(… continued from “with little persuasion (part 1)” …
“My knickers replaced by his mouth as once again I grew close, closer, anticipation increasing ………” )
I was awry, dizzy, caught in a web of concupiscent moments, incendiary flickers igniting a pyre of untrammelled desire.
Again I’m locked in a battle of conscience, of sin and sobriety. Arousal seems too small a word to describe such upwelling, churning and burning, turning me inside out, and not for the first time but a the first for this moment unfolding as the next and the next and the next will do, always different, always pulling me further, dragging me deeper down enticing my weaker (or stronger?) side to unfurl and evolve.
A man’s touch, this man’s touch, seemed just right here right now inciting suspiciously deep abandon. I know I have needs I need to fulfil, and frequently; so is this wrong I wondered, stepping over lines or more honestly falling, tumbling, and crumbling to freely surrendering to what I know is so much more.
He made me and watched me masturbate before his lascivious eyes, even using my own lingerie which seemed to add even more febrility to an evening that began so innocent only to become so far from so. Inside and out, I let him touch, use, play, until he had me where he wanted me, and where I know I wanted to be this night.
It had become a rollercoaster I couldn’t escape until it had gone all the way, and I do mean all the way, to the sweetly insatiable end.
Still on my back on the bed, dishevelled, bra draped across having released its captors, my breast, from its hostage grip while his eyes, his hands, the finest tips of his fingers explored ever widely my exposure consuming any breadcrumbs composure. I’d become his landscape, his map over which he wandered unimpeded, undeterred, unapologetic. But I’m far from unwilling and in full control of my faculties, it’s just my body seems less inclined to be anything but unrepentant, bold and unashamed.
My aureoles tender and wet with his incessant attentive kisses and my knickers now discarded having served their purpose in bringing me to orgasm and providing pleasure to both him and especially me.
I was hardly given a moment to catch my breath after orgasm as I emerged from my daze enough to watch him unbuckle his jeans, pulling out his brown leather belt which he laid it on the bed. His jeans were unbutton and unzipped in the dim light as still he looked down on me noticing my gaze noticing his hands and then his jeans coming off and the bulge in his boxers looking out of proportion from where I lay.
I reflexively moved my hips side to side, restlessly perhaps, I don’t know for sure, with my legs still parted and post-orgasm sex on display. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he next peeled down his shorts finally revealing his veiny erection curved upwards towards me as though ready to stake a claim even before… even before…. in all its naked glory its tip glistening with a tiny droplet of what I knew to be precum threatening to trickle and land on my tummy which it soon did just above my navel.
He loomed over me pulling my wrists over my head and leaned into me again and we kissed, again and again, and it was as good as it was when we started; actually better as his now tasted of me, my sex, after enticingly tasting my thighs. My skirt still up around my waist allowing no hope of inhibition to suddenly take control.
Without asking he rolled me over slowly while his hands moved silkily over my bare skin brushing each nipple in turn, then in between my legs until I laid on my tummy pressed into the duvet and mattress knowing full well how exposed I now was and felt from his vantage point. He could enjoy anything he wanted from that angle; the line of my spine, curves of my waist, sweep of my narrow hips, my buttocks, the most tender back of my thighs and paleness between them, my now very moist sex, all on display.
Possibly and irrationally I instinctively tried to tease down my skirt to cover myself, though why now after all that we’ve already done I didn’t know. He resisted all my feeble attempts and just pulled the skirt back up and then taking my hands to spread them out along the bed and above my head.
I felt his breath, his voice whispering from behind, over me, though I can’t remember exactly what he said but either the words themselves, the tone or timbre, he used had the effect of at once relaxing me but also exorcising any doubts I may have had. Though I’m not sure by this stage I had any thoughts beyond the immediate. I felt him so close, intent, focused, a yearning sprouting from the back of my mind as a longing aching to break through the thinning surface.
He took hold of my left wrist and bound it to slat in the bedhead using his belt, not over tight but just tight enough. I imagine if I’d really wanted to free myself I could’ve done with little effort, perhaps. The other was tied, also not too tightly but tight enough, using an ordinary necktie to which for a fleeting moment had the most banal thought of not being able to imagine him wearing one, especially one with a motley assortment of fish printed on. Both of my arms were now lashed to the bed as I had the distinct feeling he’d done this before and it wasn’t the first time so expertly and quickly he managed it. I surprised myself by not objecting but instead letting him without question and nothing more than a curiosity at being so manipulated.
Did I want this? A question I couldn’t answer either way as this was so new to me. I tried to look around and behind while continuing to be drawn into this passion play with an all-enveloping desire screaming inside.
Around my waist he wrapped his hands, lifted and repositioned me onto my knees leaning down to my arms tied to the bedhead. A certain undignified feeling was soon replaced when his fingers entered my sex, opening me with tiny ministrations just a few inches inside then out to smear my mound. My entire body answered by moving my hips almost into his fingers as he seemed to enjoy taking his time and maybe making me wait. Wait for what? Perhaps I knew very well what.
His gripped returned to my waist, large hands, firm hold, when I felt a certain sensation between my legs again teasing my sex and moving them wider. It wasn’t his fingers but his erection which I felt has grown impressively now parting my tightness. He held me like that while he taunted me barely entering then pulling away, then again and again.
I felt overwhelmed now by what I can only call lust, for him to be inside me, to be taking me, having me, wanting me. I felt him poke, prod, open me ever more as I imagined the head of his penis as it greedily felt its way into me inside, naked and bare, becoming enveloped by my swollen labia wrapping around. Then I felt the same feeling against my bottom, wet and sticky and again taunting. For a moment I wondered if I was having second thoughts though little good would they do me now being I’ve never let a guy have sex with me that way before.
Was this going to be the first? How would it feel, would it hurt, would I scream, would I like panic, or like it, or love it? Was I even ready for it?
Inside I struggled with my apprehension to only be reminded I was bound, not too tight but tight enough. His hand slipped between my thighs and explored everywhere bringing me again close to but not actual release, spreading the stickiness over my mound and my inner thighs, over my bottom which incited a shudder with mixed excited emotions reinvigorating that thrill of the unknown, of limits exceeded.
His erection again between my thighs, hard, incessant, wet, until he guided it, pushing into me without barely a pause but not as I feared my buttocks, but spreading instead ad thankfully my labia until fully inside me. I almost leapt out of my skin with a small muffled screamed to stop, to slow down, but he kept thrusting until he eased back a little and then in again as I found it easier feeling him starting to fuck me unhindered and as much as I could relaxing my tightness.
I tried to get him to go slower but the more I did the faster he went, defiant but clearly as aroused as I was now and couldn’t stop that feeling dominating me.
In this position he felt huge, thick and very long backed by intense stamina that lasted without dissipating with each thrust feeling as though he was growing even more though surely not possible and not as much as my over-stimulated mind was imagining. He was definitely harder now making it feel as though I was being impaled but in the most sensuous way possible, our juices now mingling naked inside as his grip around my waist then my hips fastened more insistently. His pace quickened and I pushed back into him as my thighs became stretched and filled with him.
I tightened again, on and off probably, involuntarily to slow the pace but instead it seemed to send a signal to go even harder sending waves of desire crashing through my hips as he crashed his against me and again I stifled a scream biting my lip. I whispered again, slower, but either he didn’t hear me, didn’t believe me or like me was already beyond reason.
His naked thighs moved determined ever deeper, ever swelling while I kneeled and half lay bound by the wrists as he took me as he liked, and I was liking how he took.
My breasts quivered, shook from the force of his thrusts invading me most intimately. The bed shook so much I thought it would break. Now he fucked me deeper, not just with his sex but with his entire being, burrowing further overwhelming and subsuming all and everything into this single act. I was about to come again, and I did, with such violent shaking that he dug his fingers into my hips as my knees almost buckled.
At the same time I knew, felt, he was reaching that point, that climax, evident in his breathing and audible panting. I braced myself knowingly, half-held by him against his effervescent thighs until he cried out and I felt what must have been his whole length diving into me up to his hips to empty his ecstasy, every drop, sticky sperm, flowing seed, deep inside me.
I gripped the slats and pushed hard against him feeling it pulsing and pumping into my thighs as he made sure I got everything, that I, and he, was utterly sated. There seemed to be so much as some leaked out under the pressure even before he had pulled back and was soon trickling down my kneeling legs.
After maybe a minute he thrust and thrust again as though not believing he’d emptied everything into me already. I felt my heart almost stop along with my breathing as my muscles gripped onto his girth. I was sure there was nothing left and that I had received all he had in him and collapsed onto the bed as he pulled carefully, soddenly, out from my aching hips.
I lay there, spent, completely, only then noticing the neck-tie had come loose and all I’d been doing was gripping the slat by choice for the latter part. I opened my whitened fingers feeling the blood return to my arms. We’d gone all the way; all the way leaving me slumped, a rag doll among crumpled wet sheets. My thighs radiated heat, a sated ache, a filled ache as I took some well-needed deep, deep, deep breaths feeling dazed and almost unsure but also absolutely certain as to what just had happened.
He collapsed beside me where I lay still bound by one wrist with the belt; equally as drained as we lay there staring up at the ceiling. I was drifting, drifting, drifting, drifting away on the softest water I’d ever imagine to swim within.
© 2018 Emmaleela