the slippery sounds. Moving into his motions, I reach for more with my pussy arching its way into his hand. His other hand cups a breast, lifting it tenderly as though he’s plucking a fresh peach from a tree. I rock on the warmth of him and feel the pulse of his penis, like a steel rod pressing at my ass. Hardly awake enough to understand what he’s doing, I finally feel him enter my ass—his access to that back door steady and without pause until his prick lodges firmly in place.
I remain silent though everything in my body screams. I wriggle into him crazily, unable to stop what moves in me. I think I’ll break free of him but he has me immobilized within his limbs. I am contained by him, fighting with fire, but content to be submerged by the awesome power of his confining arms. I jerk as he moves inside my ass and he pounds me as hard as I desire. But I’m uneasy with him inside me so securely, every second afraid that he’ll be tearing me apart and I’ll come up wounded.
Every second in his grasp I’m more yielding. Then the fear of his sudden invasion of my bed subsides. He plays with me as we move in unison, and I hold my hands before me as though they are locked in handcuffs. I’m unable to touch him in this position.
All struggle gives way to passion. Even when he pinches my labia and forces fingers into my cunt, I relent. When he squeezes a nipple, the sensation is like a long thin thread of pain that reaches from the punished flesh to my fondled cunt. His cock pulses as though his body reacts to my torture gleefully. I feel his groin more fused to mine than ever. Riding me, his dick pursues its end. The closer he comes to that end, the more torture he lays on in pinches and squeezes that send their shards of pleasure into veins like icicles melting in the sunshine. When I hear the mellifluous sounds of those dying moments uttered on his breath, and feel the potency of his seed flood me, I shudder as though I’ve cum myself.
I’m held close with his hands running over my skin. Like silk, his touch moves the whole of me. So gently shrouded by his consuming energy, what shudders in me is not so much a climax as my giving way, giving up any claim I have to myself.
We remain like this for a long time. I wonder if he sleeps, or is in that same wakeful contentedness that I am. I hear the sound of his regular breath and sense it stir the hair on my neck. I hold one of his hands in mine and kiss the skin and smell his sweat. Mine’s merged with his. When he pulls it back and strokes my hair, giving it gentle tugs, I know he’s awake and pouring out his strength to me.
“I masturbated this afternoon looking at the pictures you delivered to my office,” I finally break the silence. I tell him this, inching my way toward intimacy we haven’t shared.
“I know,” he replies.
“How do you?” I turn around in his arms. Running my hand over his face—the beard, the eyebrows and lips that allow my finger to follow their lines with my touch. My hand moves on to glide through the long loose hair that’s scattered freely on the pillow.
“Does it matter?” he asks.
“Yes, it matters very much.” I speak softly but with passion. I want him to hear me now, to understand how I yearn for even more than this. “You’re in my apartment, my office, my vacations and my mind. There seems to be no where you cannot go, and it scares me that you have such knowledge of my personal life and I don’t yet know your name.”
“That bothers you still.”
“I want more from you than you’re giving me, and if not from you, I need it from a man who will freely share with me. I want to feel safe.”
“You’re safe with me.”
“Sexually I
I remain silent though everything in my body screams. I wriggle into him crazily, unable to stop what moves in me. I think I’ll break free of him but he has me immobilized within his limbs. I am contained by him, fighting with fire, but content to be submerged by the awesome power of his confining arms. I jerk as he moves inside my ass and he pounds me as hard as I desire. But I’m uneasy with him inside me so securely, every second afraid that he’ll be tearing me apart and I’ll come up wounded.
Every second in his grasp I’m more yielding. Then the fear of his sudden invasion of my bed subsides. He plays with me as we move in unison, and I hold my hands before me as though they are locked in handcuffs. I’m unable to touch him in this position.
All struggle gives way to passion. Even when he pinches my labia and forces fingers into my cunt, I relent. When he squeezes a nipple, the sensation is like a long thin thread of pain that reaches from the punished flesh to my fondled cunt. His cock pulses as though his body reacts to my torture gleefully. I feel his groin more fused to mine than ever. Riding me, his dick pursues its end. The closer he comes to that end, the more torture he lays on in pinches and squeezes that send their shards of pleasure into veins like icicles melting in the sunshine. When I hear the mellifluous sounds of those dying moments uttered on his breath, and feel the potency of his seed flood me, I shudder as though I’ve cum myself.
I’m held close with his hands running over my skin. Like silk, his touch moves the whole of me. So gently shrouded by his consuming energy, what shudders in me is not so much a climax as my giving way, giving up any claim I have to myself.
We remain like this for a long time. I wonder if he sleeps, or is in that same wakeful contentedness that I am. I hear the sound of his regular breath and sense it stir the hair on my neck. I hold one of his hands in mine and kiss the skin and smell his sweat. Mine’s merged with his. When he pulls it back and strokes my hair, giving it gentle tugs, I know he’s awake and pouring out his strength to me.
“I masturbated this afternoon looking at the pictures you delivered to my office,” I finally break the silence. I tell him this, inching my way toward intimacy we haven’t shared.
“I know,” he replies.
“How do you?” I turn around in his arms. Running my hand over his face—the beard, the eyebrows and lips that allow my finger to follow their lines with my touch. My hand moves on to glide through the long loose hair that’s scattered freely on the pillow.
“Does it matter?” he asks.
“Yes, it matters very much.” I speak softly but with passion. I want him to hear me now, to understand how I yearn for even more than this. “You’re in my apartment, my office, my vacations and my mind. There seems to be no where you cannot go, and it scares me that you have such knowledge of my personal life and I don’t yet know your name.”
“That bothers you still.”
“I want more from you than you’re giving me, and if not from you, I need it from a man who will freely share with me. I want to feel safe.”
“You’re safe with me.”
“Sexually I
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