Matilda spread her legs beneath him, angling her hips up to accommodate his large frame. His impatient cock buried itself deep inside her sheath. He was lost in the fume of their mingled breath, consumed by the fire that coaxed him to plunge deeper and deeper still into her, until he was driving himself into her very womb. The wet music of his transgression against God echoed in the cell.
"Yes, my lover... my Ambrosio, yes, my delight!" she cried out to him. "Never cease, my exquisite love!" The empty poetry spilled from her lips as he thrusted into her helpless body. Her muscles clapped around his hardness, juices evidencing her arousal, wetting the linens beneath their clashing bodies. He ground his teeth at the divinity of her channel, the manner in which her body conveyed her pleasure to him, the muscles vibrating alongside the praise of his lovemaking.
Her passion came to violent peak, the walls of the bower seeming to shake at the fruition of his efforts. Sweat pooled on his brow, some of it had dripped onto the white globes of Matilda's chest. He collected himself, taking no joy in bringing her to the height of pleasure. His thoughts once more turned on his disgust of her. Sensing the revival of his distaste, she pushed him onto his back, the action nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. He took a deep breath, feeling her hot kisses fanning over his stomach. Not too soon after, she swallowed his manhood, her lips sliding to the hilt with no trouble.
The softness of her fingers pressed to the crisp curls at the tender sack beneath her oral conquest, pressing the orbs until bolts of electricity shot throughout Ambrosio's body. For these moments, he couldn't remember his dislike of his seductress. He only knew the charms of her unholy mouth, the exquisite wetness of her tongue, the unrelenting and fervent clamping of her throat around his manhood. He swore aloud, the bountiful sack in Matilda's fingers tightening, drawing closer to his body.
"Spill your seed into my mouth, my Ambrosio," she begged quietly. She stroked him, whispering delicate indecencies on his manhood, looking into his eyes, making licentious request after another... renaming herself a whore, a wanton, a slut for his pleasure. "Let me taste thy hot sin on my tongue," she entreated.
A roar ripped from his lungs, the thick object of her desire evacuating its hot organ and splattering her breasts and face, splashing into her hot mouth. She at length cleaned from his cock and her face that which she could. The bell tolled four and Ambrosio detected movement in the courtyard outside. In and out of sleep, he felt Matilda's familiar body sidle up to his, her slightly sticky arms and hands creeping over him in a gentle embrace. Her dewy face laid on his shoulder as his eyes opened at the ceiling.
How he hated her. If not for the needs of his body, he might not have come to see her at all. Fancifully, he recounted the last time he had seen the true object of his desire, the inspiration for his visit to Matilda.
If only she could be Antonia.
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To be continued...
