Baby John Price. Pillow princess John Price. John Price that forgets his own strength when your riding him and grips your hips so hard with trembling, sweaty palms that his fingers dig into the bone of your hips hard enough to leave bruises and small little half-moon indents in the fat there where his neatly trimmed nails almost broke this skin.
John Price who whines and squirms below you when you make him feel good, his toes curling into the mattress while he makes the highest, whiniest, sluttiest sounds you've ever heard. And when it becomes just a little too much squirming? Well, Just grab his face by the jaw and tell him to look at you. He'll stop. Sure, it will be accompanied my a spurt of warmth in your belly and some light shuddering groans while fat, wet tears prick his blue eyes and gloss them over like the ocean.
But it will be much easier to get your fill once he's all spent and loose, whining and crying about the overstimulation that you know he can take. He could pull you off at any time if he wanted to. But he doesn't. His big meaty paws just find their way back onto your body, shaking almost violently while he grabs you wherever he can reach with one hand while the other reaches down to circle the neat little bud nestled in your puffy folds so nicely.
He drags the bit of his spend that's been pushed out while you're riding him and drags the slick mixture of your juices and begins tracing letters over your clit over and over.
Over and over like an unspoken mantra on your body. All the while, he's still such a mess. He's still hard inside of your sweet cunt, begging for just a little break, just a second, you just feel so good, but he just can't- and you just don't care. You're so close to the end, and God, he just looks so sexy like this, such an ego boost.
The strong Captain Price who's dominant over everyone and has control over everything is a bottom for you. Cries big fat tears for your cunt. And that thought has your back arching while your nails grip into his shoulders and you see stars.
Below you, you can vaguely feel the aforementioned man shuddering and clutching your waist for dear life as his own orgasm is ripped from him once again by the way your walls pulse and squeeze against him so fervently for his spend. You can hear his choked sobs of pleasure about just how good you feel, how good it hurts.
For a second, both of you just freeze there in time, suspended in the heat of the moment, surrounded by the fire and vapor of your own passions that engulfed you both in sweltering heat. And then you both just collapse. It's not graceful, it's not sexy, it's not what you see in porn. No. It's you starfished over Prices torso and panting while your face nestles into the thick pelt of hair between his pecs. It's Price splayed out diagonally over your king-sized mattress and huffing for air while he comes down from his high and rubs at his wet eyes, trying and failing to pull himself out of the subspace you never fail to put him in.
And things are fine like that for a little bit, but they can't stay like that. It usually depends on whoever comes to first.
If you manage to pull yourself together and off of Price, it will likely be you heading into the adjacent bathroom to grab a damp rag and gently cleaning Price up while muttering soft words of praise about how good he did, how amazing he made you feel while gently scritching his beard or carting your fingers through his sweat-slicked hair to place gentle pecs on his glistening forehead before cleaning yourself up and climbing back into bed with him.
If Price comes out of subspace first. He is the king of aftercare. He can PICK. YOU. UP. for Pete's sake. He'll be so gentle pulling you off, shushing your soft whines and laying you so nicely on your back. He'll go and run a nice warm bath for the both of you, and while it fills, he brings a nice damp rag to clean up his sweet thing with, so gentle as he runs it through your puffy folds to clean up the sticky feeling he knows that you hate. He holds you too, always so touchy and clingy after sex, especially such an intense session for him. He'll cradle you in the tub with your back against his chest, holding you close and pressing the deepest, most passionate, slowest kisses into the crook of your neck while the sound of the water lapping at your skin fills the otherwise silent bathroom. You don't need any words when John Price is doing aftercare. There likely will be some conversation, but it's not a requirement. He can tell you exactly how you make him feel without words through the sheer feeling of his skin on yours alone.
