Loading...The rain fills my consciousness, and I feel his lips on my shoulder. I pretend I am still sleeping; the cradle of comforting warmth there having lulled my senses, brought the world outside to a standstill. He takes a deep breath, his face still buried in my hair, and I feel my flesh quiver in response.
Again I feel his lips graze my shoulder, this time his fingertips gently running the length of my body, and against my will my spine arches. I respond to his touch, become a languidly docile kitten in his arms. He holds me tighter and presses his hard length against the swell of my body, his hand traveling lower.
“Are you awake?” he asks, a courtesy; my response unimportant. He has already claimed me several times this night, his appetites rival only my own, and I love him for it. He turns me to him and captures my mouth in a hungry kiss. His mouth slides over my chin, across my jaw, down my neck. The urgency in his lips enough to wake the dead.
My fingers find his hair, tangle in the silky softness. Baby down. His hair feels like baby down. I whimper into his mouth. Feel the slick wetness bathe my thighs. I am ready. For him, I am always ready. In one swift graceful motion he is inside of me, and like always, I gasp at the invasion.
I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to him, as I return the urgency of his kiss with my own. I clutch at his shoulders, dig my fingertips in as I pull him in as tightly as I can. It is never enough; it’s almost as if I were trying to pull him inside of my soul.
He takes a hold of my hands, pulls them up over my head, pins them there with his strength. One hand enough to hold me captive. It weakens me, makes me submit to his every whim. He wields his strength, wields his sword, like a master. I am in ecstasy. His free hand finds my neck, closes gently, cups my chin. His lips find mine, his teeth bite down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to make me moan loudly into his mouth.
The sound encourages him. Makes him drive into me at a frantic pace. I whimper and cry out things in the dark that would make old sailors blush. I beg in languages foreign to virgins. But it isn’t enough; he wants to hear me scream. He begins to turn me over before he has completely drawn out of my body, I can feel the spin of it inside of me. I cry out again.
Face down I lay, the pillows muffling the sounds I make for him. He pulls me up by a fistful of hair, and a moan somewhere between pleasure and pain fills the night. “Yeah,” he groans, as he brings a hand down on my ass. The slap of skin against skin reverberating in the night, heated flesh against heated flesh, rough calloused hands against molded smoothness. Finally the screams he seeks shatter through the sounds our bodies make together. I push into him, over and over, I push into him. Rutting like a mindless whore; his fist in my hair holding my head at a backwards angle, his hand alternating between spanks and firm grips that pull me into him harder and harder each time.
He sits back on his heels and brings me up on my knees. I am bowed backwards, my knees on either side of his, my back against his chest. He begins to bite me; my neck and shoulders, while his fingers find the core of my center. He finds a rhythm and his fingertips, together with the angle of his thrust, have caused me to forget how to string words together. My body begins to tremble, as heat pools in my belly, and I am well aware that I look like I am in the throes of a seizure. I do not care. I can feel my orgasm barreling at me like a runaway train, and the pressure of it making me ache for release.
Just when I think I can hardly stand anymore pleasure, he simultaneously bites my neck, presses my nipple between his thumb and middle finger, presses down on my clitoris and thrusts upwards into my body. The pressure is released as the dam that has held my juices inside of me finally crumbles. I feel my wetness down my thighs, on his thighs; he rides me through the orgasm. As he holds me down; I fly apart into a million pieces in his arms.
I am pliant now. A veritable rag doll. His rag doll. He pushes me down, and lets his lips trail a path down my spine. I feel his tongue. I shiver and open my legs wider. Like a wanton slut, I open for him, wordlessly begging for what is to come. I want it more than he does now. As his tongue touches me, I hiss in pleasure. I am all cat now, a cat in heat. With my hands I hold my body open, with my hips I press upwards into his mouth. He pulls his mouth away, and before I can protest his finger is sliding into me. The wetness of his tongue enough to make it all pleasure, no pain. I am mewling, mindless in the pleasure.
“Ask for it,” he demands, his voice rich melted chocolate in my ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” I answer.
“I want you to fucking tell me. Tell me what you fucking want,” he demands again, his finger sliding in and out of me, the fingertips of his other hand twirling circles around my clitoris, which he has yet to stop stroking since the first orgasm. The pleasure almost pain again.
“Fuck me,” I beg.
“Where,” he demands.
“Fuck me in my ass, fuck me hard. Give it to me in the ass,” I beg somewhere between a moan and a scream.
I feel his finger slide out of me a final time, and then the thicker assault of his penis pushing against me. Opening me for him. His stroke is deep. Hard. And slow. His arms have wrapped around me, and he is pressing me to his body.
“So good,” he moans in my ear, and I squeeze. I want him to cum. I want to feel the heat of his semen spray my insides. He doesn’t last long like this, but the indescribable pleasure I feel as he hits my g-spot is unlike any other I have ever felt. And I know I couldn’t take the agony of this pleasure for very long. He is so thick and hard I cannot stand it.
I feel another orgasm building, and I squeeze and release to bring him closer to his own climax. I want us to go together. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he whispers in my ear.
“I know,” I whisper back. “That’s what I want, baby. I want you to cum for me. Cum in my ass. Let me be your bad girl.” And it is enough to send him over the edge. As I feel the first drops of his essence, I release the orgasm I have been holding back. Together we ride a cloud of lust; sex and magic binding us.
We collapse in a heap on the pillows. I feel him shrinking, but he is still in my body. Together we drift back to sleep. Tied to each other in ways more than physical. Understanding the unstated darkness that lives inside of both of us. Thriving on its power. We sleep the deep contented sleep of lovers well sated. I know that when we wake, he will be rock hard inside of me, and I will already be open for him. Because, like I said, for him, for him I am always ready.