0 comments/ 7415 views/ 1 favorites Lover's Rock By: janeylee The sun wheeled across the sky in its blazing chariot high above sleeping, bare bodies of Danica and Cale, making its way towards late afternoon. Warmth enveloped them, despite the lateness of the season, and the bard, with one arm curled beneath his head, the other draped across the young woman's side, shifted a little in his slumber. Wakefulness had left him with little reluctance, for the coupling had left him spent, exhausted; yet thoroughly satisfied. He'd remained awake long enough to trace the contours of Danica's face once they'd settled onto the moss on the west side of the rock, listen to her breathe for a few minutes, and then smile before dropping off... He had not meant to do so, for he had wished to write his thoughts within his little book, to share the words that he could not speak with this young woman... his friend, his companion, his comfort in the middle of an aloof world... but he had not managed it, and now curled against her, eyes shut, lips parted. Dream images chased their elusive tails 'round his head, of twisted ropes and gnarled winter trees, and for a moment, the shadow of a frown slipped across his features... fingers tightened in his own hair, and gently squeezed Danica's soft skin, before releasing once more. --------------------------- A soft sigh escaped Danica and she stirred. She had been enjoying the fuzzy coherence of her dream--she was naked in a poppy field, her back spread on soil, her face lifted to the drifting animal clouds...tears sliding soundlessly down her cheeks, streaming and melding into the ground beneath her, feeding seeds of trees yet to be born...a branch of a nearby tree was swaying gently in the wind, reached to her...PINCHED her? Danica's eyes flew open, her sight full of sleep and blurry. Cale. It had been Cale. She let out her breath in a slow expulse of relief and shifted a little on her side. To be honest with herself, this was the first time that waking from a dream had been more pleasant than the dreams themselves. Cale was beside her, his breath solid and rhythmic, still induced in slumber. Danica watched his face, memorizing their contours...his beauty. She had not turned before seeing the frown embedded in the expression of his sleeping face. She dragged her fingertip down his cheek gently, wondering the nature of his own dreams. Her eyes drifted to his exposed neck. A ragged, vicious scar marred the otherwise smooth length of his throat. She stared at it, feeling a tear moisten her cheek. She brushed at it absently and passed her fingers to the angry scar, running her soft fingertips across its ridge. The contact...it left her breathless. So much pain...Cale... She took her hand back, the touch saddening her. She returned her now-alert gaze back to Cale's. "What happened to you..?" Her voice was hushed to the point of nothing coherent. ----------------------------- Daylight, frozen.... Winter... the cold did not quite filter through in his dream, and yet his breath still bore itself visibly upon the air in front of him. In front of him... until... the hood. They'd draped a hood over him, for propriety's sake, to keep the lusting crowd from seeing the fullness of his agony when he dropped. At least they'd given him that. He dreamed of himself standing upon the cart once more, the horses champing noisily at the bit behind him, unable to see, and yet somehow watching himself from the milling crowd at the same time, silent, unable to speak, mute to save himself... His brows pulled tighter when Danica's finger delicately traced the lines of his cheek, to his chin... and onward to the scar that marred his throat. Reality and the dream clashed violently together, and he rose up on a sudden, gasping for air even as she spoke. Wild green eyes blinked in the autumn sun and for a painful, thundering heartbeat, he lifted a hand to ward her away...But quickly, his body relaxed. Taut, hard muscles untensed, relief sluicing through his limbs like water, and he sat up fully, offering up an apologetic look to Danica* She, and not the rope. Here, and not... the hill... ----------------------------- Danica’s body reflexively twitched backwards as Cale awoke with a startled bravado. In doing so, she almost flew off the edge of the rock and firmly set her hands against the gravel. Her chest heaved from the surprise, her cheeks filling with a ruddy complexion of guilty embarrassment. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…” She placed a hand against her thumping heartbeat, her expression rather flustered. His own apologetic look had come around the same time as her own exclamation and now she fell silent. A quick shake of her head and she then placed a trembling hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her blue orbs found his and they flickered with curiosity, her pupils dilating. “Are you alright?” Her brow was furrowed with concern, her lower lip caught between the bone-white of her teeth. ----------------------------- He nodded a little in response to her question, and smiled, albeit lopsidedly. How could he tell her of the dream? Experiencing it almost nightly was torture enough, but to write it down, to spill out the memories that locked him in their grip with a relentless fervor would be beyond his wishes. Cale leaned forward, then, unable to keep from rolling a long, slow glance along her body, and touched the hand which touched him in hopes of reassuring her. Worry should not cross her brow, he mused... there was too much beauty there to be sullied by the likes of worldly cares and fretting. He felt a surge of fondness for her, despite himself, and cast a quick gaze toward his clothing nearby. The harp lay upon them, beside his book, and he took a breath that expanded the girth of his chest. Time could trudge by, a thousand lifetimes, and he would never be able to tell her all that tangled his heart. Somehow, he knew this, and even had he the tongue again to sing of his pain, to extoll the history that had piled up around him.. she could not.. would not... be the one. And yet... He cared for Danica. Warmth flooded his eyes, and the smile grew softer. Cale lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip, slowly, his mouth warm against her cool skin. --------------------------- Danica was thoughtful as his expression took on a troubled guise. She could not place what made her feel so for him. Her heart lurched at the pained look that had become engrained in his eyes. Sometimes, she wished he could speak, but the honesty was that he affected her more than any other she had met in her limited, yet experienced days. Words failed most times to do much more than express languid time-fillers of the weather and…much too often these days, convey anger. There was hardly comfort in words for Danica, and Cale certainly had none. In an odd, surprising way, she preferred it that way. Cale's eyes, his body (which she was having difficulty keeping her eyes from sweeping over), his mouth…the way he would tilt his head, the dance his fingers would occasionally lay upon his harp…they made her emotions sweep wildly and moved her…yes…beyond anything her words could supply her with. At the focus his gaze took upon her own body, a faint blush of awareness pinked her cheeks. She gave him a small, silly smile. She was not necessarily embarrassed of her nakedness, but was most definitely –aware- of it. She gave him a playful poke to his chest. “And…exactly…-what- are you staring at?” The corners of her supple mouth curled into a grin and she kissed his shoulder softly, her lips lingering on his flesh. Another moment of accepted and revered silence. She found comfort in the presence of Cale, and was still spinning webs of confused, yet delighted, thoughts in that head of hers. ------------------------------ And the lingering fog of the dream dissipated in the outright glow of Danica's smile, the delight in her eyes at being the object of his attentions. He could not keep his own grin from his face, nor did he care to, for the elation he felt within her presence bolstered his mood. He would not, for the moment, allow the realization that he would soon leave this valley yet again to travel the winding, dusty roads in search of other towns, other taverns, other king's halls in which to ply his trade. One did not live under the same roof for very long as a harper, but he wished for now not to think of this. Time in happiness, he had learned, was a short thing, ever elusive, like a deer in the woods. Once spotted, it could quickly flee, and leave behind it naught but memories of its passing, and a longing for it to return. He lived... as many of his kind did... in the present. Here, now, with a head full of history and rhymes to be sung and spoken to those who needed the illusion of permanency of a name, the immortality of a deed...a strange irony, to be sure, but one that he was familiar with. Comfortable with. And now the present was calling him toward the feel of Danica's kiss upon his shoulder. Air rushed from his nostrils audibly, and he allowed his eyes to fall closed for a moment before smirking. In answer to his question, he aimed an index finger directly at her breasts, the tip dangerously close to a nipple. His brow tweaked upward and fell once again. ----------------------------- Danica stared at him a moment, then burst into a fit of giggles. She could not help herself. The serious set of his face, the earnest way he answered his question…it amused her. Turned her on, too. Oh God, his touch had left her reeling earlier, and even recalling what they had shared together turned her body into one big craving monster. He was not touching her now, however, but the proximity of his finger to her breast, the tease, the anticipation….she swallowed and grinned at him. “You realise you’re a trouble-starter, don’t you?” Her fingers found their way to the water’s edge of the lake and she flicked droplets at him playfully. With a coy grin, she picked up her clothes and tossed them off the rock. “..those just get in the way.” With that, Danica pressed her cheek to his, her mouth millimeters from his ear, brushing him with her breath. “I gather you’re not regretting anything…” It was a teasing remark, yet held a note of question in it. Their moment together had been sudden, unplanned. Indeed, before it occurred, Danica was unaware of how Cale felt about her, their friendship. They were comfortable around each other, yet not once had shared one syllable or written word about their –feelings-. Danica wasn’t looking for a relationship out of him, yet was naturally cautious and set to make sure what they had shared was…mutual. He had wanted it as much as her, she knew this, yet sex was a funny thing. It had a tendency to ruin things, or strengthen them. She playfully licked his ear lobe and then gave his cheek a light kiss. -------------------------- He merely nodded at her first question, slowly; eyes fixed upon hers, and dropped his hand to her knee. She could not disguise her need, the want which radiated from every curve of her supple body, and this was what kept him on his "troublemaking" course. Trouble, when it came in such delightful packaging, was unable to be resisted. He had been a man of the world long enough to read even the slightest of body language in his time, and hers? Was not so subtle. Neither, he imagined, was his. How could it be, when it, and the canvas of his face, were the only thing with which he could paint the lines of communication between the two of them, when his book and pen were both out of arm's reach? Even as he dodged the water flicked at him, reaching out a hand to grasp her wrist with a silent chuckle, Cale wondered about Danica. Where had she come from? Wrapping his arms automatically around her body when she leaned in, the man shook his head, breathing in the scent of her still-damp short hair. Regrets? None, if she had none, either... None were to be had as of now, but who knew what the future would bring? And a day away seemed an eternity. Her kiss pleased him. Turning his head, he pulled her close to him, up onto his lap, should she wish to do so, and idly ran his fingertips down the landscape of her back, along her spine... then up again once more, to the nape of her neck before burying his face against her shoulder. Nibbling... the pink dart of his tongue flicking at her faintly salty skin with an ease and comfort of a man who had nowhere else to be... nor any want to change the fact. -------------------------- She slid easily into the warmth of his lap and curled her legs over his, her toes a little cold. At his hot breath and tongue against her neck, she let out a long sigh. Her head dropped back slightly, exposing more of her throat to his tender kisses. How long had it been since she had experienced the touch of a man? Years…not since…ah yes. But she didn’t want to think about him. He was not here…Cale was, and his sultry touch was making her shiver. Her neck was sensitive to attention, and she could not ignore the desire rising from her loins. She let out another lusty groan and ran her fingers through the thick of his hair, clutching, pulling at it. Her arms dropped and encircled their way to his back, slight clawing. Hissing in an excited breath, she smiled crookedly. “If this is what I get, I may never get dressed again.” A light, amused laugh. She cupped his chin with a slender hand and brought his lips to hers, her kiss gentle, tender. She was flushing hot and cold. The air had chilled since earlier, and they had been naked for a while. Yet his touch, his lips, they set her in warm trembles. After so many polite conversations the two of them had shared, this was a wild trip, and surreal escape from reality, it seemed. They were here at an obscure lake, no one else around, the sun mysteriously bright and warm just for them, and enfolded in each others’ arms. Danica had no way of pondering what would happen once this day was over. The passion they had for each other seemed inexplicable yet undeniable…would it all disappear? Would it –have- to? Danica forced these thoughts away from her. She was too content and would kick herself if allowed to ruin it. --------------------------- Cale smiled at her moan, closing his eyes as lips met with skin, dancing across the curve of her neck and down toward her collarbone. Still, he moved slowly, in no rush to hurry things as he had done before. He hoped for time afterwards to speak with her, writing his thoughts and questions upon the cream-smooth paper of his journal, but did not wish to break the spell that wrapped the two of them up in its heated coils at the moment. Though unable to speak, he was far from soundless. A shivering, thin gasp escaped him as Danica drew her nails across his back, and the bard grinned at her words, her laughter, seeing light and beauty upon that happy face. He knew not of her worries, her hopes, and had pushed aside his own, unwilling to let them enter his head once again, reveling in the enjoyment she found in him. For a moment, he pulled away, staring at her, letting his eyes range across her features, before stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers... And, tilting his head to watch his own actions, Cale's caress skimmed downwards along her arm, over the plateau of her sternum, and then paused to gingerly cup a full breast. Emerald green eyes flicked to meet with Danica's, to gauge her reaction even as he lightly pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger. -------------------------- The moment was warm, tender…Cale’s caress persistent yet gentle, sounds between them expiring melodiously, intertwining and melting into the other’s gratification. Danica was having difficulty comprehending where her flesh ended and his began as she watched his fingertips drag lazily across the smoothness of her skin, tracing her curves with tantalizing slowness. At the pause of his movement across the landscape of her body, she drew in an ill-composed breath, a shiver racing itself like blue lightening down the curve of her spine. The moment, that slight hesitation, hung deliciously suspended in the air encompassing the two lovers. And then it was falling on her in a cascade, around her, within her…spilling across her insides, surging through her chest cavity and encouraging the drag of her breath to be ragged, forced. The warmth of his hand engulfed her breast, his fingertips searing heat into her flesh. At the pull of her nipple, the tentative glance he then flickered across to her, her stillness evaporated, and her head lolled backwards, hair spilling in waves to her shoulders. Her mouth opened almost in slow motion, her coral lips parting and twinging ever so slightly at their corners. A long, throaty sigh expelled itself, and her body twitched noticeably. “Cale..." *her breath was broken, caught in a limbo of elation. She returned her face level to his, her cerulean orbs catching the waning sunlight, enriching the depth of blue they already portrayed. She searched him out, flickering over the jade of his eyes. She had been catapulted into a fantasy she formerly deliberated beyond experiencing and her mind was swirling. --------------------------- Beneath her warm body, he could feel himself growing hard once again. It strained for freedom, seeming to seek out Danica's heat with a mind of its own, needing to plunge deep within her once again. And still, his hand worked, slowly squeezing her breast, thumb flicking over the stiffening nipple. His own breath had grown ragged in response to hers, and with a little quirk of his mouth, he dipped those calloused, slender fingers lower, expertly teasing responses from her until those digits reached the border between snowy skin and the forest of dark hair pointing toward her nether regions. He enjoyed this, beyond words that could be spoken or sung, beyond any explanation that could be held within the volumes of a thousand books. His breath whickered across her cheek as he turned an eye downward, and slipped his hand suddenly between her legs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. ------------------------- She sucked in a breath, suddenly finding her head caught in a swarm of dizziness. His fingers probed with near delicacy and close precision. With each tweak of his digits, her thighs twitched and her mouth danced along sometimes silent, sometimes raucous groans of rapture. Her slender hands clutched at his shoulders, snatches of skin reddening to her prints. She lifted herself slightly, curling her head into the nook between his throat and smooth shoulders. Her lips found his flesh, nipped at it. She was pushing at him, her chest connecting with his, driving his upper body backwards. Her knee established a position at his crotch, the pressure of their aft motion kneading into the rigidity of his member. In another instant, her lips had found his, and her own hand was slipping dangerously below his navel. Her fingertips brushed at his groin, creeping along his thigh, squeezing…but never once grasping at his manhood. Teasing caresses drifted all over his body, feather-like… Danica pressed against him, their bodies now horizontal, the warmth of his flesh engraining into hers. Her mouth moved from his lips to his ear, a small nibble to his lobe and then her tongue was snaking its way down his neck, her breath scorching and rapid. ------------------------- Cale continued his lazy pattern, quickness no part of his nature now. His fingers squeezed the tiny nubbin at the core of her center, then slid between the hot, slick lips. Back and forth he stroked, leaning his head against her shoulder even as her lips discovered him. He cradled her close, his green eyes half-closed, lips parted. He could smell her from here, that hot, heady scent that magnified his need for her. The smell which defined her as woman, as beauty, as lust and love and nature and fire and all of the primal things barreling toward his senses like a raging bull. Lovers Rock Finally, Friday has arrived. It's been a long week and I'm looking forward to my weekend. What is on my books for the weekend? The usual...errands, coffee with my girlfriend, nothing out of the ordinary. But, what if today was the day he asked? What if he wanted to pencil himself in for my weekend, that's a nice thought. What if...today...he asked you. My juicy sweet, velvety dark chocolate skinned stud. He's been watching you for months now at work and I've been following him with my eyes for months now, too. There's hardly a movement of his that I miss. My eyes have zeroed in on him. I see him watching me too, I see him staring. He's made his move a few times to have conversation with me, follows me back to the break room, says hello on occasion, a smile. But nothing recently, I question if he's still interested. And, being the salivating cock slut that I am, I find it difficult to sit still and act like good girl, when I know how wet and hot my little aching pussy gets when he walks by my desk. I lose my breath. I begin to pant like a dog. I can't sit still. I find myself saying under my breath, "God...DAMN!" "Goddamn." Watching his juicy booty switch when he walks by my desk, eyes bouncing with each juicy switch. Goddamn. And imaging licking that ass, like a good girl does for her man. My mouth falling open as he walks by, Jesus Christ. Someone's going to notice you staring, mouth gaping open, and bust my inner super slut panting like a dog. He's thick, and solid. Sweet dark chocolate, my favorite. Jesus Christ, so fucking sweet. Fucking beautiful. He could catch you when you fall. Early 30's, just slightly younger than me, wears these sexy sophisticated eyeglasses. Even though he's younger, he's an old school gentleman; he doesn't like an aggressive girl. He likes to take the lead; he likes to be the aggressor himself. He's picked up on my lines, tall, thin, 5'9," legs, a primed mare, built for two. Creamy soft, vanilla skin. Permeating the need to be disciplined. He stands 5'8," he'll have to climb on to ride me good. Climb up those legs, to do his business right, with his healthy horse cock. And he continues to keep me waiting, panting, and salivating and aching. While I'm trying to come off as a nice girl, so I don't scare him away. While I sit on my purring pussy, and have difficulty focusing for my job. Finding myself with the need to get up from desk to walk it off and wipe the saliva from my little soaked pussy, and clean up my messy panties. "Get your head on right." I plead with myself in the bathroom. I scold, "Stop it." "Focus." I dress for his eyes only, wearing ensembles with pops of suggestion, accentuating body parts, belts around my small waist. Argyle school girl cardigans, pencil skirts, stockings, heels, hints of skin revealed, a shoulder, hoping he can see the silhouette of my garter belt beneath my skirt, or at least peak his curiosity to make him fantasize about what is beneath my skirt. Hoping his eyes are drawn to my legs, that I'm aching to wrap around him, while he drills me with his horse cock. I don't know how much longer I can wait. I feel knots in the pit of my stomach; it's laced itself into my breath. This curious impulse, an innate, involuntary response. Fuck. This is what I get to sit with...ALL...DAY...LONG, beating within me, circulating and pulsating inside. Fantasizing about him fucking me, when I come home from the office, touching myself, stroking my dirty little cunt, closing my eyes and imagining what your cock feels like buried inside me. The weight of your body, the heat of our bodies together, your skin next to mine, contrasting skin tones, breathing, fucking, sweating, locked inside me. Fucking. Fucking me good. My legs spread in opposite directions, open for you. Receiving you. Fucking me good. Doing your work, doing your job. Jesus, God. Please. Just fuck me. Please, I'm begging you for it. Can you hear that? Can you feel that? I'm begging for it. Bowing down and behaving like a good girl. Trying to be good and obedient, without leading on too much. It's a fine line, and my inner super slut is raging out of control, throwing a fit inside the closet I've locked her in. And I get to stare at that ass walk by my desk all day long, while everything stops inside of me, eyes following his ass and his body conformation, watching him walk. Studying him. But I can't be the aggressor. He wants to take the reins, he's in control, and he wants me to know that. He knows what he's doing. He has to come to you, that's just the way it is. He's making me behave, and be his good girl. He's making me wait. He's putting me in my place, making me wait my turn. And all I get to do is put on a tasteful dress, shave my legs, and smile...ONLY when he smiles at me first. He walks by my desk and smiles at me, says softly, "Hey," like it's a secret. I smile back, pickup what he just gave to me, his little secret...I'm coming for you. And I'll let him chase it. You can tease my hot little pussy all you want; it's on reserve for you. It's salivating and purring for you. You can come get it, when you tell me it's my turn. Is he going to let another week go by without saying anything? Am I shut out again? Week after week this is how it goes, for months now. And I'm left with nothing, but my fantasy burning in my head and my soaking wet panties. Today feels different though. He's been watching intently, all day, sharply and fiercely. Stands up and pretends to stretch, glancing over at me, stands up at his desk to talk to someone he can easily converse with while seated, just stares at me from across the sales floor, he plays it off well. I catch his eyes, every single time though. If he's going to cast, then I'm going to catch. Like his good little girl...I receive. Is today the day, he tells me it's my turn? Can't you see, I'm primed; I'm ready for you. I'm waiting, I'm ready for you, my pussy is hot for you, baby. I'm ready for you to come take what's yours. I know you can hear that. I know you can feel that. And today is different. He makes his move, like mama's good boy. He obeys like a good boy. He did hear me. It's a little after 5PM, my week is over, and we're two of the very few remaining people left in the office. I reach for my jacket, my purse, car keys, always pausing and stalling before I leave, signaling to him, giving him yet another opportunity to come get what's on reserve for him. And hoping he will follow me out one of these days. I slip on my trench coat, tie the belt around my waist, and walk towards the elevator. Walking by him, I notice he's reached for his jacket as well. Waiting for the elevator, he walks around the corner and meets me. Smiles, and says, "Hey." I smile back and say, "Hello." "My goodness," and a slight exhale in relief, he did hear me. "How you doin'?" "How was your week?" With half a smile. I'm sorry, he said something to me, Jesus Christ, what did he say, I was watching those juicy lips move when he speaks. I found words, "Good, my numbers are looking good...happy it's Friday," I mustered. "You have plans?" He asked. "What would you say if I asked you over for a drink, I live nearby?" "It's a nice night." "I would say, yes," I replied. The elevator must have heard us, the doors opened. He turns toward me and hovers his hand over the small of my back and stretches one out toward the elevator, motioning, after you. We walk to his car in the parking garage together, making small talk. He's very respectful, courteous, engaged and listening to what I'm saying. Being a man...doing his job, taking the reins, and I'm letting him. We get to his car; he opens the passenger door for me. I take my time getting in, my legs are last, taking my time, I'm glad I wore the A-line wrap dress today. As I pull my legs into the passenger seat, the edge of my dress falls open, revealing my thigh up to my hip. He sees it and pauses for a moment. With a smile, he says, "You dropped something." He reaches to pull up the edge of my dress and hands it to me, to cover up my exposed thigh. I smile and say, "Thank you." Grab it from him and fold my hands together in my lap. He closes the passenger door and walks around the rear of the car; I reach over and open his door for him. He slips into the driver's seat, black leather seats, manual transmission, and he looks fine in his car. "Goddamn," my eyes say. "Goddamn," I say to myself inside. This man is fine. My breath picks up from what's in my sight. Not looking at me, but smiling as he reverses, he picked up on the shift in my breath. "You're breathing heavy, Kelly," he says to me. I let out a sigh. I'm busted. My super slut, snuck out of the closet. My head falls back to the head rest, in disappointment with myself. Dammit. He's only going to give me so many chances to be his good girl, and I'm at strike two. He knows every trick, a trick can play, and he does not tolerate games. He's giving me an opportunity; he's really pulling for me to be his good girl. He's laughing at me. He genuinely finds amusement in it. At least I made him laugh. He wants to give me an opportunity; he wants to let me in. He wants to trust me with the reins, he knows I understand he owns me and my little pussy, and will fuck me up, if needed. He wants to trust me because he recognizes strength and needs someone to catch him when he falls on occasion, he would let me catch him. We make small talk on the way to his house, hashing through our work week, shop talk. The conversation falls and he looks over at me. Locks his eyes on, and runs them down my body, studying...conformation, curves, lines. Examining and exploring with his eyes. No words, and I'm watching his eyes, and he knows it. It's intentional, studying every inch; he's not discreet or trying to be. He wants me to see what his eyes are doing, where they're going. It's a long silence. And then he says to me, "You know I've been saving you, right?" Staring at him, I didn't respond. Assuming there was more to that. He says it again, firmer this time, "You know I've been saving you, right?" Or, maybe I just wanted to hear him say it again, so he could hear himself saying it again. I responded this time, "No." "I didn't know that." "I've been saving you to make sure that it's hot for me." "On reserve, for me." "You knew I was coming for you." I'm flattered, he thinks so highly of me. I just stared back at him. He's been reserving my pretty little pussy this whole time...just sitting on it. I'm his Ace. Making sure it's hot for Daddy's horse cock. He knew what he was doing to me. We pull up to his house. He gets out of the drivers seat, walks around the car and opens my door, reaches for my hand to help me up. It is a nice night, early spring. The air is still and perfect. It tickles and whispers on the skin. He walks up to his house and I follow behind him. He checks the mailbox and unlocks the front door, reaches his arm out. "After you," he says I walk into his house, he has a nice home, it even smells like home to me. He pauses, watches me meandering for a moment. Says, "Make yourself at home." "Red or white?" "Red." He disappears for a few minutes and I do make myself at home, slip off my heels, set down my purse, and my jacket, checking out his place. I have a seat on the leather sofa. He brings me a glass of red, as requested, sits down next to me, very close, no words. Sipping in silence, glancing over at each other, decompressing mutually, in silence, both of our legs crossed. Just sitting in silence, it felt comfortable, it feels like home. And then without looking at me, staring forward. He says to me, "Why don't you come over here and straddle those legs across my cock." It was not a request, but a command. I sat there in silence for a few moments, a pause rather. Letting his words and his voice resonate and ring in my ears, slowly chewing and digesting every single word, savoring his words and his voice. I've been waiting to hear him say those words. Like a good girl, I obeyed. Obediently rose to my feet, set down my glass of wine. Turned facing him, staring down at him. I pull up my dress to mid-thigh, placed one knee to the outside of his leg and the other to the outside of his opposite leg, straddling him, up on my knees, just like he told me to do, staring down at him. In silence. Waiting for my next command. He sets down his glass of wine, places his hands on my hips and shoves me down hard on his cock. He's solid hard and fits me perfectly between my legs. He breathes in and exhales at contact, closes his eyes momentarily. Deep inhale and hard exhale again, relaxing into our bodies connecting. No movement, still in silence, he stares at me and sits in the moment. He brings his hands up my thighs, strokes my legs up and down, several times, runs his hands from my knees up to my hips and brings them back down the sides. Long, slow strokes up and around my hips, going further and further underneath my dress with each pass. Watching his own hands, as he runs them up and down my legs, I loved watching him stroke my thighs. He runs his hands around my ass, is holding my ass in his hands, then slaps me, hard. I like it like that, it turns me on. I rise off his lap; it was his signal for me to rise. He follows the lace of my G-string panties down my ass, runs his fingers across my pussy, they're soaked. He feels the heat and moisture soaking through my panties; he looks at me and smiles. No hiding my messy panties from him. Guilty I am, he has this pussy salivating and dripping for his cock. Still stroking my pretty little pussy on the outside of my soaked panties. I placed my hands on the back of the sofa, leaning forward, so he has room to do his work. He pulls my panties aside and pokes me with his finger. "OH!" I gasped. My eyes widen and I jump slightly, I wasn't expecting to be poked just yet, but he found what he was looking for, he went right for it, Daddy's hot little cunt. He removes his finger and slips it into his mouth, eye brows raising in approval. I'm relieved...my little pussy is palatable to him. Then dips his finger back inside of me, circling my little pussy, stroking my clit with his thumb, pumping and pulsing my little hot cunt with the tip of his middle finger, my pussy is juicy wet for his cock. I ask him, "May I?" as I look down at his cock. "Yes," He replies. I unbutton his shirt first, and take out his cock. He allows me stroke his beautiful cock, while he primes my little pussy, fucking me with the tip of his finger. Teasing me with his finger. He rises from the sofa and gestures me to follow him, to make our way to his bedroom. Stopping in the dining room, he puts me up on the edge of the table. Lifts up my legs, facing him, and continues to fuck me with his finger, tongue down my throat. Intermittent delicate soft kisses, placing his juicy soft lips on mine. His forehead to mine. He continues to allow me to stroke his cock. Saying, "You like that, baby?" "You like it when I fuck you with my finger?" He makes me stand up at the dining table, turns me around and comes in behind me, still fucking me with his finger, making me hold my own dress up with one hand, so he can fuck me, and one hand placed on the table, leaning over, while he jerks his own cock. I'm begging him, "Please." I whisper to him, "I'm ready." He says, "No." "Not yet." I'm ready, I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't have him inside me. I need him inside. My hips jerking involuntarily, I'm ready. I'm ready for him to slide his cock inside me. I ask again, "I'm ready, baby." He says, "No." He takes me by the hand and leads me into his bedroom. Lays me down on the bed on my back and lies next to me, untying my dress and lets it fall open, falling to my sides. Sucking and licking on Mama's titties, licking and biting my nipples, massaging my little pussy. But he won't give me his cock. He won't penetrate me; he won't fuck me with his cock. He slaps my titties, in a reprimanding manner. And then does it again, harder this time, and his face turns stern, I've misbehaved. He lays beside me, his cock falling in between our legs, our mouths together, I reach down to touch him, and he stops me this time. He halts my hand sharply by pinning it between our legs. He's firm, he means it, he won't allow me to touch him. But continues to fuck me with his finger and shakes his head gently me at me, staring at me. My legs spread open, I'm completely exposed. I'm begging him, "Please." "I want Daddy's cock." "I'm ready for my Daddy's cock." "I'm ready, baby." But he won't give it to me. He keeps telling me no. And then, he tells me, "You're gonna cum on those fingers first." "That's what you're gonna do." "You don't get this cock until I know you know what to do with it." And then he tells me again, "You're gonna cum on those fingers first." I'm pleading with him, "Please." "Please give it to me, I'm ready baby, I'm ready for Daddy's cock." "PLEEEASE." His face close to mine, stares at me and shakes his head no. My eyes begin to well up, clenching them shut. I'm not good enough. He won't give it to me. He won't even penetrate me fully with his finger, just barely pulsing me with the tip of one finger. Tears fall down the side of my face. He whispers in my ear, "Are you gonna cum for me?" I nod my head in obedience and take a deep breath in. Defeated. He continues to massage his pussy, fucking and pulsing his finger inside me. Tenderly, circling my clit with his thumb, coaxing it. My breath is heavy, in and out, succumbed with emotion. Now defeated. And finally, it goes, my little pussy releases on his fingers, contracting and releasing, contracting and releasing. Convulsions, gushing and releasing, cumming on his fingers, just like he told me to do. Draining and releasing all over his hand and his bed. I'm exposed, everything, gaping open, and now listless. He slides his finger out, holds it in front of his face and breathes in, smelling my cum on his fingers. Wipes his mouth and tastes my cum off his fingers. He wraps me in his bed sheet, covers me up. Our eyes meet, he's stroking my head and my hair, lying beside me, wipes my damp face with his hands. He puts his arm around me, squeezing me in closer to him to rest my head across his chest, places a single kiss on my forehead. And says to me, "That's my good girl." I've passed. He breaks me. And now he owns me.