We've enjoyed a night on the town, a lovely meal, champagne and dancing. The entire night is foreplay. Our fingers tangle across the table, his sensitive fingertips grazing a line on my wrist, my waist, my neck. Claiming and stamping my body as his own. My hand drifts across his thigh beneath the tablecloth, coming within millimeters of what I know must be a straining erection. His eyes burn like twin suns, fueling my own arousal. I'm so wet that I can literally smell myself, the warm human musk of mating and desire.
The dance floor is a dream and my body takes over, some hindbrain function carrying me through the salsa, every step a mirror of his own. Our bodies are not discreet, they are extensions of the other. He pushes, and I have already yielded. I fall into a catch, and his arms are beneath me. The final dance and he is behind me, his erection frank and bold and demanding against my ass. I will fuck this man, I will be his lover and his whore and his bride. I will be his.
The hotel room, the bed has been turned down and there is a mint on the pillow. It makes me feel like an explorer on another world, so incongruous does that mint seem. It is a small sweet. I am a giant paroxysm of desire. And damn the man, damn him, his hands and kisses are now leisurely. Tender. Loving. He savors and sips. Fuck these mature men and their mature lovemaking. I want to rend and tear and devour. "John, please..." I beg, "will you please just take me."
His smile is inscrutable, powerful, triumphant. This has been coming for so long. For so so so long. And he will not be rushed or swayed. "My darling, my love..." His voice is a purr..."We have all night, and for what I have planned, we will need every minute of it."
I am turned to face the dresser. A stranger stares back in the mirror. "Put your hands here" he instructs, laying my palms flat on the cool wood. "You won't move your hands, will you? Not for any reason, unless I tell you?" I nod my head, mute, transported. A miserable torture ensues, as he removes each stitch of my clothing and jewelry, covering each bared patch of skin with feathery kisses. A silence, and his clothing rustles. "I want you to say you are mine, Cara. I want you to say that I own your body and your pleasure and your heart. I own your cunt and the come on your thighs, your breasts and nipples, your lips and eyes, your hands and mouth. Say it."
"You own them all, you know you do."
"What else do I own, Cara?" My breath is gone, my head swims.
"You own my ass John, You own my ass."
The words are accompanied by a tremendous slap onto my left ass cheek and I loose a mingled shout and moan. "Every time, tell me" John demands, and another blow falls. "My ass is yours" I gasp over and over as his stinging slaps fall. His breathing is harsh with exertion and passion when he wrenches my hips back and I feel the icy shock of lube exploring my crack. Merciful saints, two fingers run slickly after the trail of lube and rub over and around my anus repeatedly until, with the briefest of pauses, the fingers press then enter through my sphincter, introducing the lube as far as his fingers reach. More lube, then his fingers are replaced by the blunt head of his cock. After the spanking I'm ready for him to plunder my ass, but in this as in all things he surprises me.
His cock hovers at my entrance, slipping between my ass cheeks and grazing my anus, but not thrusting. I'm restless, ready for him, ready for the pain/fullness/pleasure that only comes from anal sex. I want him, why doesn't he take me?
Impatient, I press back onto his erection, and thank the stars, he allows it. I've never impaled myself thus on a cock, it is singular. Pressure...pressure...he is in, his head past my sphincters. I hold there, panting, waiting for the burn to subside. Further in, deeper in, until his balls rest near my vagina. Another minute to adjust and he takes over, slow short strokes into my center. A groan escapes him, I love to hear his passion, and never more than when he tells me "Cara, my darling, you are so tight and sweet, I love to fuck your ass. Take your right hand off the dressed and put it in your cunt, rub your clit while I fuck you." I obey willingly, and my pleasure in this joining doubles, and doubles again.
He is disciplined, so disciplined...my hand works my cunt, but, despite his ragged breathing, his strokes remain slow and short. "John, please" I beg "give me more." Instead of pounding me, his hand leaves my hip and slaps my already reddened ass in time to his fucking. It what I need, and with trembling legs and frantic hand I am catapulted over the edge into an orgasm that only intensifies as his deeply buried cock swells further and, with a mingled curse and groan, unspools his load of cum deep into my bowel. It is the best feeling in the world. It feels like it goes on for a lifetime. I never want it to end.
We stay poised and locked, both gasping, held up by our deep connection. Finally he withdraws, catching his dick in a waiting towel. As always, I expect a mess and as always, there isn't one. "Help" I croak, and with a laugh he helps me straighten. He stands to my side, nearly of a height with me, and we stare at each other in the mirror. We don't look real...or rather we look our most real, defenses down and affects unshuttered, these facial expressions foreign to our experience. "I'm leaking" I say, and he puffs out another laugh and kisses my shoulder. A towel magically appears...my boyscout...and I make a somewhat dignified retreat to the bathroom.
The shower walls are glass, and without apology or hesitation John, clad only in briefs, follows me in to feast his eyes on my voluptuous body as I wash. It becomes a dance for him, my soapy hands slipping and exploring my body as I know he wants to...hungers to...is going to right this second. The briefs are discarded in a tug and he joins me under the water. His eyes scare me. They are fathomless. It would be easy to drown there. There is no more thinking as he cups my face in his hands and kisses me. Simple lips on lips, how can it be so erotic? So consuming? In this as in all things with John there are no shortcuts. Soft kisses rain on my lips, the corners of my mouth. He catches my lower lip and sucks it in his mouth, nursing gently. I still have this man's cum in my ass, but I'm not sure which is more intimate right now. I have to go with the kisses. His tongue makes an exploratory pass across my own, and my tongue replies. Deep and drugging kisses ensue, then return to the murmured whispers of lips. He finally draws back. It was the best kiss of my life.
He reaches behind me and turns off the water, eyes never leaving mine. His erection brushing my thigh lets me know that the kisses affected him too. Towels. An ushering hand on the back of my neck. The comforter has been pulled off and only sheets and pillows remain. It is a bed made ready for lovemaking. So far this has been the John show, and I've been more than willing, but although I may choose to obey, I may also choose to command. I turn under his hand and meet his eyes. "My turn" I say, eyes heated and wicked, then I pivot him, back to the bed, and divest him of his towel. "Lie back, lover" I order, and slowly, eyes never leaving my own, he complies.
I drink him in. I memorize his smooth skin, exotic features, close cropped dark hair, clever hands, muscular legs, proud and proportionate erection tipped erotically with a bead of pre-cum. Beautiful. Just beautiful. This is our only night, and there is something I want to take home, back to my empty bed. A memory. "John" I croon, kneeling beside his leg "I want you to take your dick in your hand, your beautiful cock...I want you to stroke yourself for me, exactly like you do when you masturbate, when you jerk off. Fuck your hand for me, lover, and let me watch."
The briefest hesitation. I spread my knees, parting the lips of my pussy with one hand, giving him an unobstructed view of my quim. My other hand raises to my breast and I begin to rub my nipple rhythmically. "You won't be alone" I assure him. His head tips back on the pillow, an acquiescence...even a submission?...and his hand begins to move restlessly over his torso, brushing his nipples and moving down over his belly. He cocks one knee back, giving his hand better access to the package. He smoothes and tugs at his ballsack-he's so rough!-then his hand raises to the base of his cock and his fingers run the length of his erection. The ball of his thumb pulls down the bead of cum to the underside of his head and he massages there, that sensitive stitch where God sewed him up. Gorgeous.
He finally fists himself and begins the rhythmic motions of masturbation. My hand drifts to my pussy and I begin to echo his movements: his fist and cock, my finger and clit. The air feels electric. His eyes lock on my cunt then drift shut with transport. His hips begin to shift and rise to meet his fist. Fucking his hand. My pussy weeps and clenches at the sight and I press my fingers into my vagina and a moan escapes my lips. His own lips are parted and a sheen of sweat has broken out on his body. His tempo increases and a murmured word floats on the air over and over...Cara Cara Cara...his thighs are taut and his breathing is harsh in a way that I recognize...he is going to come. He is going to spend his seed in ropes across his belly. My voice is jarring in the intimate stillness: "STOP."
