back and stared down at her, and her mouth was half-open, glistening
teeth showing, as if every last bit of her were hungry for more.
He obliged her desire, kissing her again, feeling as if he had been drawn into a whirlpool, sinking more and more deeply into
the vortex of her passion. His strong hands began to caress her back, working up and down, each stroke bringing an accompanying
sigh from her.
His hand was under her blouse now, running up along the spine, reveling in the velvet of her skin, stroking, massaging, pressing
her closer to him. He could feel the beating of her heart, rapid and urgent.
He pushed her gently away from him and deftly undid the clasp of her brassiere. In her passion she seemed almost not to see
him, lost in her sensuality. Slowly he unbuttoned the front of her blouse, until it fell open, exposing her breasts, nipples
erect in their excitation.
He removed her blouse and drew her back to him, running his hands over her as they kissed, their tongues working feverishly
together.
“I want you,” she breathed, barely able to get out the words.
“I want you,” he answered, and stood, and lifted her, and walked into the bedroom with her, her body tremulous against him.
He put her down. She was standing now, facing him, and he began removing his shirt. She was already pushing up his undershirt,
eagerly stripping him, before he had the shirt half off, and when both had been dropped to the floor, she drew him against
her, her swelling breasts tight against his chest, her open mouth frantically moving against his.
His hands dropped to her waist, and he unfastened the button at the top of her skirt, then pulled down the zipper. The skirt
hung for a moment, then descended, and he saw she was wearing no slip. She was standing there now, quivering, naked but for
black silk panties.
Her hands snaked to his belt and tugged, and the belt opened. Now she was unbuttoning his fly, small hands straining at the
roughness of the cloth, the tightness of each hole around each button. As if accidentally, one hand dropped for a moment,
lightly brushing the bulge that was pushing toward her. He gripped her tightly again, and she responded, while unfastening
the final button.
Now she slid her body down against him, sinking from neck to shoulder to chest to stomach, down until she had a cheek against
his shorts, her head twisting back and forth, pushing her face against him, then slowly uncovering the rest of him.
She was kissing him now, mouth hungry against his inflamed organ, kissing it, licking it, then forcing her lips over it and
down, down, down, then up and then back down again.
He lifted her, and the bit of black silk that had clung to her was removed, urgently, as, in the same motion, he swept her
to the bed. He lay her down on it and drank the whole of her in, every part of her tense with anticipation, yet pliant, ready
to be done to in any way he saw fit. His eye traced the line of her thighs, along her legs, down to the delicacy of her feet,
then back up again, to the inviting curve that was her belly, up the young promise of her skin to her breasts, feverish-looking
around the areolae, the nipples trembling. His gaze swept up to the grace of her neck, to her face, and he saw a great wanting
there. Her arms reached up to him, imploring, and he sank down onto the bed and pulled her to him.
His hands explored her now, every part of her, and it was all his, an unstated gift from her, as she sighed, and moaned, and
rubbed against him.
His hand went down to the crease between her legs, and she stiffened with excitement, then opened up to him, and his fingers
drowned in the wetness of her, plunging in and then up toward her clitoris, stroking up and down, in and out, until her whole
body vibrated against his, her nails digging into his back, teeth hard against his shoulder.
“Put it in me,” she moaned, “put it in me,” and she grabbed for him with
teeth showing, as if every last bit of her were hungry for more.
He obliged her desire, kissing her again, feeling as if he had been drawn into a whirlpool, sinking more and more deeply into
the vortex of her passion. His strong hands began to caress her back, working up and down, each stroke bringing an accompanying
sigh from her.
His hand was under her blouse now, running up along the spine, reveling in the velvet of her skin, stroking, massaging, pressing
her closer to him. He could feel the beating of her heart, rapid and urgent.
He pushed her gently away from him and deftly undid the clasp of her brassiere. In her passion she seemed almost not to see
him, lost in her sensuality. Slowly he unbuttoned the front of her blouse, until it fell open, exposing her breasts, nipples
erect in their excitation.
He removed her blouse and drew her back to him, running his hands over her as they kissed, their tongues working feverishly
together.
“I want you,” she breathed, barely able to get out the words.
“I want you,” he answered, and stood, and lifted her, and walked into the bedroom with her, her body tremulous against him.
He put her down. She was standing now, facing him, and he began removing his shirt. She was already pushing up his undershirt,
eagerly stripping him, before he had the shirt half off, and when both had been dropped to the floor, she drew him against
her, her swelling breasts tight against his chest, her open mouth frantically moving against his.
His hands dropped to her waist, and he unfastened the button at the top of her skirt, then pulled down the zipper. The skirt
hung for a moment, then descended, and he saw she was wearing no slip. She was standing there now, quivering, naked but for
black silk panties.
Her hands snaked to his belt and tugged, and the belt opened. Now she was unbuttoning his fly, small hands straining at the
roughness of the cloth, the tightness of each hole around each button. As if accidentally, one hand dropped for a moment,
lightly brushing the bulge that was pushing toward her. He gripped her tightly again, and she responded, while unfastening
the final button.
Now she slid her body down against him, sinking from neck to shoulder to chest to stomach, down until she had a cheek against
his shorts, her head twisting back and forth, pushing her face against him, then slowly uncovering the rest of him.
She was kissing him now, mouth hungry against his inflamed organ, kissing it, licking it, then forcing her lips over it and
down, down, down, then up and then back down again.
He lifted her, and the bit of black silk that had clung to her was removed, urgently, as, in the same motion, he swept her
to the bed. He lay her down on it and drank the whole of her in, every part of her tense with anticipation, yet pliant, ready
to be done to in any way he saw fit. His eye traced the line of her thighs, along her legs, down to the delicacy of her feet,
then back up again, to the inviting curve that was her belly, up the young promise of her skin to her breasts, feverish-looking
around the areolae, the nipples trembling. His gaze swept up to the grace of her neck, to her face, and he saw a great wanting
there. Her arms reached up to him, imploring, and he sank down onto the bed and pulled her to him.
His hands explored her now, every part of her, and it was all his, an unstated gift from her, as she sighed, and moaned, and
rubbed against him.
His hand went down to the crease between her legs, and she stiffened with excitement, then opened up to him, and his fingers
drowned in the wetness of her, plunging in and then up toward her clitoris, stroking up and down, in and out, until her whole
body vibrated against his, her nails digging into his back, teeth hard against his shoulder.
“Put it in me,” she moaned, “put it in me,” and she grabbed for him with
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