"Ohhh. Oh God." He was begging her. She absolutely loved it when he begged. To see that proud, defiant man of utopian liberty on his back, blindfolded, begging her to mount him, with his cock erect and trembling at her slender fingers. She sat atop him, just north of his cock, and bent down so that their faces met, her lips stopping just shy of his own. Her pretty, petite breasts pressed against his chest, which was slick with the sweat of anticipation.
"You want this, don't you? You need this." she said, cupping his marvelous chin.
"Y-yes. Oh God, yes," he quietly gasped "P-please. Please do it."
"Please... what?" she asked sarcastically, enjoying this scene far too much.
"P-please... please Goddess. Please let me please you." he begged slightly louder.
She giggled a bit, moved to the foot of the bed, and lightly kissed the head of his throbbing cock, before finally mounting him.
"Alright you dirty boy," she said "Fuck your Goddess." She placed her hands on his slick, chiseled chest, and began to ride him, as he bucked his hips in sync with her. The sex was always grand when he did this - these little acts of autonomy that she allowed. He was inventive when he needed to be, and she loved that about him.
"M-move a bit faster you dirty lit-" She didn't even have to finish the sentence. He was almost like a machine, thrusting himself in and out of her rapidly.
"G-Gah... Goddess I'm gonna..." She grinded herself hard against him.
"Just hold on... a bit longer. Hold on a bit..."
They both shouted out in ecstasy. She slicked herself back, letting his freshly relieved prick feel her juices. She sat there atop him, letting him stay inside of her until his cock softened. Afterward, she got up, removed the blindfold, and kissed him gently.
"You did so well." she said, curling up beside him.
He kissed her forehead, and then looked at her. That beautiful, smooth, gentle face. Her small nose with her cute little lips, that little blonde haircut and those amber colored eyes that emanated purity and altruism, beneath the right of which sat a gorgeous beauty mark. No one would've thought she was such a dom, especially to him. She stared back and admired him, with those dark blue eyes, his muddy brown hair, and a jaw so square you'd think he came out of an action movie. She gave him a kiss on his forehead and then got out of bed and stretched a bit before undoing his restraints.
"So, what would you like? Pancakes? Cupcakes? Oreos?" she asked.
"Oh nothing too sweet. I've eaten a lot of bullshit lately and some of the folks at the gym have been giving me crap for it." he said, watching her fat ass walk away.
"Oh have you been listening to that asshole again, Tom? You know he just gives you crap because he can."
"That asshole is my best friend, Sydney. And Cliff's not doing it because he can, he does it because he's a hygiene freak. Course I suppose being a Maoist comes with the territory." Tom said, trying to get out of the bed despite some aching legs.
"Oh sweetie, Jesus, stay in bed!" she said, running back to the bedroom. Tom started back into the bed and they kissed again. "Jeez, you'd think after all this time you'd remember that the aftercare's important." Sydney folded out a stand-up tray beside the bed, and set up a plate full of melon slices with a side of chocolate cupcakes. She crawled back into the bed, and snuggled up next to him under the blanket.
"Go ahead and eat, babe. And screw what Cliff thinks." Tom chowed down while Sydney gave him light kisses along his shoulder.
After he finished eating, Tom got up and got dressed.
"Oh fuck me. Speaking of Cliff, I promised him I'd pick him up from the range like fifteen minutes ago." Sydney gave her lover a hug from behind.
"Go on ahead, pick up your friend." She leaned into his ear and whispered "We can do more later".
"Great, gotta go, love you bye!" he said as he grabbed his duffle bag and ran out the door.
Tom drove for about twenty minutes, running through the metro traffic toward Cliff's home away from home, Al's Arms. He got out of his old Caddie and entered into the gun store separating the entrance from the range. The store was a small, deep colored gray room, horizontally narrow, that stretched out towards the back. At the back was a glass door, behind the owner and operator, Al Geadle, who's back was always to the door and the myriad of firearms that surrounded it. Al himself was an older fellow, in his early 40s, with silvery hair, tanned skin, and copious amounts of arm hair, which showed from the forearm down, due to the rolled up sleeves on his work shirt.
"Howdy Al." said Tom "Is Cliff still in the range?"
"Oh, hey Tom. Yeah, Cliff's still back there. You wanna go to the back and get him?" said Al, handing Tom a pair of ear muffs.
"Sure, be back shortly."
