The Things That Make Me Give In (8 page)

I shake my head, mute with arousal but pretending I’m mute with confusion and fear. Who is this brute who has stolen into my bedroom and found out my secret heart?

And so on.

‘Turn over,’ he says, and he does it with as much firmness as he can muster. It’s enough to thrill through me. It’s enough for me to stumble over a timid tremulous little ‘but I . . .’

And then he grabs me, and flips me over.

Of course I know he’s capable of it. He’s six foot four. His hands are bigger than my head. He can swim a length of a pool in about five seconds. But still it’s overwhelming. I actually gasp. My legs flail.

‘You love it,’ he says. ‘You love it.’

I want to scream in reply: ‘Are you fucking kidding me, beefcake? I love it so hard I want to fuck you all over. I want to have sex with your face. I want to tie myself up and leave myself at the foot of your bed.’

My great big silly soft-hearted beefcake.

‘No-oo-oo,’ I whine, while my juices leak down my bare thighs and I urge my bare ass back at him. My pussy is split and totally open to him, but he pins my wrists to the mattress anyway. He tells me, ‘Yes. Yes, now you’re going to get fucked.’

Oh, God, I’m dying. I want to beg him to fuck my cunt but I can’t, I can’t. That’s not what this fantasy is about! It’s about
getting a cock shoved into me by a sexy stranger, a stranger that I’ve been perhaps teasing on purpose. In the hallway. On the stairs. Flashing too much of my tits. Bending over in front of him.

That sort of nonsense that I’d never do in a million years. Except with my beefcake.

He breaks character ever so slightly when he does shove into me. I feel him go unsteady against me and a weird throaty noise comes out of him. ‘Oh, my God,’ he chokes out – because I’m so wet and swollen. Tight around his cock, hugging it. At the best of times, he’s almost too big for me.

Here’s where he’d usually ask if I’m OK. Or tell me exactly how it feels. But instead he burns out just two words: ‘Take it.’

Really, there’s nothing I can say to that. I just sob into the pillow, twisted from the inside out, clenching desperately around his prick. I want to work myself back on him but that would spoil the agony of suspense and all this beautiful tension but, oh no wait, I don’t care. I need to come again so badly that I’m rubbing my tits against the mattress and trying to get my hands free and imagining nothing but him hunkered down over me with his dick lodged in my bare pussy –

Jesus fucking Christ.

Within the space of his first couple of forceful thrusts, I’m coming. I think I say the word ‘please’ about seven hundred times, and try to stretch myself off the bed. Out of the apartment. Into another universe. Clacky noises catch in my throat, noises that kind of sound like crying, and even though he keeps fucking at me – I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to – I can feel him slowly descending into concern.

His pace slows a bit. Slows, but gets shakier and shakier.

‘Good show,’ I croak at him, and then he manages to rein himself in completely. He vibrates against my thighs, however. The hands that he lifts off my wrists and rests lightly on my ass are sweaty and trembling.

‘Are you OK?’ he asks, and then on the ends of a tremulous breath: ‘Jesus.’

‘Did you like that?’ I try, even though I know the answer is half no.

He hesitates.

‘I liked . . . how you reacted.’

‘You want more, big boy?’

‘Yes. Yes.’

‘You want to fuck my bare pussy?’

‘Ohhh, Jeez, Lo, you’re deciding to talk like that now? You’re gonna make me go off.’

‘Isn’t that what you want, though? You deserve to, don’t you think?’

‘I . . . maybe.’

He sounds a little guarded, a little deep with laughter. Tread softly, chief, you never know what you’re going to have to say ‘yes’ to next.

‘Only maybe? Maybe doesn’t cut it. I tell you what. I think you . . . shouldn’t come just yet. How about that?’

He almost ruins everything. Almost.

‘You can’t be –’ blurts out of him before he can stop it. But then I hear him get control of himself. He swallows. He strains once, against me.

‘Yes,’ he says.

I can’t say it’s always been one of my fantasies. But I do love it when he gets so worked up that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Secretly I think he loves being teased – he always comes so hard when I get him into a frenzy – but this is pushing his limits.

‘Take deep breaths,’ I say, as I make him soap my breasts and clean my pretty pussy. He looks sour when he’s at my tits, but he can’t stop himself gawking when he’s washing my bare folds.

I see a hint of a wondering smile when he touches my pouting labia, even when he has to readjust his erection to stop
it aching, to stop it being so uncomfortable. He presses down on it and rubs the heel of his palm over it and hums for me.

By the time I get out of the tub, his cheeks are bright pink and he’s leaking through his boxer shorts.

‘I bet you really want to come,’ I say, and he groans and rolls his eyes.

‘You’re killing me.’

I think it’s time for the other thing I had lined up for him today.

‘Go in the bedroom,’ I tell him. ‘And bend over the bed. Starkers.’

He presses his lips together – so frustrated and full up with curses for me – but his eyes are bright and laughing. And when I finally follow him in there, he has done exactly what I asked.

He looks creamy-perfect and masculine, so masculine, in the dim light of the bedroom. He’s a little thick, really, and not so defined that he could be called truly perfect. But the way he looks sends me, anyway. It’s the big gangliness, I think.

‘Come on and do whatever you’re going to do, then, gawker,’ he says.

I wonder if he’ll be so happy to demand that when he finds out what I’ve got planned.

I think he might be. I think he wants it, secretly. Or not so secretly. But he’ll probably balk when it gets to later developments.

‘Legs apart,’ I say, and he obeys with a rueful little chuff.

I stroll behind him and he follows me with his eyes, complaining all the while that I could at least put something less sexy on – something other than the little silky shift thing again. I tell him I will, soon enough, and that doesn’t make him any happier. He probably knows it means he won’t be coming in the very near future.

And then, as I’m getting what I need out of the bottom drawer – our goodie drawer – he startles me. He just comes right out with it – or close enough.

‘Are you going to fuck my ass?’

How he sounds melts me. Nervous, hoarse with lust, beyond his own limits. He keeps his hands flat on the mattress but I can see him tearing at himself as the need to touch his cock rises. It must be unbearable. It’s unbearable for me and I’ve already had two huge orgasms.

‘Is that what you want me to do?’ I ask and he shakes his shaggy head.

‘Today isn’t for me.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘OK. Maybe it is a little,’ he says, and then he laughs. I ache to hear it. ‘But it’s more about you asking something of me and I just give myself over to you. Unquestioning. Without saying if I want it or not. Isn’t that what we agreed?’

‘I guess it must be. But then again I know I could push you further than you’ll ever try to push me.’

‘Don’t be too sure, butt-fucker,’ he says, and now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘Go on. Go on, I’m sure. I’ve always been sure, with you.’

It’s something like lightning inside, to realise someone feels exactly the same way about you that you do about them.

I run a tender hand over his back, and he shivers for me. He shivers and says, ‘I know, I know,’ and unaccountably it’s those words that make tears prick behind my eyes.

Fucking hilarious that it happens while I’m holding lube and a butt plug in my hands.

‘Be gentle with me,’ he says, in this silly fainting-damsel sort of voice, and then we giggle.

‘I promise I will,’ I tell him, as I slick him up and make him slippery right between his delectable butt cheeks. I’ve stroked him there before, pressed my finger right against his perineum or wandered a little further around. Once, in the bathtub, I slid right inside without even trying, and watched as his eyes went cartoon-wide. And then lust-slitted.

But this is different, and he can’t stay still for it. His hips jiggle and he bucks against my exploring hand, sometimes
sighing, sometimes whining. I’m already aroused again from bath fun time, but the way his ass flutters around my intruding fingers only makes it worse.

He feels slick and smooth and strange. I explore, searching for something that might be his prostate, but I don’t really feel anything when he jerks forward as if he’s been jabbed and begs me for more.

That’s enough of that, I think. Now for something bigger.

Although really it isn’t all that big. It’s maybe the size of two fingers, and it’s more the coolness of it that makes him protest, rather than the size. As I work it into his clenching ass, he keens and chokes out just how cold it is – for me.

And then it’s seated all the way inside him, the ridged base preventing it from disappearing. It parts his butt cheeks just a little, looking like a small blue jewel between the pink.

‘Very nice,’ I tell him. ‘Very pretty. Now stand up.’

He does so after a few deep breaths, slowly. Awkwardly. He turns to face me, equally awkwardly. Sweat has gathered at his hairline. That pink flush has spread all over him. He squirms around, though I think more because he’s testing it out than because it hurts.

But I ask how it feels, just to be sure.

‘Uncomfortable,’ he says, and then, after a swallow, ‘Good.’

But his reaching-for-the-sky cock tells me that much.

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Now we get ready for Jean’s party.’

His eyes flutter closed.

‘Yes,’ he says.

He actually swaggers into the party. Sort of like John Wayne. If John Wayne had a butt plug in his ass.

I like the sideways cant to his walk, and the look permanently on his face. As if he’s trying to process a very difficult maths problem but oh, it’s a pleasure to do it. Once or twice, as we’re mingling in what looks like a ballroom, he makes a sound he shouldn’t. Before turning it into a cough.

For once, he is otherwise silent on the matter. Though I suppose it would be difficult for him to say, ‘Let me come’ in a room full of swanky people. Even if his eyes tell me that very thing. They can’t seem to stop staring at my cleavage, which I have made full and voluptuous just for him. I’m wearing his favourite dress – the one that clings and makes my bottom jut, and disappears right down to there.

I would flirt with men who seem to want to flirt with me and torment him further, but I find that I can’t take it that far. There’s only so much torment I can dole out, like licking my glossy red lips and letting him see the inviting dark hole between, when I part them just so.

He often makes me feel beautiful with his burning, yearning eyes, but this is different. This is everything condensed and crystallised, aimed right at me until I’m weak. I’m weak enough to want to stop tormenting him.

His dark gaze always makes me want to. Though I can never quite tell what it’s going to make me want to do.

‘Excuse yourself and go to the bathroom,’ I murmur in his ear, when that awful bore Gerald and his dullard wife are briefly distracted by the type of onion in the mini quiches. ‘A nice far-away-from-the-party bathroom. Though maybe not so far that we won’t get caught.’

‘We?’ he asks, and I giggle inside at his efforts at being surreptitious. He’s too big and expansive and open to hide and whisper. And then there’s the fact that he’s so turned on that when he drinks something, most of it goes down his front. He had to wear a really long jacket. And four pairs of underpants.

I pat him on the bottom and he goes up on tiptoe, but he takes the hint. Run along, sweetheart.

I make barely any excuses before I follow him.

He tries to glare at me and say enough’s enough. But the corners of his mouth trembling upwards and the hopping from foot to foot kind of give him away.

‘You’ve never had any patience,’ I say, as I lean back against the bathroom door. Despite this being a rather large stately-home sort of place, this gleaming cream room he’s found is rather small. He dwarfs the tiny toy-like toilet and bidet. There’s barely enough space for me to press him against the sink.

‘Is that what this is about? Teaching me a lesson in patience?’ he asks. He winces when his ass hits porcelain, but he doesn’t look disconcerted by the idea that I might want to teach him a lesson. He’s always had a thing for being instructed.

‘No, babe,’ I say, as I unbutton his butter-soft blue jacket. Underneath, the shirt I picked out for him feels very thin. It’s a good red, that makes his hair look even darker. I’m all for darker. ‘I love it that you’re impatient.’

His face spreads into a wide grin. I love his goofy grins.

‘What do you want me to do now?’

‘Be nervous that someone’s about to walk in on us,’ I reply, before unzipping and unbuttoning, and letting his trousers drop to the floor.

He helps me with the four underpants, all in a big flustered rush. His hands stutter over me and the pink comes back to his cheeks and he groans before I’ve even come close.

‘I can’t wait,’ he sighs. ‘I can’t wait until I can ask you to do things.’

It’s enough to get my engine roaring into high gear. I almost tell him to ask me right there and then, before I remember it’s supposed to be my turn.

However, I find I can’t push him any further. His cock is reaching up to his belly, curving almost painfully and as swollen as I’ve ever seen it. When my hand skims it, he hisses as though it hurts. Maybe it does. Even when I palm his tightly drawn-up balls and give them a little easing, he bites his lip and turns his head away.

I wonder if he’s going to do this to me. Get me to such a point that I can’t stand it.

Oh, Lord, that idea feels good. I bend at the waist and give him a little lick, to show him how good that feels. And in return, he shows me something. He shows how licking the glistening, swollen tip of his cock makes him cry out brokenly and try to shove himself into my mouth.