Amelia's Awakening

-->

 Bingo walks to see the woman he has been fantasizing about for months and the results are better than expected.

Bingo turned the end of the conversation with Fred over in his mind as he started his walk.

“It’s all about how you take the stage..”

“What?”

“I think I have to go. All this talk about you, and your dating profile, it’s compounding my own… stench of… of desperation. It might not work out but I have to get out there you know?”

“No.”

“Well I’m gone, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“You do that. Good chat. Thanks for dinner.”

Bingo made his way up Victoria Rd and turned right onto Nicholson. His feet ate up pavement, clomp, clomp, clomping into the night. Relieved to be finally on his way Bingo lengthened his stride. Accustomed to forgettable landscapes rushing past his tram windows, here there was space and effort, each morsel of the journey magnified by his tediously short footfalls; the old Moreton Bay’s in the park, the museum’s off-kilter monolithic slab of a roof and breaks in the heavy traffic made it a bearable hike.

2am by anyone standards isn’t necessarily kosher for a house call. Bingo began to forget about the fresh, cold air on his face and to obsess about his reception, this was the only thing to do, anything else and he’d always wonder at what had never taken place.

Bingo hadn’t been avoiding Amelia but he had certainly failed to let her know how much she might mean to him. A part of Bingo fretted, more anxious than he had ever been. Beers had helped. He blocked out his own disquiet with the slap of his beetle-crushers on the paving slabs, the sound of his own breath.

Passing a petrol station made him feel like a fish in an aquarium with fluro gravel. Out of whack with the serene quiet all around, neon's shone diligently for nobody. He dove gratefully back into the comparative darkness of night. On and on, clomp clomp-ing measuring one deliberate footfall after another.

Bingo paused on a bus bench, ran his hands over his face and felt the last of the warm alcohol buzz leave his body.

He was committed to his feat now, a punishment no less than what he deserved, weeks ago he should have explained to Amelia his social awkwardness, his propensity to procrastinate, his unshakable commitment to stupid mistakes that too often ended up as life choices because he allowed time frames to stretch and then found there was no room for recourse.

Bingo wasn’t wealthy enough to consider taking a cab so he plodded, meticulously using up all of his energy. He tried not to plan. He simply made his way to the door of her studio and when he arrived, he knocked. He sat down on the step and stretched his toes in damp socks, wondering about blisters. In those few moments he sought for poise and as though mocking him, it started to rain. The sensation of stopping sharpened as he cooled, almost paving the way for regret. Almost.

And then the door opened.

Bingo bounced to his burdened feet and turned, smiling willfully with the last of his reserve.

“Wow” Amelia spoke sleepily.

Her hair wild, a light blue snug singlet around her shapely breasts and faded cotton pyjama pants hanging low off her hips. In the evening air her nipples rose to attention.

“My eyes are up here”

When he met them, they were smiling. He cleared his throat.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

“Wait, wait. Before you turn this into something out of Love Actually just get inside.”

And just like that, Bingo followed mutely.

Pyjama-ed Amelia led him down narrow corridors, past a common room, he still didn’t say anything as she ushered him into her studio through to the rear of her cosy work filled space, into the small recessed bed chamber hidden by a false wall. There was no door. Even in the dim light it looked wonderfully comfortable. Amelia leant over to turn on a lamp. Bingo caught her arm.

“No it’s alright. You were sleeping, we can talk in this light, it’s early, or late. Or something.”

Amelia nodded, it was dark really, she said in a low voice “I’m nodding” and he laughed.

“Get into bed, take socks off, jeans too if you wish.” Her voice muffled as she tunnelled under a doona to resume her repose so recently abandoned it was still warm. Bingo sat with his back bowed, facing away from her, intent on removing his garments.

“I’m glad you fucking finally came” Amelia spoke to his grateful back. It straightened a little in response.

He turned then, landing his determined lips on hers, leaning in. Kissing her warm face with his cold one, all strength and earnestness. It was everything and nothing all at once. He blocked out reason, made their slow-building kiss dreamlike and a clumsiness borne of their newness to each others bodies, forgivable.

Bingo moved into the bed, closer to her body, so much warmer than his. Her hair pillowed around her face. Her skin, like the darkness, was all around him. When she grinned she was eyes and teeth. Bingo caught his breath. He almost couldn’t look, had never seen anything so beautiful. He wiped a big hand over the side of her face, touching her velvet skin, feeling the bouncy flesh of her bottom lip under his caress and then his lips were on hers again.

“Special” he mouthed very softly into the air between their faces. “I waited, I wanted it to be magic.”

“You almost waited too long. You dick.” Her long fingers curled around the back of his big neck. “Stupid, hesitant, romantic fool.”

Not wanting words, just rough wood-and-salt of his almost-facial hair and rich aniseed-ness of his midnight tongue, Amelia resumed their kissing, touching their mouths together, learning his lips. Her hip came to rest against his, one un-shy brown shin carelessly raised, her heel grasped to his bottom, unaware of what small moves did to him.

There was no humour in their awkwardness, his avid silence exposed a fragility in the big man belied by the strength of his growing erection. She uncurled a hand from around his neck and wove it down so her fingers swept the space between them, searching.

Bingo’s heart raced, the bedcovers suddenly unbearably hot. Amelia didn’t want to move them, only kept her hand moving slowly, intimately pawing his hip while his tongue and hers wove caresses like promises.

Finally her palm settled onto the length of his straining cock. Bingo withdrew his tongue in a rush, sucked her top lip and stopped. First she ran her hand over his meat. In the dim light his eyes were hooded, heavy lids threatening to hide what it was she wanted to see, an admission, a surrender.

“You push and push” she said softly “..and it might seem like you’ll never get what you want” her hand stroked his penis, curling around material and flesh as one, striving to feel more,clasp more in her hand. “And then in a moment you think, what was I waiting for?” 

Amelia could sense her timing was unfathomably good but she wasn’t sure she was bold enough to proceed.

Bingo rolled them both so he was propped on his forearms with Amelia under him. He lowered his head and captured her lips once more in a delicate kiss that was like chilli dark chocolate; full, honest and terrible. Bingo inhaled mightily letting the rushing air bypass them both out through his mouth. 

Fighting, Amelia liked to think, for control.

And then she shucked his boxer shorts and thrust aside her knickers. To hell with the waiting and the anticipation, she wanted a frantic rush-to-the-finish-line; stars, chaos and more than anything she thrummed for the feeling of his flesh wrapped in hers. Amelia pushed at his shoulders, Bingo moved. His broad torso lifted an arms length above her, the head of his cock at her slippery entrance coating himself in her excitement. Biding his beautiful time.

And then he wasn’t anymore. He was thrusting inside, hot breath on her neck, hard cock breaking her open. The pressure of her knickers pulled to one side added to the impression of illicit fullness; caught together in a surprisingly tight space. He withdrew and pushed back in and all sensation flooded her once more, unbearably good.

 As they fucked he was unguarded, his sloppy lips on her delicate face, unthinkingly intense. It was all happening so fast, this possessing her, this driving inside of her. Amelia arched up to meet his meat, Bingo's unfamiliar body underneath her hands; the cords of his arm muscles, a downy chest.

Bingo continued grinding, watching in wonder as she thrashed beneath him with her eyes closed. She was so bound up in the moment, constricted, delicately held in place and effortlessly, hopelessly aroused. His cock ached every time he pulled away from her, building and building the sensations inside him. For Amelia it felt like a fabulous, shapeless, nameless, niggling space, growing and growing, making her groan and writhe until she reached her point-of-no-return.

She opened her eyes, he wanted to stop fucking and kiss her (Amelia’s lips were delightfully red and swollen) but he felt as though he was caught up, racing towards a finish line, taking her with him as best he could, she gasped and wriggled, eyes locked on his.

He exploded before she did, she felt the inevitable release on her insides, rushing out as he thrust deep inside her, his cock twitching and growing at the last second to add to the molten gold of her mounting orgasm. She knew the ending was close, and as she rode him, rocking her hips to take whatever he had left of the magic, it took several rough strokes before the darkness crashed and splintered around her, sending shock waves through her body.

And whilst something was most definitely ending, something was also determined to continue and so Amelia came and came and shook and clutched him and the rumble of pleased laughter caught and died in Bingo’s chest as her fingers really wrenched at his overly-sensitized skin.

Eventually she let go. Eventually they both stopped and moved a little bit apart.

“Next time” Bingo said softly, his voice low and chocolate-toned “Next time I’ll be more about the foreplay. I just wanted to be inside you. I wanted your honey on my cock”

If she wasn’t spent and happy with the small river between her thighs , she might have straddled him right then. Instead her breath came out in a rush.

“Too much” Amelia offered lightly when she could form words. “Stop being amazing” and she slapped his barrel belly.

It wasn’t long before his arm stretched around her, he was big, it was almost too much of an angle for her to rest her head on his arm, nuzzled against the warmth of his chest. She bore it for the sake of not ruining a sated, beautiful end to an otherwise overwrought day.

With her mind roving sleepily over the last half hour, Bingo’s hand reached up and caressed the effervescence of her hair, brushing against one delicate ear.

He wanted to repeat the gesture but found he couldn’t because he slept.

Hotness and tattoos

when real life gets in the way...

Brief photographic interlude, back soon x

Lust and Longing

She's afraid for the wet, salty stain her pussy lips will likely leave on the sofa. Crysta shifts in her seat and wishes fleetingly that her skirt wasn't so short, that she wasn't so aroused and most of all, that her brazenness hadn't prompted her to abandon her knickers at her rented apartment.

Marcel chuckles into her mouth, feeling her shift, wondering at her sudden anxiousness. Crysta can hear his mirth through her lusty haze and it grounds her, pulling her back to the present. Marcel's sensual assault on her mouth continues. His warm tongue continues to slip in between her lips exploring and titillating her sensitive, wet skin.

“Please, please?”

She whispers into their embrace, against the heat of his kisses, in the sharp air she can gasp. She pulls away for a reluctant moment. The question goes unfinished. Marcel examines her fine features. Her cheeks are flushed and her swollen kiss-bruised lips shine with their mutual saliva. His gaze moves to her telling, desirous pools. Her green eyes question him.

“Not here?”

Marcel asks the question softly but he makes no move to remove them from the busy foyer. Crysta holds herself stiffly, unwilling to plead. There is an ache in the soft hollow between her thighs. Her fingers itch to run through Marcel's glossy, neat hair. She extends a hand, touching his thigh, ignoring the shot of carnal excitement that darts about her body.

“I think, I should go”

Crysta knows the tone of her voice belies her need.

Marcel leans in. At first she thinks it is to kiss her.

“Don't you want me?”

His voice is a whisper, brushing past her ear. She is but is unable to read the expression on his face. When he speaks again his voice is normal.

“You're right. You go ahead, I'll catch you up. I need to make my excuses to the Board”

He dips his head and kisses her lightly. Crysta gets up, anxiously glancing at her seat, where a small stain is beginning to spread. She hears Marcel's laugh as he strides away from her. His cruelty stabs at her. How could he know it troubled her? He doesn't look back. How could he be so insensitive? Quickly, she makes her way out the glass revolving doors and back to the apartment.

Once through the doors Crysta takes off her clothes, throwing them carelessly over a chair. She pads about the apartment, reveling in her nakedness, making the choice not to 'gift wrap' her body for him. She dislikes the scratchy bras and tiny lacy panties that are meant to be seductive. They leave her cold. Instead, she paces, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze on the fine hairs of her belly. Like skinny dipping, she thinks and opens the balcony door. There is nothing in the rooms but white, sterile surfaces and clean, crisp order.

Finally, Crysta takes a seat on the floor beside the immaculate bed. Before her is a full wall of mirrors. They are the sliding doors that house the closet.

She sits with her knees bent, feet flat on the floor. Her rich dark hair tumbles in unkempt waves past her shoulders. Crysta watches herself, first running a slender hand through her Hispanic locks. She opens her legs. The peach of her pussy is swollen and glistening. Marcel knows too well how to bring her to aching arousal with his kisses and caresses. She is tired now, from being teased. Tight, agitated and fit to burst.

Her reflection cups a breast, feeling the soft weight. Next she licks her thumb and toys with the brown nub of her nipple. She leans back into the side of the mattress, plunging an eager few fingers into her wetness. Crysta begins to stroke, gently playing with her labia. She takes care to run her fingers across the fine hairs at her cleft, and then back into her secret place. Crysta shivers.

She lets the air escape from her lips in one rapid breath. In the silence of the room her own need is the only sound. As she elicits pleasure, experimentally, she increases the volume of her tiny gasps. Her aural adventure succeeds in adding warmth and wetness to the lush playground beneath her fingers.

She strokes and watches, her lips parted. The blood-flow to her face increases. She looks hot and ready. Now stroking is not enough. Crysta turns her body, facing her round arse to the mirror and her face to the mattress. Her chin almost touches the top of the sheets.

She squats on her heels, leaning around to try and see her pussy. She wants to see her flower and it's pleasing reaction to stimulus. Crysta dips a finger into her vagina, wiggles. She likes it a lot. She inserts two. The mirror-play is quickly forgotten. Soon she's on her knees, burying her face in the mattress, using both hands between her legs. One hand deftly rubs her clit and the other slides two digits in and out of her pussy. She moves them around, finding her g-spot. Her body begins to sing.

“Oh!”

Crysta doesn't hear the key in the lock. Marcel steps into the room and follows the small, hot sounds he can hear from the bedroom. He puts his keys down on the night stand and Crysta looks up at him with big eyes, snapping her hands from their playground. Caught in the act. Marcel blinks, he doesn't say anything. Her cheeks are stained with shame.

She makes as if to get up. Marcel stops her, he kneels behind her on the ground, in the gap between her bed and the mirror. He kisses her neck, his warm breath helping to appease her embarrassment.

Crysta has her hands on the floor, either side of her kneeling form. It looks to him like a position of defeat. Marcel takes her arms gently and raises them. He places her hands, palms down, on the bed and traces the line of her beautiful form. He runs his warm hands from shoulders to hips. She turns to question him, trying to look at his reaction through the corner of her eye. She can’t read his expression.

Behind her, still all dressed in his corporate suit, his eyes are downcast. Marcel is taking his time to admire her body. Flattered, she breathes a further sigh of relief. His gaze is obscured by his long, dark lashes. She turns her head away, content now to enjoy the sensation.

She feels Marcel's hands traveling the length of her sensuous, nude back. He splays his hands softly under her bottom and cups each cheek in his hands. He leans down. She feels the silk of his tie brushing the small of her back. Marcel plants a kiss on her coccyx. She wiggles her creamy cheeks and the sensual assault intensifies. He plants warm kisses up along her spine, spreading his arms over her shoulders, caressing the skin there, all the way to her hands.

Crysta is fighting to stay still, reveling in the feel of limbs turning to water under his reverential touch. His ministrations reach her nape. She's sitting back on her haunches now, her sex inches from the carpeted floor. She whimpers, her need a tangible presence in the room. Marcel chuckles deep in the back of his throat. It makes her think of chocolate and caramel and not the busy foyer from less than an hour before. Into her ear he whispers.

“I can’t believe you started without me. I'm glad I came when I did. Let me worship you.”

Marcel stands and pulls her up beside him. Crysta feels the heat of his body through his suit. She presses her flesh to the material. It feels good, cloth and buttons teasing her nakedness. Rapidly, she does her best to undress him. She removes his tie, tugs out enough of the knot to lift it up over his head and she splays the shoulders of his suit jacket recklessly, brushing the unwanted item to the floor.

Crysta's hands are shaking as she begins to unbutton the collar of his shirt, first one button then two, then three. She's going too fast. Marcel grabs at her wrists and halts her progress. He kisses her lips and draws her tongue into a sensual dance of longing, feeling the velvet insides of her mouth, sucking her tongue. She can hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Then, Marcel is planting little kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, the lobes of her ears. She giggles, taken aback by the gentleness of the love he is trying to give.

Marcel clasps her wrists and all but throws her onto the mattress. She tumbles eagerly onto her back. He doesn't follow her. Marcel undoes his own buttons, looking her directly in the eye as he undresses. Never has she seen a man look better in his shirt tails. The singlet hugs his hard torso and the muscles of his arms are clearly visible, more so when he moves to remove his shirt.

Next he flicks his belt buckle and Crysta can barely stand it. Marcel grins, watching the parade of emotions across her lovely features. She props herself up on her elbows, dark hair spilling onto the bed in delicious contrast to the sheets. She is unaware of her captivating beauty. A tiny self-satisfied smirk threatens the corners of his mouth.

“What?”

Marcel doesn't reply. He unbuttons his suit pants and slides down the zipper. He reaches in and eagerly pulls his erect cock over the elastic of his starched, white boxers.

“Do you want this?”

He points his member at her. It's thick and substantial.

“Oh Yes” Crysta breathes, closing the distance between them and rising to her knees.

She holds him in her hand and increases the firmness of her grip. Very slowly, Crysta small hands trace the entirety of his length. She makes a primal kitten-grunt in the back of her throat and fairly pounces on him. At first she licks. Her delicate teasing, after so much tension, threatens to drive him insane.

“You're no good for me” Marcel stammers.

Crysta goes on to lick him thoroughly, like a Calipo, covering all of his shaft in her sweet saliva. Finally she plunges his length into the recesses of her throat. Marcel's relief is short- lived. She stops.

“I want you to fuck me. This is very nice. But I want some. You owe me cock.”

She tugs on his member. Marcel flinches. Crysta feels his reaction in the muscles of his thighs.

“Take off your pants”

Marcel obeys. His steel-blue gaze leaves her as he draws his pants down to the floor. She admires his handsome profile and those flawless, chiseled cheekbones. Stubble threatens his chin. Mine. She thinks fleetingly, proudly.

Wickedly, Crysta leaps up off the bed. She means to prolong their foreplay, rushing outside into the cold of the afternoon. He watches her through the glass, playfully leaning out over the balcony and looking at the other high-rises. He shocks her by joining her out on the terrace. Marcel's body presses her thighs into the cold mesh of the balcony railing. His hands appreciatively take in the contours of her slender waist, her breasts. Her nipples are budded from the wind.

Unable to help himself any longer he nestles his cock head into the warmth of her thighs. She shifts, glancing over her shoulder at him, catching his awkward kiss on the corner of her bottom lip. God she is beautiful. He pushes his cock into her, not asking, taking. His urgency surprises them both.

Crysta bends her knees and shuffles him backwards. The delicious fullness takes over her senses as he enters her slick passage fully. Cold, eager hands grab the railing. Then she pushes back. Marcel grunts, he strokes. He keeps his rhythm long and uneven. Crysta pants, silently begging for relief from his teasing.

He holds her hips in his hands, watching his manhood disappear time and time again. A sheen of sweat forms on her pearly white skin. She is the most delicious woman he has ever fucked. It's enough to keep him rigid, bigger than he's ever been.

“Mrhhhm” She says “Mrhhhaaa”

Pride swells in his chest. Her loss of control is his doing. Marcel is careful not to give her too much, it's a heady combination, a fine woman, the cold; their view. He wants to save something of himself. He wants to make their time together unforgettable. Marcel wishes to fuck her with grace.

When he withdraws his cock she wiggles with surprise. He reaches up to hold her shoulders, until she is facing him. The balcony air whips her hair into a mermaid's frenzy. Pink spots shine on her cheeks. Marcel leans in.

“I have more...”

He takes her hand and leads her inside, making sure he has control this time. He doesn't trust this sprite to stay put and let herself be made love to. Marcel wants her undivided attention. He wants to unload his seed into this special woman, but only once she has become his sated, mewing lover. He kisses her in the space before the bed and makes no attempt to pull her onto the soft mattress.

“You’re beautiful Crysta. Your skin is the colour of cream.”

Her leads her into the kitchen and beckons for her to sit on the counter. Crysta obeys, her curiosity aroused. From his briefcase by the door, he brings a pot of thickened cream. Crysta grins. Marcel's steel-blue gaze holds hers as he takes off the plastic lid and peels away the foil seal. He dips fingers into the tub and licks one, feeding her the rest of the cream on his hand. If she was any more excited she might be forced to purr.

Marcel enjoys the show as she sucks his digit. Her mouth is deliciously hot, her tongue swirls. He dips his fingers into the tub and smears some more of the cream on her thigh. Marcel comes to her on his knees.

Crysta takes in the sight of his handsome head between her thighs, licking lightly at her left thigh. She might burst from the pleasure of it. When the cream is all gone he continues planting his heated lips on her thigh, traveling inland to her shaved labia. Until finally, he dips his tongue inside her lips to taste her centre.

Crysta curls her toes. She runs appreciative fingertips through Marcel's thick, dark hair, mussing it in her unbridled enthusiasm. She doesn't think he'll care. Moments later, in wide- eyed bliss she's cumming on his face. The orgasm rips through her, almost unexpected. A searing delight.

Marcel looks up from his task. He wipes his lips on her thigh. As he stands before her, his satisfaction is evident by his straining arousal. She pulls his head down into a hungry kiss. Marcel uses his hands to slide her hips forward. In no time his hard cock bears down at the apex of her legs, seeking entry to her intimate space.

“Oh. Yes”

It is all Crysta can think to say. Her limbs are deliciously jelly-like and the ache in her middle is intense.

Marcel slides his ample man-meat into her. They fit snugly, perfectly in union for a moment. He holds her thighs in his hands and looks down into her green eyes, creating a pause in the storm. Crysta closes her lashes in a silent plea to hurry. Marcel strokes.

Bliss.

He continues, happily picking up the pace. Sliding his member in and out of her soft folds. Soon, he's hammering into her slit and the room is alive with his grunts, her softer tones and the wet sound of their flesh meeting. Despite the thoroughness of the fucking he is administering to his willing accomplice, Marcel takes a moment to kiss her on the lips. She cups his face in her hands. As she cums a second time he tastes it in on her tongue.

“MmmM”

Her pussy muscles convulse around him. It's too much. Marcel feels the volcano building in his toes. He clenches and unclenches his butt muscles, trying not to dig his nails into her delicate flesh. He aims his head skyward, ready for release. Crysta chooses her moment perfectly, reaching in to stroke his perineum.

He spurts his substantial load and it feels as though he is emptying his soul. The moment swims and spins. Panting they lean on one another. Bodies slick with sweat, limbs rubbery with exertion. A perfect contrast to the characterless surrounds. Crysta kisses his salty lips and unwinds her legs.

“We should rest” She whispers. A grin turns her expression mischievous.

“We only have all night”.

Isobelle in a different light

I rewrote it, I like it heaps better... it's got more suspense and more lust

At last, Isobelle sits in the expensive silence of Ezra’s car. Her freshly shaven thighs peep out from the short hem of her favourite dress. On her body the fabric pools like liquid.

“We’ll go to my place”

Ezra glances at her. She is not relaxed. Good. He likes it when he has the upper-hand.

At the high rise, Ezra uses his keys and a security pass, leading her through the foyer and up the lift. It’s up and up. From the balcony Isobelle can see the city sky - line. She stands outside, enjoying the warm air, whilst he gets the drinks. Eventually he stand s in the doorway, silhouetted by the kitchen lights. Isobelle’s pulse races. It’s real. Her legs begin to tremble. She turns from him to the view, trying to rekindle her strength.

“So lovely” Ezra’s voice comes from behind her. Does he mean her or the view?

In a lazy movement akin to seduction, Ezra closes the distance between them, rubs his palm up her back, his full lips descending on hers. It’s a fierce first kiss, possessive and brief.

“What is it that you’re looking at?” He curls an affectionate finger on the warm, soft flesh of her upper arm. Isobelle can’t think.

“I... I...”

She clears her throat, unable to read the sardonic promise in his glittering eyes. She licks her lips for the sweet taste of champagne. Ezra eyes her, experiencing a jolt of lust .

He chuckles. “I’ve got ideas about you and I.” He speaks softly. "Things I wouldn’t want to do in a train.”

It’s the timber of his voice. Isobelle thrills, between her thighs, her swollen pussy is lush and wanting. Lost in the moment, Isobelle starts to take off her clothes. Ezra ’s admiration is written on his face. The slippery fabric of her dress descends to the floor and beneath it, her light curves are coated in black. A balconette bra hugs her breasts and presents them, below it, her knickers are tiny and lace.

As he surveys his prize, Ezra can see the pulse in her neck. It’s an act of bravado from this nubile, sweet lady. Her racing heart beat giv es her away. His keen eyes take in the scene and his cock begins to throb. There will be no misunderstanding tonight . Preamble has shredded with her dress.

Ezra remains motionless. His silence gives him a n air of r oyalty and Isobelle plays along. Parting her lips in anticipation, she pads sensually towards her stranger. His blue eyes take in the scene, his dark skin glows in the lamp light and for now, her gaze is focused on his full mouth. She is close enough now to brush his chest with her hand . She reaches up and plants a kiss on the firm skin of his neck. He smells of salt, faint, expensive cologne and sandalwood.

Gently easing her tongue from her mouth she tastes his flesh and stands on tip toes, planting another soft kiss near his ear. Ezra can hear her breathing as it changes. He is no fool and knows his power but she is coy and hesitant . Her frame too slight , her actions too gentle and yet, Ezra finds his interest in this beautiful creature intensifying. Tonight he could take her innocence and the thought rouses his senses to fever pitch.

Isobelle takes a series of breaths to steady herself . She is shaking. She kisses the corner of his mouth, offering a suggestion. Still, he does not respond. Isobelle takes a step back. Blinks, taking in the rising bulge in his expensive trousers.

Ezra imagines her tight, virginal pussy closing in around his proud cock. A jolt of electricity fuels his veins. He kisses her lips, gentle at first, insinuating his tongue into her wet, inviting mouth . She responds and leans into his kisses, straining for more. Ezra dips his hand down to cup a breast, burning a path with his mouth to the protruding flesh of her breasts. One hand strokes the skin on her flat stomach and Ezra can feel her quiver in answer to his touch.

She wriggles and presses herself closer inadvertently rubbing her almost naked form on his growing erection. He groans, corners her against a wall and allows his cloth covered cock to nestle in the inviting hollow of her thighs while his fingers trace the material of her bra, setting her sensitive skin alight. Isobelle whimpers as Ezra releases the catch, bending an eager head to suckle. Her puckered, pink nipple glistens from his caress. Isobelle runs her feverish fingers through his thick, dark hair. He looks up from lavishing attention on her moist breast. Ezra takes in the scene. Her skin is flushed, breathing unsteady and her eyes are desirous pools.

“I want you to place your hands on me”

“Fuck me.” She says softly “I’ve dreamed of you for days”

He chuckles, a sound that is soft and dense like wood and clover.

“What would you do?”

Air between them hangs heavy and empty a moment too long.

“I would take you in my hand" Isobelle flexes her slender finger for effect “I want to take your velvet steel in my mouth

“Velvet steel?" Chuckles.

Isobelle tugs at his pants with shaking fingers, his cock bounces free from its cloth cage.

She licks a finger and a thumb and slides her digits down from the head of his smooth, almost purple shaft to midway down it’s length . His cock is t hick, with a heavy head and a slight bend. It makes her pussy ache to claim him. She resists, drawing out the tension.

Isobelle sinks seductively onto her knees, s he hesitates only momentarily, eyeing his tool. It’s obvious she is unpracticed. Audibly, Ezra sighs. He makes ready to hide his member and lash his rampant need for her pussy.

“No no. It’s alright. I want to”

Ezra’s cool blue eyes are expressionless .

She takes the tip between her lips.

Then, as she takes more of his length into her hot, wetness , he bucks against the intense pleasure in surprise. Isobelle slurps and smiles as much as she can, shift ing her weight on her knees and tuck ing into her task. Soon his ample pole is slick with saliva, Ezra face-fuck ing in and out of her pretty lip s. A repeated, unrelenting action that succeeds in stirring his blood. Her innocence is replaced by eagerness. He grunts in approval and tries not to cum.

“You’re a good girl”

Pre-cum dawns on the eye of his cock, she can taste the salty, heavy drops. As he thrusts and grunts she can tell it won’t be long.

Abruptly.

He stops . Pushing her from him, looking down at her dishevelled hair, her swollen lips .

“You are too good at that”. More gently now. “Maybe that is enough for tonight”. His tone is ragged but his reason is firm.

Isobelle palls.

“Bu..t”

“I want to enjoy you like the treat you are ” Ezra rakes a hand through his thick, dishevelled hair. “Perhaps, for tonight, you should leave”

Ezra reluctantly begins to button his pants around his extended, aching pole. She sits dumbly on the floor in confusion. From the corner of his eye he watches her, hopes she is crazy with lust and will let him bury himself in her. She has to come to him, it has to be her choice. He retrieves her dress and thrusts it at her. She looks at him pleadingly.

“But you have undressed me with your eyes for weeks”

Her voice is soft.

“You are not even sure what it is you ask of me”

In her eyes he reads disbelief.

“I want you”

“What do you want?”

Isobelle hesitates.

“Say it”

Quietly. “I already did”

“Say it again. I need to hear it”

“I want you to fuck me”

Ezra ceases to adjust his clothes, he teases the bush at the cleft of her legs and sinks two digits into her folds. Isobelle’s lips part in surprise. He rubs the delicious wetness, finding her clitoris. Her knees almost buckle.

“Is this what you want”

“No” and then mildly, between gasped breaths. “I want cock.” She smiles dreamily, her whole body alive and humming with need . “You can tell I want it . Ca...an’t you? ” Isobelle gasps as he thrusts his digits inside her. He continues to pet her in a steady rhythm that brings her closer and closer to ecstasy. He glides his finger over her clit, teasing the nub gently. She lets out a little moan.

“Please?”

A heart beat.

“Do you like my mahogany table?”

Ezra’s tone is dry. She nods.

“Go over to it. Lean over so your breasts touch the wood. Show yourself to me”

Isobelle does just that. She leans across the table. Her plump pussy faces him.

“Spread your legs”

Isobelle is aware that if she shows him her sweetness he will see the pearly sheen of desire on her flesh. He will see for himself that she is ready and aching to be plundered. With a sigh she spreads her thighs.

In the glow of the lamps on the sideboard, Ezra can indeed see evidence of her enthusiasm. He makes no effort to go to her, keeping the distance.

“I want you to lean forward, stretch yourself across my table”

Isobelle inches her torso further onto the table. Her pert bottom automatically pushes further into the air. She breathes in slowly, trying to keep the intake of air steady so Ezra won’t hear how aroused it makes her. She fails.

“What would you like me to do?”

She takes the erotic silence as a cue and looks over her right shoulder at him.

“I want you to do what you were doing before. Touch me”

A pause.

Ezra sees her wiggle her delectable rear in anticipation but he makes no move to go over to her. He takes a sip of his drink. The moment stretches. Isobelle looks over her shoulder at him once more . Her expression is flecked with annoyance. A smug smile plays on his lips.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“But...?”

“I know you have been masturbating, you practically said so yourself. Show me”

“No! I...”

Ezra is measured in his movements. He places his glass down on the side table, unbuttons one and then another of his shirt buttons at his collar. Finally, deliberately, he is closing the distance between them. Isobelle makes as if to turn and greet him for a kiss. He places a palm firmly between her shoulders and the small of her back. It keeps her at her position.

Ezra releases his cock once more from the confines of his clothes. He throbs. His prize is so beautiful. He stands behind her with the head of his manhood nestled on the warmth of her sex. Isobelle takes frequent, shallow breaths.

“You won’t touch yourself for me”

“No.” Her voice is uncertain.

Ezra removes his gift. Still facing the table, she feels the loss of his cock. The moment had been almost momentous. Isobelle’s small frame is caught in a slump. Ezra braces himself.

In a swift, calculated movement he guides his cockhead into her dripping folds. Taken by surprise Isobelle is tight and on his first thrust Ezra experiences a heavenly sensation. Isobelle too, cries out.

“But...”

Ezra strokes once more. Now they are finally connected the feeling is tenfold, the anticipation has been too great. As his pole glides in and out of her pussy Isobelle revels in the new sensation. His large dick fills her slick passage, exploring and retreating in a ever-increasing rhythm.

“Ahh”

Isobelle lets her breasts slide against the finely polished wood of the table. As he pushes into her, she can feel her pelvic muscles as they quiver from the inside, Isobelle hears him groan. A sound of pure, gut-wrenching lust. Almost a smile on her lips now as she feels her body take her up over the crest of a mind numbing orgasm.

“I’ll teach you. You are mine" Ezra’s voice in her ear.

His pace is so fast and deep. One foot on a chair thrusting. He still feels good, sliding in and out of her, but Isobelle feels the slow come-down from her first orgasm. Behind her, the always-composed Ezra, with his pants around his ankles, his shoes still on - is clearly lost in the moment. Isobelle’s giggle becomes a squeak as she feels him grow even harder. Eagerly, Isobelle pushed back and Ezra at last finds his release.

Ezra finds himself pliant and sated as she turns, hips first, and plants a heated kiss on his unsuspecting face.

“That was my first. You were mind blowing. Promise me there is more?”

Ezra raises an eyebrow.