted the covers from across her body, jutted her legs out from the sheets, and sprang up to greet the day as soon as her feet were firmly planted on the floor.
While, magical reasons #1 and #2 were quite fabulous on their own, when synergistically melded together, they sparked yet another reason for the sheer excitement finally, fittingly running through Kennedi’s bones. During the summer, she had a major aha moment and was heavily inspired to flex her muscle as both a high-achieving senior and a highly-proficient journalist the second she got back to campus. Kennedi had decided to explore a once-in-a-lifetime kind of story that could draw major attention to DSU and lurch her career forward in a major way. While she could clearly see the benefit of her idea to the campus, to the Weekly, and to herself, she also knew that it wouldn’t be put into action unless she sold it, in the just the right way, to the right people and today was the day to do it!
After rising out of bed and getting into the early-morning groove of her day, Kennedi went to her favorite place to get her thoughts together: the bathroom. Though slightly unconventional, the mirror that sat right above her sink was just the place she needed to practice the pitch for her ingenious idea and lay the foundation to get her groundbreaking story greenlit. On this particular morning, Kennedi began brainstorming by taking a look at herself in the mirror, grabbing her toothbrush, and then slathering it with a minty, white gel. With her toothbrush in hand, moving it in a sweeping, bubble-inducing motion across her teeth, she practiced the arguments she would use to persuade the Douglas Weekly’s Editor-in-Chief and its staff that her story just had to be written. Speaking directly to the mirror, as if it were her audience, she laid the groundwork for the day to come.
For the last year and a half, at least, Kennedi’s mirror had been a major testing ground for her – prime speech-rehearsal real estate. As a journalist who had to propose story ideas, conduct interviews, and interact with a wide variety of people, her mirror often gave her the space to lay out her thoughts, draft strategies, and be more than equipped to tap into the magic that happens when opportunity meets preparation.
Kennedi learned very early-on in her journalistic career that – aside from the backspace key on her keyboard and the much maligned retraction – there were very few ways to correct critical mistakes and rebuild in her chosen profession. Dropping the ball on a pivotal conversation, failing to investigate a lead, or missing out on an opportunity to engage an interesting perspective could be the death knell for her. She learned this critical fact as a neophyte and Kennedi was the type of person that never had to learn a hard lesson twice. This morning was no different. She had a basic idea about what she wanted to say and how; she just needed to refine her delivery, figure out which words to emphasize, and make sure that her facial expressions supported her message.
Her mind brimming with ideas, after a few several test runs, Kennedi managed to eek out a concise, effective position for why her once-in-a-lifetime story had to be told. When she was convinced that she had a solid premise and a winning argument, Kennedi went about readying herself to leave the house. After strategically preparing her mind, body, and ego to face the day, Kennedi eagerly bolted from her apartment and into her car, ready to get her fall semester and – quite possibly – the assignment of her career to date started. Somewhat of a perfectionist, Kennedi rehearsed the delivery of her pitch again and again. By the time she finally had her script and cadence nailed down, she’d battled through traffic, arrived to DSU’s main commuter lot, and was ready to park.
As she made the walk from her car to the Fine Arts building, where the Douglas Weekly was headquartered, Kennedi was happy to be back on campus and was reminded of why fall semester had always been her favorite. As a season, fall is usually associated with the ironic beauty of dying and decaying things – think the golden, red, and bronze leaves that signal the inevitable approach of the cold, dreary winter to come. But, as a semester, at least for Kennedi, fall was actually the time for new beginnings, when the promise of growth was in the air - think the newly minted freshmen, overflowing with hope about their future. Even for students returning to campus, fall marked a chance to rebirth expectation and reintroduce themselves to the people, places, and things that continued to shape their experiences and themselves.
In that vein, after reaching campus and getting re-acclimated to everything, something familiar was re-awakened inside of Kennedi. Just like that, she had been given the missing ingredient; she knew that she was ready to make her case and, ultimately, make her mark.
Chapter 2
Kennedi sauntered into the News Room and immediately sat her book bag down on top of an empty table. The News Room was the name for the Douglas Weekly’s central headquarters and, to Kennedi and the rest of the staff, it was the place where magic was made. In spite of its significance on campus, the News Room was a rather small place with a very unassuming aesthetic. While it’s square footage was small and its configuration was quite basic, its responsibility was quite large indeed: keeping the students, faculty, staff, and administrators that were the lifeblood of DSU informed, engaged, and connected.
The Weekly’s headquarters was essentially comprised of two rooms. The larger of the two accommodated the newspaper’s staff as they worked, played, and learned. On its’ perimeter, sat tables, pushed up against each of the four walls. All but one of those tables was empty; the table propped against the east-facing wall was, in a sense, decorated with a row of rarely used desktop computers. The empty tables were used the most; the Weekly’s staff would typically bring their own laptops and primarily leverage the common space to bandy about ideas and get second opinions in between classes and during the 20-hours that everyone had committed each week.
To complete the space, a long table sat in the middle of the room. It served as the place where the reporters, artists, photographers, and managers who made the paper run convened for weekly meetings. All combined, the Douglas Weekly’s largest area was both a workspace and a boardroom. Though both, in a sense, were rather makeshift, the dedicated team not only made it work but managed to thrive and provide DSU’s community with award-winning coverage.
The second room, which was much smaller and situated off in a corner, belonged to Dr. Francis Blight, the Editor-in-Chief and Faculty Advisor responsible for overseeing the integrity and quality of the campuses’ 53 year-old ledger. Frank, as the Douglas Weekly staff called him, was a tough, but fair critic and gate
-keeper. He held the majority of the power that could propel a story to the front page or quash it before it was fully presented at pitch. As far as Kennedi was concerned, she knew she had an amazing idea but unless she could convince Frank and the rest of the staff, it would never see the light of day.
By the time Kennedi’s book bag had hit the table, she was already en route to Frank’s office. While her pace was quick on the approach, she treaded more cautiously as she got closer and closer to his door. When she finally reached it, she took the time to quietly observe first. Fully aware that what she had to say was only one part of the equation, Kennedi knew she had to deliver her pitch in the best context. Otherwise, as she strategically reasoned, the most eloquent words would be easily dismissed.
Kennedi peeked inside of Frank’s office. Upon initial glance, she noticed that he was sitting quietly, in intense thought. Upon further review, she could see that he was staring attentively at a stack of papers that were fanned out and held into place with his tense thumb. Kennedi had unwittingly stumbled upon Frank in deep decision-making mode. Unbeknownst to her, or anyone else on staff, he had been given a much smaller budget for the upcoming school semester and would need to make a few very shrewd decisions. His mandate: to keep the paper afloat without sacrificing quality. Though she didn’t know it, Frank was in the throes of figuring out what the viable options were and weighing them carefully.
Not fully informed and thinking that now might be as good a time as any other, Kennedi knocked on Frank’s door and waited, in vain, for his gaze to shift from the stack of papers in his grip and over toward her. Despite a valiant first effort, her knock did nothing to rouse Frank from his stance. Unsure if he was ignoring her or too consumed in what he was doing to hear her, Kennedi knocked once again. Even after a second knock, Frank remained still; Kennedi realized that she would have to do more to garner his attention. “Hey Frank,” she said, finally invoking movement, “got a minute?”
