Fighting the urge

“Is it all planned?”

“Yes, miss”

“Then tell me how it will play, slut”

“A picnic spread before us on the deserted Sussex Downs, gingham cloth, stoppered bottles and cut sandwiches. You looking beautiful in a swirling summer dress, bright red cupid’s bow lips stand sharp against the white-out sky as I squint into your eyes. A pause as I kneel to fill your drink, you look at me, nervously biting your lower lip. The sun feels warm on my face, and shimmers on your shoulders, bared to the breeze coming off the sea.

“And I want you. I want you now. The cup knocked and platters flipped as I spread you eagerly, you grip my neck tightly as I push up frantically against your billowing skirts. Thumbs loop your knickers and they are in my hands in an instant, I grasp your wetness firmly, slipping two then three digits inside your warm cunt. You squirm and your eyes are telling me: take me, Darling, and I am up against you eating at your mouth and neck as our food lies unwanted.

“Your hands busy and efficiently pull me free, massaging my balls as I strain at you with my drippy cock. This is about now, and our urgent need to fuck away this feeling with no time for the touching niceties of the bedroom. My dripping fingers are now out and my forearm is across you, bearing down upon your falling figure and I take you with all the energy I can muster. I fill you frantically, my hips hammering at your ass, the buttons flying from your blouse as I tear you open to feast upon your body. Every thrust like a blow as you grapple with my shoulders, we are fighters in the ring, you are down and I must hold you to the count, until the shaking in my legs can stand it no more. My desire needs your affirmation: the clenching of your cunt in reflex action, its wetness seeming to try to force me free while your arms encircle me. And I am spent, and you have me locked in the hold until I tap and submit.”

“Good boy.”


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