And Then I Am His

He is upon me in moments. His hairy muscular chest framed by the unbuttoned white shirt, the growing swell tightening his black trousers.

Body hovering over me, his intoxicating scent floods my senses and sets the butterflies in my stomach free. I am his. Instantly, instinctively. This he knows.

It begins with his hands, with his touch. He holds me in his grip, a velvet vice of hunger and desire. Wound tight, his arms seize me, control me, a prison of pure intent and wandering lust.

Pinned to the bed by the glorious weight of his frame, I am a willing captive. He winds one arm around my shoulder, the other beginning its journey along the curves of my slight body. He sweeps in long lingering strokes, taking in every crevice, every turn, every freckle, stopping now and then to devour my eager lips and tongue with his own.

Strong hands and fingers map the line of my neck, the dimple of my collarbone, the soft mounds of my creamy breasts and their hard aching peaks. Down, down, down they move and glide, rising and falling over my tummy, hips and thighs. As they continue their descent down my legs, their possession is unrelenting. They begin to paw and maul and knead and take. They spread me open, they lay me bare, tracing tormenting circles that make me arch and buck, that force my hips to rise up to his touch, that make me pulse and long and thump, that fire up every cell until I whimper, moan and plead.

He shows no mercy in response, heavy desiring eyes my only reply. He continues the pleasurable offensive, stroking me harder, deeper, faster, lips and tongue now following suit. Sliding down my body, his lightly stubbled face scratching, teasing, his mouth kissing and nibbling, every inch of skin and flesh, each soft pink petal of my wet little flower, plump, open and ready for his first taste. He spreads open the bloom, sliding effortlessly into the dripping dew one finger then two then more, tongue flicking, licking, making tiny travels around and on my clit, his fingers slipping, probing, deeper and deeper, crooked to bring me closer and closer, to him, to the brink, to the crest, to the wave of pure pleasure.

And when he can take it no longer, when his desire aroused and unsated can be endured no more, when the rock-hard throb in his groin demands its own release, he sets it free. Dragging me down to the foot of the bed, his hands again begin their offensive, stroking and stroking up my arching hungry body, stroking and stroking the thick tumescence asserting itself from below, stroking and stroking until he plunges decisively, deliciously into the very depth of my being.

Arms now snaked around his strong smooth neck as my breasts merge with his chest, I moan barely perceptible words of my lust in his ear as he takes me, strokes me, strokes inside of me, strokes in and out of me until the heat rises to the surface, bubbling up from my core, until the current screams over my skin. In and out, in and out, my cunt clutching as he strokes his hard pulsating cock in and out, in and out of me until it is too much to bear, until I cry out for more, until I beg as this greedy girl should, until the fever serves me up, until I open myself up completely and wantonly, until the light blinds these eyes and my body releases the flood.

Above me, below me, alongside of me, he strokes and touches and pleasure provides, playing, fingering, kissing, fucking, giving, taking, feasting, gorging until the craving overtakes my body, until my mind is no longer my own, until I am woman to his man, until I am paper to his pen, until I am the body on which he writes his desire.

And then I am his to do as he pleases. And then I am his to do as he will. And then I am his. And then I am his.

I am his. I am his. I am his.