It was a temptation to push and pull the fragile silken threads from off of her shoulders and expose the breasts which distended the fabric with promise. Her yielding yet unhurriedly undressing made me want to hurt her so as to create some reaction towards me, as I was reacting to her. My gaze was ravenous, admiring, worshiping; she felt it try to penetrate past her reserve, felt how attentive I was to every gesture or movement. She met my gaze completely unashamedly and I did not back down from the intensity, did not pretend how lustful I desired her.
Still, she moved passively, and the more I wanted to behave violently towards her. She was removing clothing with confident deliberateness as if it was a ritual that could not be changed. She looked unapologetic at me and smiled, flashed small even teeth between full lips, and the glimpse of skin on bared shoulders when the silk parted caught the light and held it like the flesh was also made of satin. She held the parted pieces as if unintentionally at her waist, the folds teasingly caught on her stiffened nipples. She continued to look at me as her hand moved away to beckon me closer, the cascading silk revealing a soft satin skin and I needed no further encouragement now that she showed me the smallest interest.
She had lace bra and matching panties with garters, and I’m sure that the creation of lingerie was divine but I was beyond observing heaven; the waiting had been hell and I wanted the heated passion that refused to be tampered down. I rushed to hold my body against hers, my slanted mouth crashed down upon those soft inviting lips so hard I might have tasted blood, pressed her hard into the mattress, pinned her down with hips while my hands were everywhere at once and murmured a false apology as fingers grabbed her stockinged thigh and gripped the gossamer threads to render them apart. Fingertips pressed against warm skin, pushed the thigh to bend to my will and allow my further between her legs, and traveled down the length to the delicate arch of her foot, dragging the destroyed fabric with it.
It made an excellent gag to twist and shove between her tempting lips, tying it along the side of her head. I was unsure if those lips curved into a smile at the reactionary way I was handling her, imagined it if nothing else in my fervor to possess every inch of skin. A knife scratched up the length of leg to travel the cold steel along the side of her hip, the lace parted like soft butter and I gripped it to shove over, exposing the pink glistening of her sex. I quite liked the other half of her leg still the memento of damnable temptation that I was removing to suit my own desires.
More carefully, I slid the blade between the hollow valley of her breasts slowly and watched for her to dare deny this pleasure. Her eyes were half mast as if she too were mesmerized at being bared in such a way, so yanked upwards with such force that the fabric held for just the slightest to also arch her back up towards me before splitting with the force and yielding her softness back onto the mattress and the vision of breasts and pinpointed nipples to my gaze.
My hands would be everywhere at once, so would my mouth, until her cries and pleas beckoned towards heaven.
Half laying on my side and stomach, I woke up when fingers roughly pushed their way into my body, pounded in and out to where the hand and remaining fingers felt like a fist against my lips.
I was already wet, as it seems I always am. I clenched around the fingers and dream and reality splintered with the rough and quick orgasm.
I was pushed fully on my stomach, my legs spread by Mr. Texas’ knees as he popped the head of his cock between my lips and past the initial resistance of my entrance. My wet body allowed the rest of him to slide effortlessly to my wall, which he hit surprisingly fast and painfully. A few more thrusts that hit and hurt, and my body stretched more fully to accommodate him, adjusting to where it was less pain and more pleasure.
Even in the pain, I tightened in the pleasure and raised my hips to welcome him hitting the depths that caused the discomfort. I love the uncaring taking, the forcing in. It turns me on far more than words can express. Even now, as I type this, I grow wet with the memory.
I groaned a bit too loudly. He yanked back my head with a fist in my hair; I moaned even more, arched back and took him deeper, and he pushed my face into the bed.
Perhaps he did so because of the sleeping kids in the house, he is after all quite considerate.
I struggled to breathe for a minute, my nose squished uncomfortably. I came; I screamed. The uncaring nature of such an act, the pounding of him inside of me, the slight objectification of being used in such a manner, all of it so unbelievably hot to me that orgasms simply didn’t cease, pleasure after pleasure crashed and didn’t ebb. It allowed me to not think, to go from dream to orgasm after orgasm, to not even have to be conscious of my own noises or own reactions, just to be repeatedly rammed by his cock. I felt every ridge, every throb, especially the tip of his head and the curve underneath – felt like a hook scratching an incessant itch against my walls.
The fist demanded my head up so quickly I had to use elbows to brace myself, a hand went around my throat and his fingers felt and dug where I showed him I liked on either side. Normally, he allows my own weight to dig into his fingers, this time they squeezed as he lowered my head upon the fingertips, my elbows no longer needed to brace myself up. His cock continued it’s relentless pleasure thrumming in my body. His fingers around my throat competed with attention. Dizzying, I felt my legs lower and my body become heavy. My eyes were already shut or otherwise I would have noticed the world go dark; I only noticed the gasping of breath as he rolled me over, the heaviness of my body, the haziness of my brain.
“I think you passed out for a moment, your whole body went limp,” he thrusted himself between my thighs as he stated that, and though it didn’t sound like it – I still sensed the concern even as he fucked me senseless.
I knew amid foggy brain and orgasms he still needed reassurance. I also knew that if I passed out, it was done correctly, safely, and was far shorter than my ex husband and I would do.
“Probably, and that’s hot. I’m fine,” I managed to breathe out in between cries of pleasure. I bit down on his shoulder as my arms wrapped around him, my heels digging in to his hips to pull him in even deeper.
He leaned back, grabbed my wrists, forced them over my head, pressed upon them with his body weight as just that action alone caused another orgasm. I was so tense under him and in that tension tightened even more as his own grunts and groans signaled his release.
I fucking love rough sex, feeling forced, being taken, pinned.
And I fucking love the softness of being held, of reassuring that what occurred was amazing, of praising each other and communicating how deeply we care for each other.