Chapter 2 - Andrea
Robert left me in a very softly terrible way. I wanted more than anything than to fall into his arms and just melt together, bodies conjoined until they melted like butter ... for hours.
But wasn't Robert. He's direct. He's rough. He runs the show. And there's lots of action. Tons of it. Non stop. He doesn't even have to ask. He just locks those steel gray eyes into mine and in no time I am twitching for him, my breast feel like they're going to explode. He'll just either tear my clothes off, or walk me straight to the bedroom, get to the business of ripping off our own clothing, and figure out every possible way to make use of every square inch of the mattress and the edges that surround it ... and the posts at the heads and ends of his bed.
The first time we were together, we couldn't get the clothes off each quickly enough. He made it a point of telling me boldly and loudly that I was going to be his compliant slut for the night because it will be everything I've wanted. It was. I didn't know I could keep my legs buried into my chest as long as I did when he cowered over me and drilled me like as if I were a steel beam ... over and over again ... in short rapid bursts that made the bottom of my cunt ooze and switch a tightening grip that come from below, clenched onto the tip of his cock until it finally held his entire cock captive, making him not being able to make it move. When I finally released my grip, he certainly liked taking his time his dick back and forth inside of a pussy that was wetter than in any porno movie, at least the ones I have seen. I loved how he felt, as if her were orchestrating the hardest and straightest dick I ever saw. It was like it was a thick baton that led a single organ orchestra. A loud orchestra. One with a deep, heavy bass section, deep-bottomed kettle drums, and screaming metal guitars. Like Jimi Hendrix playing all of the parts of the 1812 Overture, except the crescendos are my low, growling moans that come up slowly and hoarse, and then lead to a screaming, crashing bang. He felt like a cannon in the way he laid on his back, knees bent, allowing me to hold onto his knees with my hands so I could slide my whole body as I slid up and then down his cock as far as I could take him. It made me gush all over his groin, his belly, and all over between us, and it made him shoot the hardest, hottest and most powerful stream of semen I ever felt. I smelled like sex for days. And then I wouldn't hear from him for several days at a time.
That should have pissed me off, but it didn't. I just kind of accepted that he was a nice guy who was a blast to work with and teach, soaked up every photography trick I taught him, was great for some deep and open conversations about anything going on in the world, and fucked like a rock star that had his not too tall, slim and incredibly flexible body. I would have never accepted that kind of in and out behavior from anyone else. I pretty much wanted a man who understood how to connect to my soul before connecting with any body part. I had that with both Robert and Michael, but I also wanted a man who wanted me in a way where I felt was treasured and valued me as a one of a kind that had no equal. I didn't get that from either of them. Sure, Michael treated me that way, but at the end of our trips, it was his wife who got the same treatment as I and they were a real couple, not one that had to show discretion when they were seen in public. We weren't a couple that I could tell my closest girlfriend about. And Robert? I didn't really get his game. We're so focused on each other when we work together, sit back and talk philosophical about everything but our lives over beers and a stick of 420, and then fuck again and again, until he just can't hold out any longer. Sometimes that would be for hours. Sometimes he'd come and get instantly hard again. But in the end, he left, and I really had no connection with him until the next time we had a chance to work on something together or he called to just fuck.
