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Looking down upon my body, you want my semen to wash the inside of you, washing upon the shores of your womanhood, and well inland. Cupping your tits, you start to rock, feeling my frustration and lust, because you still won't give me leave, no matter how much you want it too.
"Please..." That one word is another whisper, softer than the candle beginning to gutter and fade in our room.
You don't answer, but start to grind your hips in a frenzy, savoring every thrust, the feel of my dick buried inside you, and revel in it. Before you know it, you say one word back. "Yesssss."
My hips thrust up into the air, lifting you mostly off our bower. Two, then three thrusts. You feel me about to explode, and suddenly want me there, want me to shoot my load, want to feel the semen boil up inside you, waiting for me to...
Cum...
I scream with the intensity of it, and you feel one last thrust, then a pulse, then another, as hot jizz shoots forth, tickling the inside of your belly. A moment later, you cum too, a shaking, exhausted orgasm, and you realize just how much effort we both put into this evening. You collapse onto my chest, quivering and shaking with me, and we hold one another, just to keep from falling onto the floor, we tell ourselves.
********
You shower alone, a brief sprinkle of water to get the last of the oil off you, and soap away the cum drying on your body. Stepping from the bathroom, naked and wearing the glistening droplets like jewels, you stride over to your coat, the one thing besides your shoes you wore this evening. Refreshed, the deep and abiding horniness you had felt for months is gone, or at least sleeping deep in your loins, and you know you'll sleep deeply tonight, at home.
The lining of the coat feels electric on your skin, gliding over it and reminding you of the wonderful evening you've just had. Your evening, nobody else's. I have my robe on, and walk you to the door, holding it open for you as you leave for the night. You kiss me, a single peck on the cheek, a thank you for an evening well spent.
I kiss you back, also on the cheek, and whisper in your ear, "I'll be here the next time you need me. Call me when you want it again."
You start to protest that this is a one-night affair, then stop. It can still be anonymous, we can still be strangers, and have other nights like this, or better. You still have the card, after all. Your smile is back. "Yes, I think I might..."
- COMMENTS
Anonymousalmost 9 years agoI agree it is well written. But the designated audience is to be question. Written, as you, it would be assumed that it 'women' ? Forgive me if my observations are incorrect. The use of the tense is quite intriguing, and appropriate for the content. But as written for women, by what must be none other than a man... "you don't really think we like that, do you?". My sincerest apologies for not reading the entire story, but I couldn't stand the use of language. What I did read was marvelous, apart from the one inconsistency in tense near the beginning.
And! According to the definition of the character, a man of that level of confidence, would not 'ask' if she 'likes that' -- he would know, and would have the experience to back it up. He would not ask her to arrive nude, he would be one who would enjoy the mystery and the intrigue of torturous desire, rather than taking the "let's get strait to the point" strategy. He would know that a woman must have the psychological involvement first, she must feel safe, and deepening the temptation with every passing moment, despite her initial fleeting thoughts of resistance.
Alright, Alright. I'm done.
Take it or leave it, perhaps there may be something of use within my ramblings.
Anonymousabout 9 years agoExcellent story! Well exquisited. Caused a wicked smile at the ending. Lovely.
