For Pity's Sake, No

I cried when he told me "no" after I proposed sex. It was a silly, immediate reaction that I tried unsuccessfully to hide. But the feeling of rejection was fierce.

Being aware that the no wasn't a rejection of me, but to the action at that specific moment, didn't help. It didn't help that we had sex four times already that day. I was unsure of the origin of the sudden tears, as surprised at their arrival as he was. Normally, this wouldn't bring me to tears. Hormones, melancholy that day? Regardless of the cause, there they were: fat, rounded, salty drops rolling their way down my cheeks.

I tried to hide the reaction, but he saw.

"Look at me," he ordered, but I shook my head and tried to duck into his armpit. He grabbed my chin and moved my face towards him. "Why're you crying?"

"I...I...d-don't know," I sobbed out miserably, ashamed at such a reaction that I was helpless to control.

"Let's have sex," he stated, matter-of-factly, kissing my wet cheeks softly.

"N-n-no, you don't want to, it would be pity sex. And I don't want to anymore."

He laughed, wiping my eyes. "Liar." He kissed me softly on the lips, his tongue briefly darted out to feel my quivering lips. "Besides, it doesn't matter what you want, I find myself wanting to have sex with you." He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me off of the couch where we were snuggling, but I stubbornly slipped my hand away from his.

He sat down next to me, and looked at me for a long moment. My tears were slowing, but I was embarrassed and rolled over, my back to him. His hand rubbed my back for a minute, then moved to my waistband of my pajama pants and pulled down. "What are you doing?" I protested, but weakly. I wanted to feel better, and we both knew that sex would make me feel better.

"Taking what I want," he said, right before his mouth breathed on my hip. His hand gently rotated me onto my stomach, and then parted one thigh from another. A finger gently touched my clit, then slowly stroked my labia. His finger slipped inside ever so slightly. I held my breath, until I felt his against the pink tenderness of my sex. His tongue traced around my entrance before slipping inside of me; he sucked gently at my lips as his tongue darted in. He began to move his tongue steadily, increasing the pace and pressure. My core tightened as I tensed, my hips began to move almost of their own accord. "Get on your knees," he told me, not quite taking his mouth away. I slowly moved to my knees, his mouth still sloppily kissing around my swollen sex. He slid his fingers in, first one then two, out and then deeper, probing for my g-spot. He kept pressure there as he moved, and I felt my myself squeezing tighter around his fingers, my body taut, my mind emptying itself of all thoughts save the feelings he was creating. Right before I orgasmed, he moved his fingers and again used his tongue to bring me the rest of the way.

I screamed, I pushed myself into his mouth as if he could devour me whole, as it felt as if I was utterly his. He kneeled behind my shaking thighs, pulled down his pants to his knees, and his cock nudged at my opening. Still swollen and responsive, I moaned as I leaned back into him, pressing hardness into my depth. "Oh god," I breathed, as I moved forward slightly, and then back again, trying for another orgasm, astounded at how ready I was.

"Slow down," he grabbed my hips, and began setting the pace. I began making soft noises that increased volume when he increased pace, and found myself alternating between holding and struggling for breath. Teetering on the edge of another orgasm, he began to slam his cock fully into me and my screams mixed with his moan. I collapsed with the force of my orgasm, my legs no longer wanted to support me. He rolled me onto my side, settled himself into the couch, and my body into his arms. He held my gaze, tried to gauge my mood, and suddenly I remembered how I cried, how absurd I was. As if reading my thoughts, he reaffirmed, "that wasn't pity sex, it was amazing and that's how we're going to remember it."

I nodded, and smiled. "It was amazing," I concurred. "And I'm sorry at how I reacted. It was silly."

To this date, I haven't reacted with tears when turned down for sex. I have, however, jumped up and stomped my foot impulsively, which received me a laugh and teasing: "is that a tantrum?" Where the hell had that reaction come from?