3 comments/ 22039 views/ 4 favorites Pride By: Ashson Chloe was hot. She was young, blonde, intelligent, vivacious and generally popular. And she knew it. Ashley wouldn't go so far as to call her vain, but he did consider her to have a lot of pride. That's was OK. He could work with pride. Pride would make her do things she really shouldn't, just to save face, and that same pride would help her justify her actions afterwards. Basically, it was wait and take the chance when offered. The chance came one summer evening. Ash had been at the beach with a number of friends, Chloe included, and they were now packing to go home. Nearly everyone had already gone. The only people left were Ash and a few of the boys and Chloe. They'd all been out catching some last waves, but were now prepared to pack it in. The changing rooms were next to each other and open to the sky. While there were half a dozen people in the men's room, the women's room was empty, apart from Chloe. Faintly hearing the shower in the room next door, Ash decided that the time was ripe to pay Chloe a little visit and see what developed. He slipped out of the men's changing room un-noticed and drifted into the woman's room. Ash headed down towards the showers, hearing them stop running as he approached. Then Chloe stepped out from them, casually drying herself as she came. "Very nice, Chloe. In fact, you look sensational," murmured Ash. There was a soft squeal from Chloe as she hastily rearranged her towel to protect her modesty. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "You know damn well you're not supposed to be here." "It's not what I'm doing, so much, as who I am going to be doing," returned Ash. "I want you and I thought that this would be the ideal time to demonstrate that fact." Chloe paled slightly and started backing up as Ash moved towards her. "Don't be silly," she snapped. "You're not going to touch me and you know it. If you don't go away I'll scream and people will come to see what's going on. I can hear the others in the other changing room, even if you can't." "Oh I know that they're there and that they'll come running if you start screaming, but I don't think you've thought it through." "What do you mean?" demanded Chloe, a horrible feeling nagging at her that she might be in real strife. "Well consider what would happen. You'd scream and the boys would come running. While they're on their way I'd have that towel off you and be holding you with your arms pinned behind your back, facing the door. The boys would come barging in and then they'd be beholding you standing starkers before them, giving them a most unforgettable sight. On top of that they all have smart phones and I can just guarantee they'd be taking pictures of you before they did anything else. Those sort of pictures would go viral as soon as they hit the internet. On top of that, the boys are getting changed so they'll all probably be only half dressed. The big question is would my mates thump me and toss me out of the changing room or would they decide to join in the entertainment. You are a very sexy dish, as you must know. And even if they did toss me out, how do you know that someone might not linger and follow up their advantage while the others are chasing me away?" Ash smiled at Chloe. "Are you really going to risk them all admiring your nudity, cameras flashing rather than having to put up with a little quality time with me?" Chloe paled. The thought of the rest of the men seeing her naked was bad enough, but to have them taking pictures as well? She'd never live it down. She'd just curl up and die. Why the hell did they ever invent smart phones in the first place? Chloe jumped when Ash reached out and plucked the towel out of her hands. She promptly tried to cover herself only to drop her hands to her side when Ash gently derided her. As Ash moved closer Chloe backed further away until she encountered the wall of the shower cubicle behind her. Ash reached out and took her arm, turning her until she was facing the wall. "Bend over and brace your arms against the wall," he told her, helping her to reluctantly take up the position he wanted. A gentle tap on her ankles encouraged Chloe to move her legs further apart, and then she gave a small shriek as she felt his hand close over the sensitive flesh between her thighs. A little gentle exploring and titillation established that Chloe was not a virgin (which he hadn't really expected. She was pushing twenty.) and that her pussy was starting to heat up and moisten. The knowledge of what was going to happen was enough to make Chloe acutely aware of herself, and Ash's teasing touches just hastened the flow of her natural juices. "I'd suggest you keep any squealing or screaming to a minimum. You don't really want visitors checking to see what's happening, do you?" Ash advised her. Chloe gulped, wanting to scream already. Mainly she wanted to scream a lot of rude names at Ash. Then she gasped as she felt him probing against her soft flesh. She gasped again as Ash reached down and stretched her lips apart before driving forward more forcefully. Ash heard Chloe give a soft squeal as he impaled her with one firm thrust. He could feel her pressing back against him, and he grinned. Whether she knew it or not, she was ready and willing to do her part. Ash slid his arms around Chloe and captured her breasts. Chloe felt Ash's withdrawal and then gasped and pushed firmly back against him as he thrust back into her, hard and fast. She cursed softly to herself. She was not going to cooperate with this, this ravishment. She held firm while Ash withdrew and plunged back again, and then again. The next stroke Chloe was again pushing back to meet him as he returned with another thrust. No way, she had decided, would she just stand there and let him do what he wanted. If he wanted her then he'd better be prepared to match her, because she wasn't some doll he could just toy with. Ash smiled as he felt Chloe positively responding to him. He'd thought she would and he now set to work with a will, thrusting into her as hard, fast and often as he could. Chloe was panting hard, striving to match his needs and deeds, not wanting him to get the better of her. Ash's hands on her breasts were squeezing out the tempo and she made herself meet him, breasts rubbing against his palms while at the same time her bottom bobbed up and down. The pattern established, Ash hammered Chloe, thrust by thrust driving her towards a satisfactory conclusion. Chloe was hot, excited and reluctantly willing, hastening to meet Ash's every push. Her climax was coming, Chloe just knew it and little wails were spilling out of her mouth, with Chloe finding herself helpless to prevent them. The little wails were starting to turn into louder shrieks and squeals when Ash placed his hand over her mouth, stifling them. Unable to help herself Chloe bit down hard, hearing Ash yelp, then forgot everything but the climax that was hitting her, not thinking about it but just reduced to feeling, with wave after wave of feelings rippling through her. Chloe was vaguely aware of Ash gasping and banging hard against her as he vented himself, but he was incidental to the wave of glorious feeling flooding her. She just sighed and yielded to it. Chloe leaned against the wall of the shower, gasping, feeling Ash move away from her. Then she gave a sudden gasp as a cascade of cold water washed over her. Thankfully it was still a hot day, but that flood of cold water was a real eye-opener. Did she thank Ash for turning on the shower or hit him? She needed the shower right then, but she also needed to hit him. Hard. Turning around, Chloe saw that Ash had gone, and hearing the shower turn on next door knew where he had gone. Muttering under her breath, breathing imprecations about what she would do next time she met him, Chloe dried and dressed and got out of there. - - - Although Chloe wasn't expecting (or hoping) to meet Ashley for a while she found herself running into him the next day. She was heading home, strolling past the small lake in the park near her place when Ash popped up like an evil genie. Chloe promptly ignored him, stepping past him and heading on home. Unfortunately for her intentions, Ashley put a hand on her arm, stopping her. "Excuse me for a moment, Chloe," he said. "What do you want? I want nothing to do with you, as I'm sure you should be able to understand," snapped Chloe. "Oh, dear. Busy hating me, are you?" "What did you expect after yesterday?" "Gratitude? You did enjoy it, you know?" While Chloe spluttered, Ash continued. "I'm sorry to have to say it but I think you're going to hate me even more shortly." "And why would that be?" asked Chloe. "Because I'm going to get you to step behind those bushes for a few moments while I have my wicked way with you again," Ash replied. "We can be reasonably private there and you can even be a bit noisy with no-one talking any notice." "You're mad," stated Chloe, looking slightly stunned. "Can you give me a single reason why I should even continue to talk to you, let alone let you drag me behind some bushes?" Ash held up his smart phone, letting Chloe see the picture on it. She blanched. "As you can see, after you took up your position against the wall yesterday I managed a very nice shot. It shows everything doesn't it." Chloe just looked at him, stunned. Taking her arm, Ash steered her towards the bushes. "Now why don't you come and see if you can persuade me to get rid of the picture. I assure you, it's the only one I've got, so when I delete it, it's permanently gone." Her mind spinning Chloe suddenly found she privately ensconced in the bushes with Ash. She looked quickly around, finding that Ash had managed to locate a private bower in the park. She'd been coming to this park quite frequently and had had no idea that this little bower existed. How had he, she wondered? "All right," she snapped, gathering herself together. "What do I have to do to get you to delete that picture? You know damn well I can't let you show it around. You have to delete it, or better yet give me the phone so that I can delete it." "I think you know what you have to do. Afterwards I'll place the phone in your dainty little hands and you can personally delete the picture. OK?" Reluctantly, Chloe nodded. She was trapped again, but this would be the last time, she swore. "What do you want me to do?" Smiling, Ash settled down onto the grass, patting the ground beside him. Irritably Chloe sank down beside him. Ignoring the glowering looks that Chloe gave him, Ash persuaded her to take up a position on all fours. Chloe shortly found herself on her knees, her head resting on her crossed arms, her bottom hoisted perkily into the air. Ash moved around behind Chloe and lifted her skirt clear of her bottom. He heard Chloe give a little hiss of anger as he slowly pulled her panties down. Then he heard her give a startled gasp as he parted her lips and started pushing between them without even trying to prepare her. Chloe found herself wriggling with surprise as Ash came barging rudely into her. She had not expected to be assaulted so rapidly and she just wasn't ready. She gasped, feeling him push deeper, and was further shocked to find herself reacting to his internal presence, her pussy positively flooding with moisture as it rallied to adjust to this sudden action. Ash moved quickly, driving in hard and fast, not giving Chloe a chance to settle. She responded to his driving need almost from the word go, feeling his hands gripping her hips as he drove almost desperately into her. Chloe was feeling stunned. Taking his time and enjoying himself was what she expected. A hard driving need, with Ash hammering into her without respite, was what she got, with Ash apparently determined to set some sort of record in bring her to a climax. And it was working, she found. Ash's rush to fulfilment was carrying her with it, lifting her against her wishes and pointing her towards a climax. Ash could hear Chloe gasping and squealing as he hammered home, her bottom frantically bobbing, trying to keep up with him. Then he was coming and she was groaning with relief as he flooded her and swept her into her own orgasm. A few moments later and Ashley was withdrawing and pulling her panties up and her skirt down. Then Chloe found herself being helped to her feet, feeling completely stunned. What the hell had just happened? Still in a daze, Chloe found herself once more standing on the path next to the small lake. For some reason Ash was offering her his phone. Chloe took it and looked at it. Why did she need this? The memory of a photo filtered through and she gasped. Oh, god, yes. She had to get rid of that photo. She did so with one sudden movement. "Fuck!" yelled Ash, watching his phone sail through the air and land in the middle of the lake. Chloe smiled. Photo gone, mission accomplished. "OK," sighed Ash. "I'll pay that one. The photo is definitely gone." "And I'd appreciate it if you would follow the phone," snapped Chloe. "I trust I won't see you around for a while." "Um, sorry to be a nuisance and all that, Chloe," Ash told her, "but I promised myself at least three interesting meetings with you. Do you want to set up the third one now or should I make the arrangements?" Chloe glared at him. "Forget it," she snapped. "I'll be quite happy to not see you again. Ever. Don't bother trying to set up a third meeting." Turning she stalked off, smiling as she remembered the look on Ash's face when his phone took flight. - - - It was Friday before Chloe ran into Ash again. There was a barbecue on at a friend's place and Chloe rolled up. With not a care in the world, she intended to enjoy herself. Her joie de vivre took a bit of a hit when she realised that Ash was among the guests, but an instants thought made her realised that she should have expected that. They had a number of friends in common and Ash was likely to turn up no matter where she happened to go. Chloe had no intention of going out of her way to avoid him. She did intend to just ignore him when she could. Ash made no attempt to move in on her, and Chloe quickly relaxed again, enjoying the easy going barbecue with good friends. Typically for this type of affair the guests tended to divide into groups, men in one and women in the other. The groups weren't fixed, with various people crossing between then and back again, but effectively the main two groups circulated amongst themselves. As with all such things the talk among the men concentrated on politics, cars, sport and women. Among the women the talk was more about house and home, men, and women who weren't there. Not unnaturally, when the talk among the men switched to women, the women's group pricked up their ears, hoping to hear a useful piece of scandal. They became especially interested when the subject arose of how some women would use sex to get out of awkward situations. A couple of situations were mentioned, even though the specific women weren't. The women's group buzzed with speculation, wondering if they could identify anyone. That was the stage when Ash came up behind Chloe. "Hi, Chloe," he said quietly. "I was wondering if I could have a private word with you?" Chloe's stomach turned over. He wouldn't tell about her little contretemps, would he? She'd kill him if he mentioned the changing shed or that bloody photo. She threw him a killing look, bit her lip and nodded. She'd better find out what he had in mind. Chloe brooded as she followed Ash into the house. She knew damn well what he wanted. His third time. Well he could just get screwed. Well, no, not exactly. If she had her way he most definitely wouldn't be getting screwed. He wouldn't dare tell anyone about those two occasions. He didn't come out all bright and shiny, after all. A horrible suspicion nagged at her. Men looked at sex differently from women. The other men would probably congratulate him on his success while she'd be condemned if it was known he was talking about her. Chloe writhed inside, not knowing what to do. Except she damn well knew he could whistle for it, but she was not letting him jump her again. Chloe's temper stewed and heated while she walked along behind Ash. Look at him, she fumed. Not a care in the world, while he goes trampling through my life. She was going to give him a piece of her mind, see if she didn't. Ash obviously knew his way around the house. He moved swiftly to where there was a guest bedroom where they'd be assured of some privacy. Turning to face Chloe as she came in, he nodded approvingly. "You're looking very nice tonight, Chloe," he said, and indeed she did. Her yoga pants and tight top set of a superb figure to advantage. "Oh, really," said Chloe. "Meaning I don't always look nice? How kind of you to notice that I may have put a bit of effort in when I'm visiting friends. I'm surprised that you'd actually notice, seeing you're always trying to see what's under the clothes. I'd have thought my clothes would be a hindrance to you having your third time. My apologies for having them on and impeding you. Let me make amends." Before Ash's startled eyes a raging Chloe stripped off her top in a matter of seconds, with Yoga pants going just as quickly. "This is the way you want to see me isn't it," Chloe raged. "You're just desperate to get laid and the hell with what I want. Well it's not going to happen, do you hear me. It's just not going to happen." In Ash's opinion, Chloe looked magnificent. If it wasn't for the fact that he didn't want to lose his new smart phone he'd be taking a shot to make up for the one that sank with his phone. Chloe, it turned out, wasn't finished. "It occurs to me that I haven't actually seen you naked. When you ravish me you always do it from behind. Why's that. Ashamed of what you've got? Why don't we take a look?" Next moment Chloe was yanking at the buttons on Ash's shorts, trying to pull them down. Resistance, decided Ash, was futile. With no attempt at defence it didn't take long for Chloe to have Ash's shorts and jocks down. Then she started to realise what she'd done. "Oh, god," she said, sounding a little stunned. "That's, ah, impressive. Were you scared if I saw it I'd run away screaming?" She straightened her shoulders, trying to stand tall, her temper rapidly rising again. "Did you think I'm a prissy little girl who can't handle a man?" she snapped. Chloe pushed Ash, sending him staggering back. A second push resulted in Ash bumping up against the bed and sitting on it. "How do you like it when someone just grabs at you?" demanded Chloe, her hand closing around what was, she had already admitted, a fairly impressive erection. With one hand holding her prize tightly, Chloe used the other to push Ash flat onto his back. For some reason his total lack of resistance did not cut through her fury and indignation. Ash tried desperately to keep a straight face as he watched a furious Chloe climb on top of him. Then she was settling down onto him, her face a mask of concentration as she eased herself onto him, pressing steadily down as she firmly impaled herself on his erection. Satisfied, Chloe started flexing her thighs, sliding up and down Ash's erection, muttering to herself the entire time. Ash could hear little snippets floating past – selfish pig, how does he like it, a girl likes to be asked, teach the bastard. Ash relished the sensation of Chloe sliding around on his shaft. When she apparently got tired of lifting herself up and down on it, she started to rock backwards and forwards, her breasts lightly brushing his chest when she leant forward. Pride It wasn't long before Chloe was breathing hard and giving little squeaks of excitement as her pleasure built. Ash found himself breathing hard. He really wanted to move, rolling Chloe onto her back and taking control, driving in hard and fast. He held back, letting her have her way. He idly wondered when she'd realise just what she was doing and how she'd react. Then Chloe was lying flat on top of him, her breasts crushed against Ash's chest and her bottom was bobbing up and down as she drove herself repeatedly down onto his shaft, seeking that final build-up. Ash's hands claimed her breasts, massaging them, and he saw a sudden look of consternation flit across Chloe's face. "Time's up," Ash decided, actions matching the thought. Ash twisted, turning Chloe under him, pulled out and then drove in hard, driving Chloe swiftly towards the climax she'd been seeking. His mouth covered hers, tongues intertwining as he drank her sweetness. Then he was drinking her screams as Chloe convulsed, and Ash drove in hard to get his own release going. Ash lay there, keeping Chloe pinned beneath him, waiting for her to recover. At last she pushed firmly against his chest, ordering him to "get off me, you jerk". Ash rolled to one side and regarded Chloe who was giving him a glowering look. "Well," Ash said. "You certainly showed me. I guess I didn't pay enough attention as to what it was like for you." Chloe's glowering look was now almost incendiary. Spontaneous combustion seemed a distinct possibility. "I guess it's only fair that as I used a little coercion on you a couple of times, you should have the chance to balance the books. You know where I live. Why don't you come around tomorrow and show me where I was going wrong. You'll find I'm an excellent student." Chloe had to swallow a couple of times to stop herself screaming. "Do you seriously think I'm going to come round to your place and continue this sort of thing?" she managed to say, almost stuttering in fury. Ash regarded her thoughtfully, then reached out and cupped her breast, lightly rubbing her nipple with his thumb. "Yes, I do," he said. Rising he grabbed his clothes and dressed. He bent and dropped a quick kiss on her. "I'll be home all day," he said. "You can come any time and stay all day." Then he was gone. Chloe stared at the door as she started to gather her own clothes. She had a horrible feeling that the next day would find her knocking on Ash's door. Pride We're all hard-wired differently, but exactly how that wiring will cause us to act in any particular circumstance is a mystery. That is, most of the time I don't believe that we can really predict how we will react to true life-altering situations. While both my parents were alive I remember thinking that I could take their deaths in stride. That is until my mother died. Even though I was twenty one and ostensibly an adult it rocked me to the core. I became a basket case in private, and was barely able to keep it together in public, for several months. On the opposite extreme was when I was nineteen and walking with a date and we were mugged by two guys. I didn't even think about what I did next – I just reacted even though I'm no karate champ or anything. I was only slightly bigger than the muggers were and one had a knife. I moved my date behind me with one hand while simultaneously kicking the guy with the knife in the balls and then elbowed the other guy in the face, spewing blood everywhere from his obviously broken nose. I was trying to kick the guy with the knife again but they took off, the one who had been kicked in the balls quite slowly. I started to chase after them but my date pulled me back. The point of the two stories – which were the most dramatic ones in my life up to the time of my present story, although there were dozens of more minor ones – is that I could not predict my reaction to significant events. ************** I married Teresa after we had been dating only a few months, and not too long after my mother's death. Teresa never met my mother but helped me snap out of the malaise I had after her death. I quickly fell head-over-heels in love with Teresa and it appeared to me that the feelings were mutual. To me Teresa was beautiful, with shapely thighs that drove me nuts, and a pleasant engaging smile. However what I most liked about her was her kindness and upbeat personality. I considered myself a nice easy-going guy, and she seemed to appreciate that about me too. We married six months after we met. While I tried never to dwell upon it, I sometimes wondered what my reaction would be if Teresa ever cheated on me. While I always thought in the few minutes that I allowed myself to think about it that unless the circumstances were totally bizarre I'd probably forgive her and we'd move on with our lives together. The only real effect those fleeting thoughts normally had on me was to be sure that I made Teresa's happiness foremost when we had sex. Teresa seemed to be inexperienced when we started having sex – although neither of us ever – and I mean ever – talked about past relationships. Although first apprehensive during oral sex, she came to love it, and I could have her cooing and hanging on me for a couple of days if I gave her a shocker (two in the pink, one in the stink) while simultaneously tonguing her clit to one or two orgasms, and then put her on her hands and knees and pounded the shit out of her doggy. Of course the sex she most loved was no hardship for me either (ha, ha), especially since in addition to those spectacular thighs I mentioned she had big floppy tits that would slap together when I did her doggy, to me the most erotic sound in the world. Also, when I came in her the combination scream and whimper that left her lips was to me the most gratifying sound in the world. After we had been married for four years, and when we were starting to have the conversation about kids – which both of us always said that we wanted, between three and four – Teresa had a mood change that lasted about three weeks. It wasn't typical PMS – which she never had particularly badly. Rather, it was a kind of detachment and wistfulness that seemed to permeate her being except when I was sucking on her clit or stroking my cock in and out of her pussy during love-making. When I asked her about her malaise she would either laugh or sluff it off, or give some lame response about things at work being stressful (she worked as a personal trainer – how stressful could that be?). Then one Friday night, when I returned from work to our two bedroom apartment, the words every man dreads most – "Blake, honey; we need to talk." I gulped, sat down in the living room across from where she was sitting sipping a glass of wine with a sort-of glazed expression on her face. "Do you want something to drink, Hon?" she asked. "No, I'm good," I responded. "Is this related to your malaise over the last three weeks?" "Yeah – I guess. The thought of having kids has made me restless and discontent. I...I have some sort of a longing. What I need to do is for us to take a sabbatical from our marriage for a little while until I get my thoughts straight. Then we can get back together for ever and ever and start on our three-four kids." "A sabbatical? What the fuck does that mean? We're not college professors," I probably bellowed more than replied. "No need to get crude, Hon. Just a little break; probably no more than a month," she replied while failing to make eye contact. "I don't remember sabbaticals being in our vows, or in our plans," I shot back. "I know – but things have gotten complicated for me. I...I just really need some time off." "Where are you going, because I'm staying right here?" I responded, hopefully in a somewhat more conciliatory tone. "My girlfriend Karen from work has a two bedroom apartment and her roommate just moved out so I can live there for a month or however long it takes." Only then did I notice that our two largest suitcases were packed and sitting near the front door – really observant of me, huh? "I'll call you every other day," she said getting up and approaching me after chugging her wine. I stood up too. I hugged her. "Please don't go," I said, my voice starting to crack. "I need to, Hon; I love you," she replied, giving me a kiss with a wistful look on her face. "Can you help me with the suitcases?" she asked with a smile, and another quick kiss. I followed after her to her car carrying the suitcases like some mindless porter. I put them in her trunk and asked her again not to go. Her only response was another quick kiss – and off she went, waving goodbye. I held it together until I got back to my apartment. Then I lost it just like I had the day that my Mom died. My only thought the entire weekend was how to get Teresa back. I'm sure that the messages that I left on Teresa's cellphone were pathetic. Although she thanked me for the roses that I sent to her workplace when she called me and I answered on the first ring, I got the feeling that that was a pathetic response in her eyes too. In fact it seemed that the next three weeks were a study in pathos on my part. Of course my situation affected my work, but fortunately I have the type of job where I don't have to interact with others too much if I don't want to, and an understanding boss. Even she picked up on my pathos, however, and about two and a half weeks into my despair, on a Wednesday morning, gave me a no-nonsense talking-to. "What the Hell is wrong with you Blake? From one of my two best workers you've turned into a worthless pile of shit in the last three weeks. Why is your head up your ass?" Belinda asked me. As you can tell, Belinda doesn't mess words, and has a kick-ass personality. She is five years older than I am, smart as a whip, and although she has a just above average face has a six-foot tall body as kick-ass as her personality. "Sorry, Belinda, I'm having some personal problems that are distracting me. My wife is taking a sabbatical from our marriage." "Say what?" she barked. "Well, what it means..." I started to meekly explain; even though I'm three inches taller than she is I seemed to be a little kid looking up at her before she vociferously interrupted me. "I know what the fuck it's supposed to mean. What I'm wondering is why you're so spineless to go along with it? I didn't take you for a wimp, Blake." While I was still trying to stutter a response, she grabbed me by both of my shoulders with hands that were unbelievably strong, even for a six foot tall woman with muscular arms and legs (not that I'd noticed her legs – cough, cough). "Quit trying to explain it or justify it. It's your personal business and if you want to be a fucking wimp outside the office I can't prevent it. However, you have three more work days to get back to the Blake that's one of my best employees. If you don't in three days' time, I'll put you on a work sabbatical. Got it?" Shit she was intimidating. "Got it," I meekly replied. "By this time Monday – what time is it, 10:30?" she went on. "Yeah, about that," I replied. "OK, by 10:30 Monday I see the old Blake or I suspend you for two weeks – without pay." With that she gave me – what for her had to be a tender, and even for the average woman would have been somewhat tender – stroke on my cheek, turned, and went back to her office. I was still acting like a milquetoast going into Saturday night, still living my whole life around waiting for Teresa's calls and preoccupied with how to get her back, despite my desire to get the backbone that Belinda was demanding of me. I decided to go to a movie to take my mind off of my troubles – but by myself, rather than with a friend since I didn't want anyone else to see me as a Debbie Downer. That's when I saw them. There was Teresa, with a big smile on her face, holding hands with a guy with to-me-significant physical characteristics that were much different than mine, waiting in line to get tickets. I immediately went home, heart-broken. I went straight to bed, suddenly realizing that I was emotionally exhausted. When I woke up 8 a. m. on Sunday, I had a new outlook on life. I found that my hard-wired reaction was much different than what I had previously thought that it would be. While I can't say that I no longer gave a shit about Teresa because I truly had loved her, my entire approach was 180 degrees from what it was before, or what I would have predicted. I rounded up some buddies and we played touch football. Three of them went with me to lunch, and after that I started looking for a new apartment. We had been living month-to-month in our apartment after our lease expired, and it was twenty five days from the end of the present month, so I could give the apartment up by giving fifteen days' notice, and get the security deposit back. I went to look at three of them and found one two blocks from my office that was entirely acceptable and that I could move into the last day of the present month. At work Monday morning I was a dynamo; Old Blake Plus 20%. Belinda said nothing – she just smiled. Monday at lunchtime I met with an old friend of mine who had recently divorced and got a recommendation from her about a divorce attorney. "Get the one that my ex-husband had," she laughed. "He's the nastiest shark in the water if necessary, but reasonable when he needs to be," she continued as she wrote down his name and phone number. I called him before I went back to work, and got an appointment for Wednesday. As part of my transformation, I was still at work at 6:30 – Belinda was the only other person there – when Teresa called on my cell phone. I let it go to voice mail. I was walking out the door at the same time as Belinda. "I see that you took my advice to heart," she chuckled as we got into the elevator together. "Hell yeah, I didn't want your foot up my ass," I chuckled back. "Going home to your empty apartment?" she inquired. "No – I'm going to exercise first," I replied, holding up my gym bag, "then get something to eat. You?" "Same thing," she laughed, holding up her gym bag. "Where do you work out?" I asked. "At the Planet Fitness on Harvey and Forest," she responded, "and you?" "The Planet Fitness on 23rd and Essex," I laughed. "Come to mine on Harvey tonight and after we work out I'll treat you to dinner to welcome you back to the living," she smiled. "Deal," I shot back. Working out with Belinda was bad for three reasons. It was hard not to be too obvious when I ogled her smoking hot body as she was grunting and groaning. It was humiliating that except for some upper body exercises she could compete with, or outdo, me on all the equipment. She was my boss. Working out with Belinda was great for two reasons. She had the afore-mentioned smoking hot body, which was a real inspiration; and she seemed to know everyone and it was impossible not to be upbeat around her especially with everyone saying Hi to her, and she introducing me to them. We had a nice platonic dinner at an Olive Garden after our workout, and simply waved good-bye, although that night for the first time in my life I looked on Belinda as a sex-object rather than my boss, and I would have loved to smash her big tits against my chest and grab her firm round ass with both of my hands. I simply did not answer Teresa's calls the next two days, including one while I was waiting in the Shark attorney's office (his name was Bill Betts) for my appointment. I told Betts that I simply wanted a divorce on irreconcilable differences grounds, and didn't want to go into the reasons with him. He insisted that I tell the whole story if I wanted him to represent me, so I gave him a synopsis and answered his twenty-or-so probing questions. "OK, Blake, I'll represent you; here's my fee schedule," he said after the last question had been answered to his satisfaction. My eyebrows went up. It might turn out to be expensive, but with the attitude that I presently had on life I'd consider it money well spent in case things got complicated. "You should be prepared for your wife's attorney to suggest counselling, and if he or she does, three of the four judges in this jurisdiction will grant it." "How do we get the fourth judge?" I chortled. "Luck of the draw – sorry, nothing that I can do to influence it. However, eventually this should not cost you that much since there are no kids and not much money to split up – it will just be an inconvenience since you will have to act like you're participating even if you are dead set against a reconciliation. You are dead set against one, aren't you?" Betts responded. "Dead set," I replied, with no laughing or chortling, with as serious an expression as I could provide. "When can the papers be ready?" "I can get everything done in ten days or less – including getting my special process server lined up." "Why a special process server?" I asked "He'll accompany you and serve process with you there and in either a completely quiet and inconspicuous manner, or by making a scene, your choice." "Thanks Mr. Betts..." I said rising to shake his hand. "I'm Bill, you're Blake, none of this 'Mr.'shit," he replied while shaking my hand. "And send Teresa an email about the apartment two days before you give notice to your landlord." ********** That night I got three more calls and an email from Teresa, none of which I acknowledged. I guess she wondered why I wasn't kissing her ass anymore. The next day I sent Teresa a quick email response. "I'm giving notice tomorrow that I'm moving out of the tomorrow unless you sign a new lease on your own. I've got another apartment that I'm moving into the last day of the month. If you don't tell me that you're picking up a new lease on your own by 5:00 tomorrow, I'm giving notice." My email resulted in ten from her, as well as ten calls, none of which I responded to but rather simply deleted. About eight that night my apartment door opened and in Teresa walked – of course she still had her key and technically still lived there, so it didn't surprise me. "I haven't been able to get ahold of you, and was really getting worried," were her first words. "Why didn't you respond to my calls and emails?" "Because except for the apartment status there is nothing that you have to say that I'm the slightest bit interested in," I replied, turning up the volume on the basketball game that I was watching. She stood between me and the TV. "Please turn off the TV so that we can talk," she said with her hands on her hips, obviously perturbed. "No, I'm really enjoying this game – maybe after it's over, or at commercials," I replied. She reached over and unplugged the TV. "We need to talk," she said, sitting down but holding the plug in her hand, probably so that I couldn't get at it. "What's so important that you have to interrupt my enjoyment?" I asked. "Don't you have some sabbatical thing to do?" "That's what we need to talk about. I think that the sabbatical was a mistake and I'm coming back tomorrow so that in a couple of months we can start baby-making," she said, her previous gruff demeanor changing to a big smile, like it was the best news in the world. "Who do you plan on making babies with?" I pensively asked. "What...with you, of course," was her testy reply. "Sorry, Teresa, but during our sabbatical I came to some real revelations. I realized that I never loved you – you were just good sex – and you were good sex, by the way," I replied with first a frown and then a smile. "However, I have no intention of ever having babies with you, or staying married even a day longer than I have to. I can have the divorce papers served anywhere you like – I don't want to interfere with important sabbatical activities." At first she looked gobsmacked; then surprised; then a sly smile came over her face and she got up and walked toward me, dropping the TV plug along the way. "I understand, Hon; you want to get a little penance from me because of my foolish sabbatical idea. How about if I ride you cowgirl to start my penance?" I held my right hand out in a stop motion, preventing her from hugging me. "Teresa you really are a good piece of ass, and I would love to have you fuck me cowgirl while I massage those amazing honkers of yours. However, I don't want it to be under false pretenses. It will not be part of penance; I told you, we're splitting. If you still want to fuck me go into the bedroom and get naked." I could tell that she was once again taken aback. However, it was also clear that she didn't believe me and thought that it was part of a game, so after a thirty second delay she smiled and said "OK lover," as she started to undress as she walked toward the bedroom. You have to understand – I hadn't been laid since she walked out about a month ago, and had been depressed enough most of that time that I only spanked the monkey once. Why should I give up a great piece of ass; and Teresa WAS a great piece of ass, and that is how she would be treated. She was naked on the bed with a shit-eating grin and her legs splayed when I walked into the bedroom. "Nice cunt and boobs," I snarled, licking my lips, as I quickly got naked, my little friend already hard. She winced a little when I said "cunt" but her smile quickly returned. Since I love to eat pussy – I would have just fucked her if I didn't – I licked and fingered up a storm while she moaned and groaned. She had to have orgasmed twice in less than five minutes. As she was still in the throes of her second orgasm I hopped on the bed, lay on my back, and pulled her on top of me. My cock was buried almost instantaneously. She rode me nicer than she ever had before and I really enjoyed working on her honkers as she did. I came quickly, sparking another orgasm in her and causing her to collapse on my chest. Once the majority of my euphoria for a truly excellent – devoid of emotional involvement – fuck subsided, as Teresa was still purring, I rolled her on her side. "I'd really like you to suck our combined discharges off of my cock," I deadpanned. She thought that I was kidding. "I don't do that," she chuckled. "Then I need to get back to the game," I replied, and started to get up. Pride She pulled me back down with a quizzical look on her face. It morphed into a forced smile. "Part of my penance, huh?" she asked, then to my surprise went down on my cock and started sucking. She rapidly got me hard again – there was something about her subservience, and especially her tongue action – that really turned me on. It wasn't long before I was buried in her pussy while pummeling her doggy style. As I listened to the marvelous melody of her tits slapping together I stuck a thumb in her ass with one hand, and pulled her hair back with the other. The load I deposited had to be my largest second ejaculation ever. I didn't go back to the game. I ended up fucking her two more times that night – a record for me – once again her pussy, and once her tits – which she rarely let me do because cum got all over her chest and chin. I got up before Teresa the next morning and made myself breakfast. I was half-way finished when she walked into the kitchen. "Something smells good," she cooed, "or maybe all of my senses are just tingling because of the phenomenal penance sex last night," she giggled. I didn't respond. "Where's mine?" she asked looking for a plate with some of the omelet that I was eating in it. "The eggs are in the refrigerator," I nonchalantly replied, motioning to the appliance. She got a very perplexed look on her face, and then sat down next to me. "So what are we going to do today after work?" she expectantly inquired. "I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going to work out and then get a quick dinner," I replied. "I...I thought after last night's penance we could do something together tonight," she hesitantly replied. "Last night wasn't penance – it was just sex. I have to say, though, that you outdid yourself. I do believe I came more times and harder than any other time in my life. You've got to be about the best fuck in history," I replied between mouthfuls. Although Teresa wasn't used to me talking to her that way, how could she not consider it a compliment. "See, you missed me..." she started to say as I got up, rinsed off my plate, put it in the dishwasher, and smiled "Good-bye; maybe we can do it again some time." I thought for sure that I heard her say "But...but..." as I walked out the door, but don't know for sure because I never looked back. That day at work I got a number of love-dovey texts and emails from Teresa. I didn't respond. I did cancel the apartment lease when I didn't hear from Teresa by 5:00 p. m. Also I did call Bill Betts in the morning and asked if the papers could be ready for service by his process server at 8:00 a. m. on Monday morning at our apartment. He grumbled but agreed. That weekend was probably the most surprising of my life. While Teresa had always been an excellent sex partner, she apparently wasn't sure whether I was toying with her or not about the divorce and apartment move, so she did her best – no, I take that back; she did better than I thought her capable of – to fuck me to death. Since she was trying so hard – and succeeding in making me more physically satisfied than ever – I couldn't help but at least throw her a few bones and take her out to dinner Saturday night, and cuddle watching a couple of movies on Netflix Sunday night. It was truly a rude awakening for Teresa on Monday morning. As I stood in the kitchen she – still in her bathrobe, naked underneath – came up to me, put her arms around my neck, and gushed "My God, Blake, I think you fucked me better than ever last night, although the last four days have been such a blur of sexual bliss that I can't be sure. All I know is that my poor little kitty is raw." I really had fucked her good the previous night, including holding her up by her thighs with her back against the shower tile as I pounded away. A knock at the door broke her mood. "Who could be here at eight in the morning?" she puzzled. "I'll get it; it's for you, though," I said as I walked to and opened the door. "Mr. Applegate, I presume," I said to the sixties-something well-dressed man at the door, Fedora in hand. "That would be me," he chimed in reply. "Teresa, it is for you – just come over in your bathrobe, but keep it closed, we don't want Mr. Applegate to get a heart attack." I chuckled; he laughed; Teresa apprehensively came toward us. "You're Teresa Hansen, aren't you?" Mr. Applegate said in the friendliest way. "Uh...yes, I am," she replied. "I have something for you," he continued, handing her a manila envelope. After Teresa took it he pleasantly said "You've been served Mrs. Hansen; have a pleasant day," as he put his Fedora back on and walked toward the elevator. "What's this?" she asked, turning toward me. "Why it's the divorce papers," I replied. "What...but...but," she stammered. Then it looked like she didn't believe me so she tore the envelope open and looked inside. She started bawling. "I did penance...the sex was so great...I love you...I don't want a divorce..." were some of the things that she mumbled out between sobs. I held her between the shoulders. "Teresa, look at me. I was very serious when I told you that the sabbatical caused me to re-evaluate our relationship. I think you're a sex Goddess, but I don't love you, and we ARE getting divorced. If you want to continue a sexual relationship, that's fine with me as long as you understand that it's not a reconciliation." She started sobbing even more fiercely, and now her comments were completely unintelligible. I went to work. Apparently she didn't. I got a call from our apartment land line early afternoon; I answered it. A still quietly sobbing Teresa said "Blake, the building manager is here and he wants to show our apartment – he said that you gave a termination notice." "I told you that I would unless you wanted to sign a new lease by Friday afternoon. Maybe he'll still let you sign up, but you can't stop him from showing the place," I replied. "But I can't afford it on my own..." she wailed. "Then let him show the place. Listen, I have to get back to work," I responded, and then hung up the phone. ***************** Teresa finally came to grips with reality. She hired an attorney and got a furnished apartment on a month-to-month lease, apparently believing that we still were somehow going to get back together. I slept in the second bedroom – as another statement that we weren't getting back together – but she did come into my room two nights and tried to fuck me to death again. I didn't waiver, although by then I had figured out that I was going to be missing unbelievable sex since sexually satisfying me seemed to be her major goal in life. Finally it was the last Saturday of the month. I had moved all of my stuff into my new apartment except for two things in the second bedroom, and Teresa was going to have all of her furniture – including all the master bedroom furniture which I was giving her even though we were far from a property settlement – moved to a storage unit. On Thursday she told me "I'm having some guys from my workplace come over Saturday to assist me in moving our stuff into storage – can you help?" "Teresa, I told you before; I want professional movers to help you – I'll even pay for them. I don't want guys from your workplace here." "Why not?" she asked. Of course the main reason was because I was reasonably sure that the guy who was holding hands with her at the movie was one of her co-workers, and I didn't want a scene. "Because I want professional movers instead of a scene," I replied with arms crossed. "There won't be a scene," she replied, as she stamped her foot. "Please be sure to get professionals; otherwise it could be almost as big a mistake as your sabbatical," I yelled over my shoulder before I left. *************** For some reason Teresa decided to challenge my "only professional movers" edict. On Saturday morning three guys from her workplace showed up. One was – as I expected – the guy holding her hand at the movie. "What are you three doing here?" I gruffly asked. "Hey, don't get hostile dude," one of three said, "we're just here to help Teresa move." "I told her to get professionals," I snapped. Teresa stood nearby turning red, and was starting to say something when the same mouthy dude sarcastically started to say "Apparently she doesn't listen to you..." He didn't finish because my fist hit him in the mouth before he could. "Listen dipshit, you don't come into my house and mouth off to me, understand?" I yelled pointing my finger at him. "They're innocent, Blake, don't get pissed at them," Teresa whined. "Innocent?" I asked. "Let me pose a question – which of you guys fucked Teresa?" "Blake," she screamed. All three dudes were quiet, especially the one trying to see if I had dislocated his jaw. "Don't touch the stuff in the second bedroom shitheads, and don't fuck her in my apartment," I snarled as I started for the door. The guy with Teresa at the movies made the mistake of saying "Hey dude, no reason to get crude," as he touched my arm as I stormed by. I grabbed his hand, twisted his arm, and stepped over it in one of the few judo moves that I knew. I got my face as close to his as I could in this position. "You don't tell me what to do asshole, and you don't touch me, or I snap your arm at the elbow – four month healing time, minimum." Teresa kept screaming time after time "Don't hurt him Blake, please." The other two guys looked like they were going to make a move toward me as their buddy yelped. "Take one more step and I break his arm and then I assure you I will kick both of your asses," I growled. They backed off. I pushed the guy with the twisted arm onto the floor, somehow gaining enough self-control not to break it, then left. ******************** After the moving incident, I didn't think that Teresa would oppose the divorce. I thought wrong. Her attorney asked the court for mandated counselling and we got one of the three (out of four) judges who routinely order it. Bill Betts was able to get the number of sessions down to five from the ten that Teresa's attorney wanted. The counselling sessions did not work out well for the counselor or Teresa. I continuously harangued about the sabbatical causing me to realize that the only thing that I loved about Teresa was the sex, and I continuously questioned what the reason for the sabbatical was. That was despite the counselor's best efforts to get me to stop asking that question; especially since I normally concluded the question with the statement "The only reason that I can think of is because you wanted to fuck other guys. Well now that you'll be divorced there will never be an impediment again." Typically Teresa would be reduced to tears, the counselor would chastise me, and I would simply smile. When it came time for the last session and there was no progress Teresa decided to pull out all of the stops. Partly in tears about ten minutes into the session she started begging. "Blake...please forgive me. I had never had sex with another man besides you before we got married, and all sorts of guys were always telling me how great I looked, and I wanted to experience something else before we had kids. I'm sorry that I was so weak, but it could have caused problems for me down the road if I didn't do that. Now I've got it out of my system, I know that no one can satisfy me like you can, and I desperately need you to forgive me so that we can continue on with the life that we planned." My prediction of my reaction before the sabbatical was that I would forgive her, the divorce proceedings would be stopped, and we would reconcile completely. However, pride simply would not allow the thoughts of doing that to predominate in my brain. After a pregnant pause I replied "I'm glad that you finally admitted it, Teresa. I'm sure that will be a valuable lesson for you with your next husband. You're a beautiful and sexy woman who I'm sure will find someone else quickly. However, we are history." I slowly stood up, thanked the counselor even though she hadn't done shit, and walked out even though there was still supposedly thirty minutes left in this mandated court session. Teresa's sobs in the background didn't tug at my heartstrings – rather they provided more-or-less a Hallelujah Chorus dramatic symbolic exit from our marriage. After the last session Teresa didn't fight the divorce. I gave her whatever furniture she wanted, we split our modest savings 50-50, and I agreed to provide her nominal monthly maintenance/alimony for five years or until she married. *************** About the only female contact I had between the last counselling session and when the divorce was final was occasionally working out with, and going to dinner with, Belinda; always on a platonic basis. However, I really was starting to appreciate her body – and personality – more and more. She was fun to be around – and ogle. Despite also feeling relief – and pride that I wasn't a doormat – the Friday that I received notice that my divorce was final I still felt like shit. I normally never drank, but for some reason that day I brought booze back to the office after everyone else had left and was getting sloshed by myself – dangerous, I know. Suddenly Belinda appeared at my door, sweaty and in her exercise duds. "What are you doing here Blake?" "Why are – burp – you here?" I replied. "I forgot some papers so after I worked out I came to get them; but that doesn't answer my question." "I came here because my divorce is final today and I'm celebrating." "Looks more like a drunken pity-party than a celebration," she chuckled. I have no idea what came over me. It was obviously partly the booze, partly not having been laid in a long time, partly my angst, and partly because of how hot Belinda looked; but I had the most atypical response of my life. Something that I never would have predicted. I got up from my desk, tromped over to Belinda and grabbed her in my arms. "I'm going to fuck you, Belinda," I growled. Her reaction was much different than I would have expected too. Belinda is big and strong enough that in my condition at the time there was no way that I could have sex with her if she didn't want to unless I put a knife to her throat. Instead of pushing me away or kicking me in the balls, however, a diabolical smile came over her face. "If you do you'll be fired because intra-office sex is forbidden." "Will you give me a good recommendation?" I snickered. "It depends on how well you fuck me," she snickered back. Within a minute she was bent over my desk with her still sweaty pussy exposed; a few seconds later I was tonguing and fingering her slit while simultaneously pulling down my pants; a few minutes after that her pussy was glistening, and not from sweat; and soon after that I was vigorously stroking my cock in and out of her while she was screaming "Fuck yeah!" Belinda and I spent the rest of the weekend together in her house. Even though the booze meant that I didn't get it up again Friday night, we made up for it Saturday morning through Sunday evening. Monday morning I gave my two weeks' notice, Belinda provided me with a glowing recommendation, and I had a new job within three weeks. I spent the week between my two jobs fixing up Belinda's house and moving my stuff into it. After a sabbatical-free two years together, she went off the pill, we got married, and she got pregnant. I found out that I was hard-wired to love fucking her pregnant body, and despite the joy of bringing our darling little girl into the world I was melancholy at the prospect of no more preggo sex. I guess I'll have to get her pregnant again! Pride "Stars live where hope sparkles." Her eyes dance closer to him as the words slip from between his lips. Thoughts swirl in the turbid space keeping their bodies from melting together. Without form or meaning, they flare like shooting stars. Visions of night glinting from her teeth, scenes rich with the feel of her skin, sighs rippling with her laughter. Breath is sultry. Filled with spoken and fervent desire. "The shine of a haven that draws us forth shows the flickering torch of our fickle heart." Sounds of warmth enfold them and he feels her pulse spark. Spritzes across the smooth of her arms. He wants to reach his fingers over the span of tension to revel in sensation. Touch her wrist to shoulder and back to fingertips. She will flow willing into his arms if he but wills it, but waits on his voice. "And the glow of ageless love knows only the blue of a flame too great to climb and too far to see quavering orange blossoms rent the cloth of a world growing past." She wants to hear it all. Longs for his hands to find her soft light as the poetry washes her soul. His hands send waves of heat crashing into her. Over her. Through her being. He holds her there, rapt, wanting him to wrench her from her plinth and force himself upon her. Take her every nerve and ache and thrust himself up past her boundaries. Instead, he holds her suspended. Knowing he will have her whenever he wants. "Stars breathe, love. Suckle the muddle of our paltry world and set it ablaze with impassioned dreams." His touch sends her falling through time. She feels her muscles give way. Even though he's done little more than set fingerprints to her forearm, she feels her knees falter and her thoughts flutter like sheers in a coming storm. She has no windows left to close and she knows she has nowhere to run by the way her insides have slipped beyond her help. "We are stars, you and I. Close beside you, my heart knows no bounds of time or tide. My soul is flame come alive. Dance with me like firelight shimmering in your eyes. I will settle your fey wandering feet and feckless wanting spirit. Feed you reveries and delight. Our hearts alight, we are comets burning holes through the universe until finding restless coven. Left here in the end as wishes for lovers grasping at wanton bliss." His hands end at hers. The leisurely exploration of her wrists, arms to shoulders and back leaving trails of seared nerve endings and prickled flesh. The goosebumps unnoticed where the tips of his fingers sent fiery designs. Her gasps floating free in time. And it all comes to rest as he strokes her wrists, her palms, the back of her hands and her long stretched digits. One by one taken in his, separated from the others and brought to life. He doesn't stop there, but impatience grows in her. A blossoming that makes her pluck at his too slow hands and press in at the warmth of his body. Hear glows around him like an aura and a blaze flares inside her, but he keeps her at bay. Gentle pressure moves her back into position where he continues to stroke one knuckle at a time. Frustration builds as he finishes all but the last pinky and somehow drags the minutes out until she pushes into him again. This time, she is forced into a wall she'd somehow gotten moved up against. His body hard and unyielding where it traps her. Back to the solid surface, front to the rock he suddenly becomes, her hair is tugged down, stretching her neck until her lips give invitation. She wonders if he will accept as he pauses hovering close. Then electricity shoots through her. There is a touch, a brush of soft tissue, the barest of nibbles and a sigh that could have come from either or both of them. Her spine to the wall, his hands slip up her arms to capture her head. His thumbs slide over her cheekbones, his fist curls in her hair. He learns every nudge and tender spot on her scalp. Her legs want to give way yet he keeps her held on edge, exploring her. Knowing her. Her brow, her jaw, her breath. Her heart burns. Like his poetry whispered in her ear, she is aflame. She wants kisses, but he has her held entranced. His hands still light, but firm, poking now and then, prodding deep in places that send her falling into weakness. Surrender. "I'm not going to take you until you say please." "Please." She fires back. "Oh no." He chuckles. A sound that turns her helpless. "You're going to really mean it." His voice has a steely glint through it that brings her quaking before him. "Please." She just manages as vulnerability washes over her. Another feeling carries right behind, though. A sense of indignance ripples outward that reminds her how strong she really is. How capable. He chuckles again as though reading her thoughts. His fingers spread over her face as his lips tingle and tempt hers. She moans in spite of herself. A low noise muffled by a kiss. He works his way bit by bit through every nuance of her body. Punctuating each new sensation with a kiss. Light or forced. Nibble or crush. Her collarbones turn to mush., her shoulders limp. Her back droops and her skin sloughs from her with the sighs he pulls from deep in her heart. His fingers sliding the muscles apart and shifting her organs. His fingers move her ribs, slip her hips into a position that makes her flush and numb, delve into the muscles of her thighs and claim her heart, her breasts, her soul. When he reaches the end, he's touched and worked over every inch of her body head to knees, skipping over only her nipples and her open sex, he relaxes his hold on her. Her breath catches and holds. She waits, expectant. After such delicate maneuvering, there is always a gathering breath before the plunge. She barely stands, weak, ready and throbbing. He lets her stand. Swaying in gentle motion, a rhythm her body alone knows. A pulse that marks time beyond her counting. She feels the tell tale moisture of her willingness. His hands, however, soothe their way up her curves to her burning face. The moment when he drives himself into her roils between them. The very air churning with desperation and lust. Her nerves tense with deliberate need, her mouth open in want, lips parted and aching for his touch, she gradually becomes aware that he is releasing her slowly. He massages her neck and shoulders, lightly, making her want more. He leans close to her ear and sighs. "Poor baby. If only it were that easy." His voice carries waves of promise and threat. She feels a small burst deep inside her and a flood unleashes from her center. He grabs her buttocks tight in his hands, lifts her and sets her on the edge of the bed. Before she can do more than gasp, he yanks her shirt up and over her head, baring her chest. Her nipples harden so fast it hurts and forces a deep moan from her. The shirt stops at her upper arms and holds her tight as his chest brushes against her aching breasts. They feel full and push moans from her with every touch. He still refuses to do more than skim against her nipples, possibly by accident, maybe not, she can't tell. Every time it happens, though, she practically screams with the jolt of electricity that shoots through her. Her entire body arches and startles even as he works the shirt ever more firmly onto her arms. Leaving them strapped to her sides and back, throwing out her chest and making her little marbles impossible not to bump up against them. He finishes securing her arms with the shirt and his hands are once again tender as they explore her face. His lips hardly touch hers, sending waves of molten feeling through her. She recognizes the feel of a flushing redness spreading over her front like a spilled coffee. The searing, tingling, quickening sensation makes her groan out load. It's like a wild animal in a snare splitting open the thick night. Unbidden, the memory of his hands on her bottom as he lifted her flashes in her mind, sending rockets of need bursting in, out and through. She gasps again and sees just a glimpse of what he is talking about making her say please and really mean it. She can barely breathe. Her throat clamps down on each moan and sigh that forces its way up and out of her. Her body quivers with every movement of his hands. They press the skin flat over her scalp, smooth across her brow, pinch and stroke her lips until they plump into luscious fruits. They follow her jawline, then the back of her neck, down to grasp her vertebrae between forefinger and thumb and follow her spine slow and steady. When he comes to the place where her arms are bound to one another and the shirt stretches across her back, he pushes her over on her side and rolls her onto her stomach. Annoyance flares at his treatment of her. Frustration and even a bit of fear bound inside her. She struggles. Her arms bent and helplessly weak, she squirms, trying not to show her growing fear. His hand presses firm to the spot on her back it last massaged and his lips come close to her ear. "It's unfortunate how much I enjoy your struggles. Your uncertainty and even discomfort. I especially like the way these things war with your excitement and arousal." His hips bear into her arm and she realizes he is fully hard. Her eyes open wide. "You're a beautiful woman. I'm going to enjoy every bit of you. There's time for sex. You'll get what you need, but first, I'm going to take what I want." Shivers wrack her bones. His voice never changes from the low, cool tones he began with, but she feels the excitement blazing from his skin. He finishes the journey down her spine as she lays quiet but quivering. A mass of nerve and fire. He reaches the top of her jeans and as one palm flattens against the rounding of her buttocks, the other slips underneath her and unbuttons her with such ease that she she wonders if the pants themselves didn't help. He tugs at them and she lifts her hips to help without a thought. They come off like water sliding down glass. Her panties stay. Soaked and sticking to her bare flesh. She has a feeling he wants it like this and the wetness grows at the thought. It was just a date. Not really even that. Dinner. Alone. They probably shouldn't, but the attraction made it a certainty they would sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Nothing but talk. She wondered beforehand what it would be like. They stay close. Closer than they should, but comfortable and moreso with every delicious moment the touch lengthens to. Thighs that rubbed with each other, flow muscle to muscle until they remain as one. Molded together, she feels every fiber of him and it soothes her. They talk past the meal, past the drinks that stand on the table merely sipped, past the fall of night. They stroll under the stars holding hands and where she expected him to handle her, he only looks. The stars glow in a steady hope and warmth breezes over them. She presses as near to him as possible, the warmth and ease encouraging her. She wants him to reach for her, not sure what she'll do if he does, but wanting more of his touch. The walk ends too soon. The touch of his hand taken before she is ready to let go. Parting is something unnatural. When the last hug separates, the tingle remains for hours. Hope is written by starlight. Moons pass, phasing in and out, suns keep a time that might otherwise be lost, but stars return every night. Every year. Each life. Lying face down, his hands firmly moving up and down her body, she tries hard to decide how she feels. He finally frees her arms from her shirt, but wraps it instead around her hands and secured them above her head using her jeans. She is vulnerable as she's never been before and safe within his hands as she rarely feels. Her muscles separate as he works. Spread apart and kneaded into limp material from which he will make whatever he wants. His fingers dig in, pull the tendons from the bones and coax the flesh into lumps of tamed energy set to give itself to his whim. She realizes she has been sighing and moaning into the still air. Every breath in, deep and rich with luxury. Her breaths out replete with ecstasy. He finishes her back by kissing the nape of her neck and causing eruptions up and down her spine. Somewhere he has let his clothes fall away and he snuggles close as he nibbles the base of her skull. She can feel the ripple of his thighs as he slides down along her body, kissing and tugging at her skin on a straight line down her vertebrae. His hands peel away her underwear as she shifts to brush against his hard length. She tries to rub against it, but he pulls away just out of reach. When he reaches the curve of her ass, thoughts storm her brain, numbing and electrifying. He's thorough. Every bit of her behind tingles from hand and mouth as he lifts off from her. His hands show a strength that takes her breath as he raises her hips and turns her over. She squirms in uncertainty. What will he do now rushes her mind. Her lips nearly chap with nervous excitement. At the same time, a gush of fluid escapes her sex. He presses his mouth to hers. Gently, testing and teasing. She would take him inside her right now if he would only roll on top and claim her. Pictures throb in her. Stark visions of capture, command and overwhelming victory stream rampant through her fantasies. Her hips shift to show her curves and guile all by themselves. She is temptation in subconscious motion. She feels his need and the interest. Knows that he wants her as much as she wants him. Knows the ache deep within her pulses in his being just as strong. She meets his eyes and reflections of reflections burst into stars. They gasp in unison. Then sigh. Then kiss hard and deep and long. She held that first date against her heart for the next week. Seeing him in innocent situations fueling the secret, pushing the boundaries. She made excuses to walk past him to know he watches her. Made pretense to touch him to be sure that otherworldly sensation remained. Everything stayed the same; everything was different. All she wants to do for a second date is be together. Usually a date means doing something. A meal, a show, activity. Something taking up space between them. She wants nothing more than to bridge that. To move into that space and stay there. This night. Always. He brought a picnic. Places her on one side of the park table and even though she feared for a moment that he would sit opposite her, he snuggles so close her chest tightens. More talk. More touch. She craves even more than that. To have her hands taken from her the first time they make love is so frustrating, she can barely stand it. She wants to rebel. To turn her body off. It has other ideas and he has other plans. His hands slide up her arms as he kisses her, hovering over her, and she responds with every nerve and fiber. Her body ready to take him in. His lips press harder as his hands reach hers and fingers twine together. Her nipples stretch to his chest and draw tight circles. Her legs part, raise and wrap around his. He is tantalizingly close to entering her, yet misses the mark. She readjusts several times, trying to force him in, but she can't get the aim and angle right. Her frustration reaches maddening levels. Worse, is that he seems unfazed by her lust. Except that his obvious excitement grows even greater. He lets loose her hands, moves down her arms as his mouth kisses the back of her ear down to her shoulder and across. By the time his fingers reach her collarbones, his mouth has kissed and nibbled her chest right to her breasts. Then around, covering every inch except her nipples. She feels a deep ache spread over her heart and connect to her midsection. Her back arches as his mouth slips further toward her center. He outlines rib after rib, making her squirm and shiver. His palms and fingers following behind, smoothing and quelling. She wants him to take her. His words running through her mind as though he intentionally planted them as seeds timed to bloom when he has her ready. His admonition that he will accept her please when he knows she fully means it warring in her mind with rationality, dignity and stubbornness. She struggles against the bindings on her hands until both her excitement and her apprehension raise to another level. He is at her waist and her writhing becomes more violent. She bucks her hips, tugs at her wrists, all to no avail. He calmly continues his pace. His excitement seems to grow with every passing moment, or maybe with her anguish. He'd told her it would. Described how he can't help the way he enjoys the feel of her angst. How he wants her to fight her need and how he'll pit her pride, strength and emotion against her own body. His hard member brushes against her thigh, her calf. Rubs tantalizing across the underside of her knee. Her straining at the bindings quiets as his mouth passes her sex by once more and starts down her long legs. He finishes at her ankles. Having slipped languidly down and up and back down each thigh, he gives a last light kiss to the outside, just at the join of her foot. She is both relaxed and humming like a bare electric fence. When he clamps her leg and ties it to the end of the bed, the fight begins again. She pulls and jolts, but he is firm and, once secured, her ankle stays. As he ties the other one, she arches her back and pulls at her shoulders. "It is not just the bread of our conversation that warms." His voice is at her ear and she only just notices how he is stretched out against her. Body to body, one hand in her hair, bringing her ear close to his lips and one hand strolling almost carelessly over her torso. She goes still. Her every sense aflame and nerves alive. He kisses her cheek. "The fruit of our time leaves freshets of memory." His hand strays casually over her stomach, splays across her mons, still strategically missing the edges of her sensitive areas and dallies up between her breasts. Even her breath holds. Even as she feels her chest heaving and gasps trying to escape, her throat lets nothing out but small "Oh"s. His lips outline her brow. She can feel the heat rising like morning fog from where they touch. She tries to turn herself full into him, but the ties hold tight. Her arms stretched above her head and legs spread wide. "Wine and mead pulse through meet of our lips." She wants to touch him. She wants to take him inside her very soul. His hardness presses into her hip as a reminder of pleasures that wait. Her impatience ebbs with the thought of how he is trying to make her surrender. She feels the challenge to be his equal. "The moonlight strays, fireflies alight. Waves crash upon dreams of night." He kisses her neck and her flesh erupts with tingles. Bursts of sensation, flashes of heat shoot from one end of her toes to the furthest hair of her scalp. He nibbles at the nape of her neck and she nearly misses the light pinches of her nipples among the riveting splashes of tension flaring down her spine. He pulls her nipple up, tenderly but distinctly, before letting it go. Again. Then the other. Again. "Cradle here in lovesweet arms. Light and hearth and blanket spread." She can't think. She wants loose to hold him, she wants to never be free. She needs him and wants the delicious torment to linger on and on. His palms circle the fullness of her breast as his fingers continue to pull at her nipples, though they are long since so hard they might hurt but for the wave after wave of pleasure they send storming to her knees. "My weathered heart lies in your basket, love. My ear to your chest gives food to a weary child." His voice has a husk to it that echoes deep within. When he takes her nipple between his lips her back arches. When he lets it plop from him, she crashes. Her voice has unstuck and moans escape her now. "The pulse of time fills my cup. Want is sere in comforts of you." Pride She has lost herself. His mouth torments her throbbing bosom. Mounting her nipples, grabbing them, nibbling at the soft undersides of her globes. He avoided them so long, she forgot how sensitive her breasts could be. She writhes side to side as he looms over her once more and pushes his mouth onto hers. It's gentler than she thinks it should be, He is tearing into her being, yet his lips barely touch hers, teasing and tempting them. "Take and eat." He breathes into her ear, and her mouth opens as though he is forcing himself into her. "Feast with me, love, the world is ours to lie in." He is sliding down her ribs now and she has lost the power to resist. It comes to her that she will surrender at some point. Not now. Not right away. But she will surrender. She knows with a clarity she doesn't fully understand that there will be a moment when she will say "Please." She will mean it. Maybe for the first time in her life. She will ask. Beg. Hope for his "Yes." in return. Her strength gone, her body weary and fully alive. Small at first, but ripped from the very soul of her heart, it will grow. She will say "Please."