the man that commands me. As I listen to him ordering my obedience, I remain bowed, then reach around with one hand and press my fingers into my smoldering opening. The juice pours out until my fingers and cunt are one slippery, unified mass of flesh, pounding together. I know he’s above me, now taking my chair, sneering at me as he looks on my show. Better yet, he might even view me with that blank, impassive expression of authority. I don’t bother looking into his eyes; I know what’s there, what has me seized and in this sorry state of utter humility. I can smell his boots, the leather and dust, and even the traces of his bike—the rubber and oil—that add to his unique perfume. His eyes bore into me, resting on the pussyhole I’m tampering with. I hear him tell me more, and cringe, knowing I’m moving another step into this blind love.
He has me lubricate my asshole with slick fingers, first with a single one, then two, then three. He’d have my whole hand in there if it could fit, but he settles for less, for three in my ass and a single one playing with my clit. I can hear him removing his belt. And hearing it swish through the air, I feel it striking my bare thighs and my butt where there’s a space to strike. I jerk on the penetrations and do my damnedest to drive them harder. I spread my ass opening wide so it feels rent and molested—ready for him. I try to mute my whimpers under my breath, realizing that I must remain quiet.
As I fuck myself, my mind takes fantasy turns, thinking there are ears pressed against my office door listening to the crude moans of a women on her knees. Another journey and my mind is back to my rooted man whose dominion over me is more complete with every second I remain on my knees before his imaginary image. I cringe, spasm, and shake hard. My thighs weaken from the position so I can hardly hold myself in place. I’m spurred by the illusion of the belt’s sting on my ass. I feel as though I’m on orders to remain in place until he gives his word. Seeing his cock hard and waiting for me, I rise after the climax, almost surprised to see that the stranger’s not really there. This has just been me and the pictures of him and the thousands of memories that are flourishing happily without the resistance I gave them all morning.
For a moment, I’m too flustered to move, the erotic climax still having me within its lazy, lusty grasp. I see the pictures strewn about my desk, and stuff them back into the envelope. They hit the bottom drawer of my desk behind a lock that keeps them safe. With the phone ringing a half dozen times, I’m finally poised enough to answer.
Robby.
I pale at the sound of his voice, making his way back into my consciousness as if he’s an image of sanity. He’s had second thoughts—or maybe it was just a fight with Chelsea. But he sounds sincere and asks if I’ll come home for the weekend. I tell him I’m not sure, finding his intrusion into my dream-state unwelcome. My vows are falling around me right and left. Is there nothing in me that I can call sacred—except this sex? Am I that weak, my resolve so fragile?
g
At home, the night is long and I lie awake until well after two o’clock. Some time after, between the lost hours of the night and dawn, I awaken with the breeze of the air stirring my cheek, and then a rush of warmth. Something floods me like an ocean of tropical liquid. Arms take me inside the broad scope of their hugeness. His, the stranger’s, chest presses against my back, his groin against my ass, his face against the back of my head. I sense his breath fluttering about my ear. He cups my pubis with one hand, then works his finger between the soft folds of labia, oozing his way into where it’s wet. As he draws his finger in and out I hear
He has me lubricate my asshole with slick fingers, first with a single one, then two, then three. He’d have my whole hand in there if it could fit, but he settles for less, for three in my ass and a single one playing with my clit. I can hear him removing his belt. And hearing it swish through the air, I feel it striking my bare thighs and my butt where there’s a space to strike. I jerk on the penetrations and do my damnedest to drive them harder. I spread my ass opening wide so it feels rent and molested—ready for him. I try to mute my whimpers under my breath, realizing that I must remain quiet.
As I fuck myself, my mind takes fantasy turns, thinking there are ears pressed against my office door listening to the crude moans of a women on her knees. Another journey and my mind is back to my rooted man whose dominion over me is more complete with every second I remain on my knees before his imaginary image. I cringe, spasm, and shake hard. My thighs weaken from the position so I can hardly hold myself in place. I’m spurred by the illusion of the belt’s sting on my ass. I feel as though I’m on orders to remain in place until he gives his word. Seeing his cock hard and waiting for me, I rise after the climax, almost surprised to see that the stranger’s not really there. This has just been me and the pictures of him and the thousands of memories that are flourishing happily without the resistance I gave them all morning.
For a moment, I’m too flustered to move, the erotic climax still having me within its lazy, lusty grasp. I see the pictures strewn about my desk, and stuff them back into the envelope. They hit the bottom drawer of my desk behind a lock that keeps them safe. With the phone ringing a half dozen times, I’m finally poised enough to answer.
Robby.
I pale at the sound of his voice, making his way back into my consciousness as if he’s an image of sanity. He’s had second thoughts—or maybe it was just a fight with Chelsea. But he sounds sincere and asks if I’ll come home for the weekend. I tell him I’m not sure, finding his intrusion into my dream-state unwelcome. My vows are falling around me right and left. Is there nothing in me that I can call sacred—except this sex? Am I that weak, my resolve so fragile?
g
At home, the night is long and I lie awake until well after two o’clock. Some time after, between the lost hours of the night and dawn, I awaken with the breeze of the air stirring my cheek, and then a rush of warmth. Something floods me like an ocean of tropical liquid. Arms take me inside the broad scope of their hugeness. His, the stranger’s, chest presses against my back, his groin against my ass, his face against the back of my head. I sense his breath fluttering about my ear. He cups my pubis with one hand, then works his finger between the soft folds of labia, oozing his way into where it’s wet. As he draws his finger in and out I hear
Similar Books
