Deceived - Part 2 Paris (10 page)

As I released my grip on his head he pulled back and said, “Aw, lovely lady, you taste so good.” He stood up licking his lips. Gripping his granite shaft, he flicked it across my nipple and thrust his cock in my face.

“Suck it,” he demanded. “Open your mouth and suck it hard for me.”

I wondered for a moment how I was going to do this since my arms were still bound, but I was so turned on, I simply rolled with the flow and looking up into his eyes, I opened my mouth taking as much of his length as possible. He leaned into me, straddling my legs, gripping the back of my head, while fucking my mouth, releasing deep guttural groans of pleasure, as I sucked him off.

He pulled it out and claimed my mouth, now with his tongue. Pressing his wet cock close to my chest while pushing my breasts together hard with his hands, he caught his erection between them and fucked my titties, as I watched the bell shaped head, gliding up and down in my cleavage. This seemed to get him off even more, groans gurgling deep within his throat as his breath was breaking unevenly. In one quick gesture, he loosened the belt and cast it off to the floor. Sweeping me up in his strong arms, he carried me behind the room divider and laid me on the bed.

“I’m gonna take you from behind,” he said in a low husky voice. The command in his orders unnerved me and yet aroused me at the same time. I found his forcefulness titillating, pushing me to a kind of eroticism I had not known before. He rolled me over with firm directing hands and said, “Get on your hands and knees my lovely.” His eyes were dark and compelling. “You have such a nice ass.” He could tell that I had never experienced this degree of aggressiveness before. “I’m going to fuck you from the edge of the bed. It brings me pleasure that way.” Reaching for a pillow, he ordered, “Take this, hold the pillow and get down, but keep your ass up...and look at me. Turn your head sideways, so you can look in my eyes.”

I hesitated a moment but did as I was told. I supposed he was just talking about sex from behind and not anal. I hadn’t done that before and was concerned at this new forceful side of his nature that was now showing, but I reminded myself he hadn’t done anything to hurt me, so I continued.

“Just go easy there lover boy...I don’t want my pooper shooter parted like the Red Sea.”
Well, that sounded very unromantic
. Nervousness always brought out the bad jokes in me. He seemed to understand and kept his attention in the area of my now dripping wet opening. He held his steel rod in one hand, smoothing and caressing my ass cheeks with the other. The swirling, smoothing pressure of his hand felt good as he caressed my left cheek. Guiding the tip of his cock into my wet slit, he slowly teased it in and out, lubing up the length of his rigid shaft, before the first hard thrust. My intense wetness hardened his erection and tossing his head back like a wolf howling at the moon, he let out a growl. I gripped the pillow and let out an audible gasp as the familiar stretch sent pleasurable signals to my brain. He reached around and stimulated my clit, rubbing and tugging, winding me up like a cyclone. Then he pulled back a little and placing the palm of one hand on my buttock, he maneuvered the tip of his cock just inside my vaginal opening, pressing his thumb into my anal opening. All my senses came to attention as I experienced a new sensation I had never felt before. He massaged around the puckered opening with his thumb pushing it in and out, while flicking the tip of his penis near his thumb.

“Keep looking at me,” he ordered. “You have a tight little asshole. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” he crooned as he continued his maneuver.

Just about the time I did worry about it, he said, “I’m going to fuck your asshole, my lovely. Just relax and breathe,” and he thrust the head in. Razor sharp pain signals raced to my brain and won the race over the pleasure signals. I instinctively pulled back with a reflexive jerk.
 Hello, Mr. Hyde.
“Oh no...I’m not ready for that.” The words jumped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do that tonight,” he said in an even toned voice. Back to Dr Jekyll, I thought.

He smoothed his hand over my ass again, tracking each movement with his eyes and rolled me over onto my back. I was game for exploring new territory, but I wasn’t sure what I thought of his approach and if there were consequences that I would have to deal with later. However, for now, looking at him hovering over me with his hair falling into his eyes, all logical thinking went out the window. My body ached for release and I was mesmerized by his virile nature, and his Spanish accent. It all made for a heady cocktail in my brain and I reached out to run my fingers down his finely chiseled abs. Grabbing each leg behind the knee, he pulled me towards him, positioning with my ass on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the pillow I had held onto earlier, he shoved it under my hips elevating my pussy like a treasure on a platter for him to devour.  

“I will have you my lovely lady. I’m gonna fuck you hard,” he said and he strategically placed a thumb on my firm clit, circling and running his fingers around the edges of my opening. His touch moved my internal tension up a notch. It was like tumblers clicking in a lock. Click, click, click, each swirl of his fingers advancing the sequence forward almost to the brink of unlocking my orgasm.

Digging his fingers into my hips, he drove his steel rod into me, and the stark black holes of his pupils of his eyes made my heart skip a beat. My awareness of the room was fading into an ocean of erotic pleasure, as I matched his urgency with my own lusty, unsated needs. The feeling of his full girth inside jolted me. His hand raced up my body to grip my breast, he fondled one small lobe, its pink nipple marble hard. He fell over me, his long hair, feathery light, sweeping across my breasts, little moans of satisfaction erupting from his throat. He rocked me, thrusting rhythmically and forcefully. Strong hands gripped my legs behind my knees, pinning be like a sumo wrestler, with my legs up to my ears, slamming into me, driving my intensity to greater heights. Just as I was wound to the top, he released my legs and swirled his magic thumb on my swollen clit. Sending me over the summit, as if knowing a secret combination to my ecstasy, my orgasm was released for the second time that night.

“
Jesus Christ
!”
I heard my own voice unrecognizably, guttural and raw, spew forth the words. I grabbed his arms, digging my nails into his smooth skin as he pulled me fully onto his cock, his granite and in a final opus, that quivered his release deep inside me, he bellowed out an unrecognizable Neolithic howl.

Exhausted and spent, Francisco fell onto the bed next to me, rolling to my side, our bodies intertwined amongst the blankets and pillows. As our breathing stilled, he reached over, placing tender fingers on my cheek, in the dim light of the room, lit only by soft candlelight he had placed out earlier. Silently, our eyes met and he gently pressed his lips to mine in a sweet soft kiss, as we relaxed into the smooth grooves of the mattress.

“Sleep now, my lovely lady. You need your rest. I will want to take you again in the morning. You will need your strength,” he smiled and gave a soft little kiss to each of my eyelids, then rolled over onto his back ready for sleep.  

In like manner, I rolled onto my back, clutching the sheet up to my breasts while thoughts of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide filter through my mind. Long shadows from the dim candlelight played tricks on my eyes as I swept the ceiling with my gaze and soon the rhythm of his breathing shifted into a slower pattern, indicating that he had fallen asleep. The last time I was with a man in bed was with Patrick. I remembered how tenderly he held me after our last night of lovemaking. He was a cuddler. I smiled to myself in the darkness, but the smile evaporated from my face and I could feel heat rising in my cheeks, and moisture welling up in my eyes. With a knot forming in my throat, I rolled away from Francisco onto my side, hot tears spilling onto the pillow, as my body turned. My heart still ached for Patrick.

The next day at sunrise, Francisco was up, out of the bed before I was and I noticed him hunkered down over a newspaper at the small wooden table in the tight kitchen space. Maybe he wasn't Susie Sunshine in the morning, but he was gorgeous there, barefoot, no shirt and just jeans. Any headway I thought I’d gained with him the night before, seemed to elude me the moment he curtly directed me to his coffee machine with the wave of a hand.

“You can make us coffee,” he said, his eyes directed at the paper.

“Good morning to you too Mr. Grumpy Pants,” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him and I bounced out of bed wrapping the sheet around me to go in search of my clothes, which had taken to flying like acrobats the night before, flung randomly around the room. In a desperate attempt to pierce the silence, I tried to make small talk. “So, what’s on your agenda for today Francisco?”  

“Um, that’s nice,” he said still focused on the paper.

I twisted my mouth into a frown and wrinkled my nose. “I said, a meteorite just hit the earth and we are all going to die.”

“Uh huh, that’s nice,” he mumbled again, still not looking up.

“Francisco, you haven’t heard a word I said,” I exclaimed with exasperation.

He stood up, as if coming out of a coma and blinking a bewildered look, said, “Hm?  What? Que paso?”

I ducked behind the room divider and slipped on my panties, bra and dress. He moved away from his reading table and went to his paints and brushes at the work shelves, seemingly hyper focused on his work for the day. “I said, what’s on your agenda for today?” I called out as I poked around the kitchen cupboards in search of coffee grounds for the machine.

“I have work to do, my lovely.” His blank stare broke for an instant and he turned to look at me as if noticing me for the first time. “Today I must work on a piece I’ve been commissioned to produce.”  

I clinked and clattered the cups together that I found on a shelf, inspecting each one for cleanliness before setting them out near the coffee maker.  Digging in the drawers, I found a suitable spoon exiled among a tray of mismatched silverware. Wiping it with a dingy dishtowel, I surveyed the high ceilinged loft as I waited for the coffee to brew. I could get a better look at it now in the light of day and this was definitely a bachelor pad if ever I saw one. Sparse furnishings, a few decorations and the eternally desolate refrigerator, barren of any inhabitants, save a few moldy residents lonely as a deserted island. I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, standing with my weight shifted onto one foot, one hand on my hip, impatiently tapping my toe.

“This is a nice place you have here. Very open and airy,” I lied, struggling for a compliment. Francisco was completely absorbed in his own actions, moving around his work area, preparing the canvas. I was relieved when the coffee finally finished, poured him a cup and took it to him at his easel.

“Thank you my lovely,” he said taking the cup from my hands and kissing me on the lips.  

“I hope I’m not in your way.” I peered up trying to read his face for a clue to his mood. He seemed either cold and uninterested or just busy and absorbed in his work.  I was hoping for the later and he sensed my confusion.

“I’m sorry, if I seem preoccupied,” he said shaking his head as if he was trying to clear the fog from his brain. “I have a lot of work to do and I am very focused when I work.”

“Oh that’s okay, I understand...you gotta catch the creative juices when they flow,” I said, trying my weak attempt at humor again.

He set his coffee cup down on a low glass top table near the easel and encircled his arms around my waist. My arms automatically slipped up around his neck, our foreheads touching together, as he spoke in a low smooth voice, “Chloe, you are beautiful and last night was amazing. I still want to paint you completely, a full nude painting.”

I smiled at the thought of Francisco painting away for hours, as I would sit in the red velvet chair completely naked. Then, when he finally turns the canvas around to show me the finished piece, it’s me as the Mona Lisa, with that famous little half smile, dressed in 1500’s attire. I giggled to myself at my warped sense of whimsy, that only I was privy to in my own mind. “Francisco, I would love that but I'm sure your talent would be better spent on other kinds of painting. Not one of me as the Mona Lisa.”

“Mona Lisa?  What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” Mentally, I chastised myself for my feeble attempt at humor. “I’ll finish my coffee and get out of here. I can see you have lots of work to do.” He stroked long strands of my hair, pushing them off my shoulders while running his hands up under it, cradling my head and pulling me in for a telling kiss. He sent me off for the day, affirmed in the notion, that maybe this relationship could turn into something more.