She sipped her wine from the bottle. She knew he didn’t like it, but she did anyway. And she loved it especially when he was there, watching her in that heated way of his, disapproving, and mentally punishing her before he translated his thoughts into action. Her defiance was a turn on to him. She had made them dinner, a rare occurrence. He had this belief that cooking was a chore to her and she kept telling him she loved it because it was therapeutic. So she asked him to come to dinner, and she cooked. Nothing fancy; just roast potatoes with salt, black pepper and rosemary, sauteed vegetables, garlic and lemon prawns and grilled chicken. Paired with sweet white wine, to open up the flavors. Admittedly, he was impressed by her skills, and she was glad he felt the way he did. He kept looking at her, sitting there, next to him, in that simple black dress, barefoot, make-up free, subtle wisps of her scent wafting towards him. He watched her put a bite of her prawns in her mouth, watched her swirl the wine around her tongue, watched her close her eyes and truly savor the taste of her own food. He watched her.
When they were finished with dinner, she cleared the table, soaked the dishes and sat on the carpet with the rest of the wine. He joined her, glass in hand, on the sofa, and they talked. About anything, everything, and nothing in particular. They just talked. Then the conversation became loaded with innuendo, and she struggled to maintain her composure. He had a way of making her come undone in the simplest of ways; a simple word, a gesture. A slight tug at her thread and she came undone. She emptied her wine glass, topped his off and sipped from the bottle. Reckless, petulant and defiant. She dangled her defiance in his face like a shiny object, and he pulled. Much as he had the uncanny ability to unravel her so very simply, she, too, knew what triggers to pull for him to come undone. Her petulance, for instance. Punishment (and gratitude) would surely follow suit. She got up on the sofa and sat next to him; close enough but not too close. He took her hand and placed it on his thigh, where his manhood was nestled, throbbing and aching for her. She inhaled through her slightly parted lips, eyes never leaving his, and pulled her hand away.
“I’m trying my best to keep it together. You’re not helping.”
“I’m not?” he asked, in that devilishly low tone.
“No, you’re not. And you know it.”
She got up, walked to the balcony and slid the doors open, letting the cold air cool her flushed face. She turned around and finished the last of the wine from the bottle, watching him, knowing what would take place next. He finished his wine too, and they momentarily watched each other in the silence; empty wine glasses and an empty bottle.
“Should we get more wine?” he asked.
“Do you want to get more wine?” she countered.
“Yeah, for later, maybe.”
“You know I’ll drink it by myself as soon as you walk out of my door.”
“It’s meant to be shared, and I know you’ll drink it straight from the bottle, you petulant child.” She smiled and walked towards him, picking her empty wine glass on the way.
“Let me get that for you,” she said, reaching for his empty wine glass. She took them all to the kitchen, soaked them in the sink, and walked slowly back towards him. He stretched out his hand to her, she placed her palm in his, and he guided her to straddle him. He was still fully dressed, but in the short time it took her between him, the sink and back, he had already unzipped his pants and freed his throbbing manhood. He was ready for her; he wanted – nay – craved her. To no surprise, she wore no panties beneath her dress. He ran his palms up her thighs and cupped her ass cheeks, while she rubbed her already ridiculously wet mound on his glans. Fuck, she thought, and sighed. He wasn’t even inside her yet but her body was on fire. His face was nestled between her small breasts, his breath searing her skin as he inhaled her scent and exhaled desire. He moved his hands from her ass, up her waist, round to her rib cage and finally to her breasts, and cupped them. They fit so perfectly in his hands, she thought, and while he kneaded and molded them, she slowly lowered herself onto him. It was time for his inches to inspect her walls. Time for her to devour him, as he had her cooking. It was time.
She started moving, up and down, front and back, round and round, in slow motion, sighing with every other breath, her hands gripping the back of the seat on either side of his face, as if to keep him in place. He slid his hands back to her ass, slid lower into the sofa so she took more of him, and moved with her. In her. Meeting her halfway, thrusting at her tempo, going deeper each time. Fuck. She was wet, so very. He held her in place, then she held his face upturned to kiss him. She needed his tongue doing those things it did to her multiple times before. She needed to taste him, swirl him in her mouth as she did the wine at dinner. She kept moving him inside her, tongue and manhood, moaning softly, needing freedom from both their clothes. She unbuttoned his shirt, and some pesky buttons proved stubborn. She was desperate to rip it off him, but willed her fingers to keep unbuttoning and not rip, and they cooperated. Shirt finally off, she pushed it off his shoulders and was slightly disappointed to find a vest underneath. That meant more clothes to get rid of. She got on with it quickly, pulling the vest from his back, up over his head, breaking the kiss just long enough for him to get rid of it. His hands came down with such strength and clamped on her waist and ass, moving with her while she pulled her own dress over her head and discarded her bra. Then she felt it. She was losing herself to him. Climax. Fuck. She gripped the back of the sofa while the waves washed over her, as if to keep a firm grasp of reality and not get lost in pleasure. Her thighs and ass quivered wildly around him, her heart racing, and he took the opportunity to turn one climax into a double. He clasped her ass cheeks and counter stroked, then felt her come undone again until she collapsed on his shoulder.
She slid off him and onto the carpet, breathing hard, her heart beating out of her chest. He took his pants, boxers and socks off all in one motion, while she caught her breath. He joined her on the carpet, crawled till his dick was right above her face, and she took him in her mouth. She watched him get lost in her. She watched him as she took him into her mouth, his eyes closed, lips parted, soft groans coming from his chest through his lips in ohs. He pulled out of her mouth, helped her up and perched her on the sofa’s armrest. It was time for her to feel his wrath and gratitude in full equal measure. She lay back, thighs parted, knees up, legs on his shoulders, and felt him slide into her and thrust. He was deep. It didn’t take long for her to unravel once again, and this time a flood was coming too. In between moaning, breathing and trying not to die from pleasure, she tried to warn him but the words just couldn’t formulate themselves into coherence. Her floodgates opened and she started to squirt, then he suddenly pulled out and led her to the dining table, bending her over it and going hard on her. Her legs shook, breath caught, her orgasm shooting out in one, endless stream, on him, on her thighs, spilling onto the floor in a pool between her legs. His hands never left her hips, he never stopped thrusting, she couldn’t stop quivering or calling out his name and desperately looking for something to hold on to, to keep her in the present. Eventually her legs gave way, and he supported her as she fumbled back onto the carpet, breathing heavily while he seemed not to have even broken a sweat. How unfair!
He perched her up on the cushions and opened her legs again, her legs on his shoulders and he on his knees. She took him in, once again, and felt him further up than before. This man kept unlocking levels of her vagina she didn’t think existed, but there he was, exploring new corners of pussy town. Fuck. Could any single human be this sexually effective? And could she be hungry for anyone else as she was for him? She felt him start to throb inside her, his own climax looming over them, and knew where she wanted to be. Right there, in the present, his seed spilling inside her while she flexed her walls to drain all of it into her waiting receptacle. He exploded into her, then collapsed on her chest, holding her close and listening to their breaths and wild heartbeats, kneeling between her thighs and worshiping her even in post coital bliss.