Couch Sex

She had been going out with him for four years now. The progression to moving into his town house had been a slow one. And now she was here, had been here for a few months. All her things were here, her pictures on the walls, her dressings on the windows, her photographs on the desks and tabletops.

She was home.

She sighed and put a bowl of soup on the table for him, smiling at him. He looked tired, exhausted. But once he had eaten, he would feel better.

He was a quiet man, older than her by many years, and very set in his ways. He was a successful businessman, and one of the best representatives his firm had in the district. Marrying him would increase her own financial value many times over. But that had nothing to do whether or not she would. If she did, it would be because he asked her to.

As she watched him slowly eat his soup, she smiled softly and folded her fingers together on the table, thinking. She'd had so many ridiculous relationships before this. Boys, really, who wanted her only for sex, or to make their own lives complete. They didn't really pay attention to her own wants or needs, and had no interest in her special desires. They wanted equality, and wanted her to make them stronger.

That wasn't the kind of girl she was. She'd graduated at the top of her art class, but had no need to make money, her family being well enough off that she could putter around if she liked. And so she had, dating and failing at many relationships.

Then she had taken the job offered to her at one of the better galleries in town, appraising newly purchased pieces before they were exhibited. She had a lot of experience in such things, and was highly touted for her skills. But it also included going out often, meeting new artists and contractual exhibition providers. She hated that part of the job, smiling and nodding and not really paying any attention to the mundanity of the business.

It was at just such a party she had met...him.

She smiled, looking at his slight cap of grey hair, his soft blue eyes as he drank now from his glass of wine.

He was elegance and sophistication and style all wrapped into one. And he was a widower. He had money, and he preferred to spend it in his deceased wife's name in the art industry.

When he had met her, he had been soft-spoken and quiet, but openly considerate of her good looks. He had noted how tall she was, how slender, and had leaned in close to speak to her from his own great height.

"You should wear your hair up, off your shoulders," he had said that first night, gently stroking a hand over her bare neck beneath her long blond tresses.

She had rushed to the bathroom immediately, searching in her handbag for spare hair clips. And finding them, she had coifed her hair up in attractive loose layers.

Back out in the gallery, he had smiled at her approvingly. And he hadn't left her side since. It had been a test, she was sure of that. He loved her, but she would not be so stupid as to think he didn't want her for her obedience of his every word.

He nodded at her now, and she stood up, reaching for his bowl. He put a hand on her wrist, then looked up at her.

She leaned down to him, and he cupped her face, using his hand on her wrist to pull her easily into his lap. His hand went around her head as he turned in his chair, opening up room for her over his thighs. She sat down gently, and turned to him, kissing him eagerly. She loved how he touched her, how he wanted her at any time, any given time he chose.

His hands slipped under her silk shirt, reaching up and cupping one of her breasts. He squeezed it, almost painfully, before he began to mash it around in a circle. Then he lowered his hand. His fingers deftly began to undo her zipper and buttons. He reached into her loose slacks, cupping her naked mons.

He loved for her to go without wearing underclothes whenever she was home. It made it easier for him to touch her, to love her, he had said. And she didn't mind at all. He cupped her, squeezing her puss tightly. Then he withdrew his hand, and pulled away from the kiss.

She stood up, shaken by her desire for him, feeling her body becoming hot, wet for him. Then she went into the kitchen, bringing him his dinner of fresh vegetables and tender steak.

Again sitting across from him, she watched him eat. He said nothing, he never did after work. He liked the quiet, the solitude they shared in his expensive townhouse.

"On the weekends, and holidays, we can go to the estate in the country and talk all you like. But here, let's just have the silent love of each other." That was how he liked things. And she had been thrilled to pieces because she was the same.

Soon, he was done with his meal, wiping at his perfect lips with his cloth napkin and then laying it aside. She moved to clean up but again he grabbed her wrist, not painfully, just using it to guide her into the living room. She followed him, willingly, knowing what he wanted already but knowing he liked to show her, to guide her and tell her what to do.

"Take off your clothes, please," he said quietly. Then he sat in one of his armchairs, pulling out a newspaper.

She began to undress, thinking of how her heart had pounded when she'd first done this months ago. She had been confused, but she had done exactly what he had asked. And he had seemed to be reading his newspaper, but now, months later, she knew him better.

She knew that if she looked up, he would be watching her peel her clothes off. His eyes would be glued to her chest as she set her breasts free, dropping her shirt to one side. He would be watching her over the top of his newspaper now as she pulled her slacks down and kicked them lightly to one side. Then, she would have to stand still, under his scrutiny, until he spoke.

She did her best not to smile too brightly.

"Please go to the couch and bend over," he said calmly.

She did as she was told, her bottom rounding out nicely as she got on her knees and put her breasts to the cushions. She could hear him folding up his newspaper now. And now he was standing, rising up behind her.

Then he was on his knees. She could feel his hot kisses on the small of her back, his hands at her hips, stroking her skin, and her inner fires.

She moaned, leaning forward more. The sound of his zipper behind her was a tingle in her brain, and the feel of him rubbing against her drove her insane.

"I love you," he whispered softly into her ear, leaning over her back.

"I love you too," she replied. Her voice sounded weak, strangled with her want of him.

She could feel his hands, moving. One was on himself, she knew. She knew this routine of desire like she knew how to drive. He was stroking himself, rubbing the now-wet head of his thick cock against the back of her thigh. His other hand was playing at her folds, teasing the pliant chubby lips into a swollen firmness. And then his finger went between them, parting them, as if he wanted to inspect her.

She felt owned by him, lovingly owned and desired by him. He moved his finger lower, finding her clitoris at the front of her crevice. Once there, he chased over it in circles, teasing the hooded flesh until it was as hard as a button.

Then he was moving her legs apart and coming in close to her. With his hand on his shaft, he began to tease her with the head of his member. She felt the slickness of his excitement, the precum gently oozing from the tip of him. And she felt him mixing with her own juices, her own readiness was evidence of her passion.

Then he was pushing her further apart, spreading her legs wider. And then, at last, he was inside her.

The silence was cut by her deep moan, and she lifted her head. He pushed himself slowly as far in as he could go, then gave an extra push. And there he stayed, for several moments.

Both of them breathed heavily.

Soon, he began to withdraw, and it was as if she could feel the rim of the head of his cock dragging down her insides. She could feel him pulling out, all the way. He slipped his fingers against her wetness once more, teasing her by taking away what she had wanted. But he would give it back, she knew.

And then he was inside her again, deep, hard. This time, he didn't withdraw fully, he only pulled himself out part way. She looked over her shoulder at him, and without him seeing, she watched him. His face was twisted in a grimace of craving. He was looking down at where their two bodies were joined, watching himself as he teased at her with his fingers and wiggled his shaft side to side.

She trembled, watching him like that. He wanted for her so badly. He wanted all parts of her. She sighed contentedly, and lay her head back down, closing her eyes.

With his fingers, he teased at her puffy lips, then thrust inside her again. Then he pulled out, and repeated it. It was maddening and she wished suddenly that he would just fuck her, take her hard. And as if reading her mind, he began to do just that.

With his hands on her hips, he pulled her slightly away from the couch, rounding out her bottom even more. He leaned back, kneeling so his torso was straight up now. And he began to pump his cock in and out of her wetness. She had soaked him, slicked over his shaft completely with her nectar. Sliding in and out of her was easy, but still a gorgeous thrill. Her sheath sucked at him, pulled at him. And she began to cum. With her fingernails clutching the cushions on the couch, she moaned, loudly, so he could hear the pleasure he was giving her.

That made him grunt and fuck her harder. He put a hand on the small of her back, holding her still while he took her. Harder he went, in and out. And her tight cunt pulled at him, tormented him as she came, her muscles tight around his member.

At last, she was done, panting and heaving on the couch.

But he was not.

He pulled himself out of her all the way, teasing along her lust-swollen lips. With his fingers, he dragged some of her wetness backwards, up her bottom crack. He was separating her buttocks now, and using the head of his cock to smear her own orgasmic fluids over her tight pucker.

This was new, she thought, shaking in slight fear. This was dangerously new, surprisingly new.

But she would not deny him anything, especially not this.

She clung to the cushions of the couch, biting her bottom lip, feeling and not thinking of what it would be like. She did not fear it, knowing that in his hands, she was always and forever safe.

He teased his cock head at her ass, and she felt the extreme heat of it. When he began to push inside the tight, hard rim of muscles there, she realized that as a woman, parts of her were prone to numbness, to feel only pleasure and be devoid of other sensations.

The sweet pain of him filling her bottom was new and extraordinary. Her brain felt alive, taking in the new sensations. And her ass felt like it was being torn, like a burning branding iron was being inserted inside her.

The heat did not subside, but the pain became pleasure as he slowly let her ass engulf his entire shaft. He was long, thick, but she had taken him in as if it were nothing. Once he got past that tight rim of reflexive muscles, it was smooth and hot within her.

His cock was like a fiery torch inside her now. He began to pull it out, and she moaned, making him stop. Then he pulled out more, and she realized he was listening to her sounds.

He was seeing if she liked it, if she desired more. And she did.

She pushed her bottom back towards his groin, groaning as she did so, whimpering and whining for his flesh to be further inside her. He pushed deep inside again, rocking her body with his thrust. Then his hands were on her backside, pulling her buttocks apart.

She knew he was watching her. She could feel the burn of his cock in her ass and his eyes on their joined flesh. And it gave her sheer chills of delight. He began to lose control now. He was moving faster, wilder, and she could feel him shaking behind her legs. He was panting, she could hear his heavy breath. Then he was leaning over her back, his mouth to her ear.

She whispered to him. "You own me."

She turned her head to one side, and his seeking tongue found her own. Kissing her thus, he came inside her, lying over her now, still embedded inside her.

Some slavery was forbidden. The concept of having one's will taken by force by another person was to be abhorred.

But to give up that will, to enjoy the feeling of secure love and lust. Now that was a treat indeed.