My one coherent thought while fucking Oliver into oblivion is that I am grateful for all the work we’ve done on my stamina. I’m older now, with lots of practice, and I can do pretty well at holding my orgasms at bay. I fuck him relentlessly, periodically spanking him hard enough to hear the echo of it ring out.

He’s so perfect and I am so, so close that it’s both a relief and a cruelty when he tells me to stop. It’s not until he reaches back with his hand that I manage to slow down, shifting until I can take his hand in my own. I squeeze it as I slow to a halt, burying my cock inside of him and resting there.

“You okay?” I pant out, even though I’m fairly confident of the answer. It can’t hurt to check in, just in case. “You want me to pull out?”