tagAnalWhat Would You Do?

What Would You Do?

bybisexy_butterfly©

"Gimme a little taste," he whispers. I give him an are-you-sure look. The road we are on turns and twists with the coastline; beautiful to look at, treacherous for those types of games. But he's had his hand in my jeans for the last quarter mile. At first he'd had to coax, but he knows just where to touch, and just how to press. Now I was wide open to him, responsive to every touch, deliberate in every returned caress.

"Quit being mean," he sighs, as I give his cock a squeeze. I'd been toying with him, stroking, squeezing, caressing. Part of me knows that this is torture so I lean over and run my tongue along his cock from base to head in one smooth motion. "You call that a taste?" he asks me as I flash him a grin in response. I lean over and do it again.

I feel him shiver beneath me, and my body tightens. I think instinctively he knows that teasing him is turning me on because he chooses that moment to ask me exactly that, "You like to tease don't you?"

I flash another grin, this one lopsided because I've caught my bottom lip with my teeth, and hold my thumb and forefinger up. "A little bit?" he asks. I answer by taking him into my mouth all the way to the base and flexing my throat around him.

His reaction causes another pulsing reaction deep inside of me. "Oh. My. God," he moans as his whole body tightens and he grips the steering wheel. His hips have lifted off of the seat bringing me with him, and I flex my throat again. "Evil," he hisses, "my God!"

I giggle. I have nothing to say, really; I am enjoying everything that I am doing, most especially the being evil. I can't help it; I love how he reacts to me. And even though I know that on the other side of the narrow winding road there are vehicles that shine their lights into ours, and I know that they can see what we are doing, and that the guy in the van behind us is absolutely just loving the show...I don't care. But I pretend to, for appearances sake. "Are we ever going to stop somewhere, someone is going to see us?"

"In a second. Don't stop," he answers pulling me back towards his lap.

At that moment, I see a patrol car, and pull away protesting. "The cops," I say to him.

He thinks this is funny. "Yeah, like maybe they've never gotten their dicks sucked in a car." But he isn't stupid, and quickly finds a place to pull over. The spot he's chosen is perfectly private and beautifully romantic. Behind a cluster of trees, another turn, another cluster of trees, and the ocean dancing with the rain in front of us. Because of the weather, the beach is completely deserted. A lone boat rocks a couple of hundred yards from the beach.

I take him back into my mouth for a little bit, but then I get other ideas, so I let him slide slowly out and I pin him with a stare. "I want to give it a little bit of flavor," I say to him.

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to do with me," he whispers.

I feel more moisture wet my walls at his answer. In one motion, I sit on his lap and let him slide into me. As I moan loudly and shudder at the penetration, I hear him say how much he's missed me. I too have missed him. But the months and months that have separated us mean nothing and we find our rhythm without missing a beat. In just a few strokes, we have the car rocking harder than that boat being battered by the waves.

Grabbing a fistful of hair, he pulls me down to him for a kiss. As we kiss, I let my body glide up and down his, I feel my muscles pulse around him, I ride him and I work him simultaneously. He moans and sighs and I know I am pleasing him. He pushes roughly into me and I cry out startling myself when I hear my voice echo sharply in my ears.

My eyes fly open, and I stop mid-motion. "Can I make noise?"

"Hell yeah. You can make all the noise you want. I love when you scream. It's so fucking hot."

"Really?" I ask. I've never been able to do this with anyone else, this talking while we do it. Full on conversations about just about anything. And there are no fumbles, no missteps; it just is what it is. "You never told me that," I say, surprised that after so many years it was the first I knew of this.

"Yeah, I love it. Just like this, the way you feel inside, I love it."

"Too bad you never loved me," I say softly, unsure whether or not I want to be heard. Unsure of why I am even saying it.

We were always star crossed and we have always known that. But knowing that we cannot be together doesn't mean that we can't wish it were different. It is what makes these visits golden. They come along when he can't stay away from me anymore, when he can't fight the urge to see me, and hold me, and touch me and taste me. When he can no longer fight himself, I get to hold him inside of me. But he fights me, and I fight him, and we do it so no one has to get hurt but us. It's mean of me to bring it up, and I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. The words find their way out on their own. I am tired of fighting. I see the reflection of what I feel for him shining from his eyes when he looks at me.

"Who says I never loved you?" he asks me.

"Did you?" I have to hear the words. We have danced around this question so many times. He never comes out and says the actual words. It maddens me. When he doesn't answer, I clench my vaginal muscles around him, and his cries echo my moans.

"Yes," he moans in my ear, "yes I love you." Grabbing my hair again, he pulls me in. I let my tongue trace the outside of his lip, before allowing him to kiss me fully. He lets his hands fall down my side and wraps his arms around me. He hugs me tight and I fall into him, my face buried in his neck, as I whisper the words back to him, "I love you too."

The orgasm sneaks up on me, slamming into me with a force so strong that I wail as my body is thrown backwards and my legs tighten around him. My fingers find their way to my clitoris and I rub myself with my body bowed back in front of him. I say something nasty about coming on him and then sucking it off and it makes him slam into my body and spank my ass. Another orgasm grips me. The heat in the car has reached a boiling point and the wet slapping sounds of flesh on flesh are harmonizing beautifully with the whispered words and the strangled moans.

We are home and neither tries to deny it. "Suck it," I say, as I push a breast to his mouth. He actually says "oh God thank you," before latching onto my nipple. He sucks, nibbles, and bites me, and I rock harder on him. I let him slide almost completely out, before slamming back down onto his lap. His fingertips bite into my hips. The rough mixed with the sensual, the tenderness of the words mixed with the raw chemistry, did what it always does to us. It reduces us to animal. It brings everything into focus and nothing else matters but the moment.

"Yeah that's it baby, give it to me," he begs. This is really not a problem since I'm dying to give him all of me.

"I don't wanna wet," I answer. And I don't, want to wet him, that is. He's hitting my g-spot and if he keeps it up, I will squirt on him. It feels great but cleaning up can be inconvenient if you're not ready for it and neither of us planned for this impromptu adventure.

"Get up," he says. Ever the obedient closet submissive, I jump to obey his command. "Turn around," he says turning me before I can comply. "I want your ass."

Something strictly for him. He is the only man that I have done this with whom I haven't been in a deeply committed long term relationship. Whatever lies between us cannot be described as deeply committed. Long term yes, deeply committed, no. I've always felt anal sex is intimate, personal, something you share only if there is trust. He knows well how I feel about it. He knows I only give this to him. I only protested that first time; now I give it freely...he does it so well.

I feel him behind me, his hands caressing my ass. I melt against the seat, his shirt pressed beneath my skin where it lay discarded. His scent has become a part of the fabric and I breathe him in. Suddenly, his tongue is pressed against my ass and a bolt of pleasure travels up my nerve endings at a thousand miles per second, leaving a trail of blazing fire. Time is suspended. Completely. I don't know if I cried out, if I pushed into him; I don't know what I did. All I remember is pleasure.

Then I feel him. He begins to push into me, and I flinch. It has been ever so long, and I am no longer used to him. "Easy," I say, "no one has been there since the last time you were, and we both know how long that has been."

He lifts my hair off my neck and kisses me there, traveling down to my shoulder, before coming back to my mouth. His hands travel down my arms and nestle in mine. He pushes again, this time gently. Kissing my ear, he whispers to me, "Let me know if I hurt you." I nod and turn my mouth up to meet his.

Inch by inch he fills me. Reaching the hilt, he rests against me, allowing my body to open to him. In slow motion, he moves. The friction is delicious. We begin to rock together, and I cry out sharply.

"Am I hurting you?"

"It's good pain," I answer.

"Good pain," he repeats. It's kind of a question and kind of an affirmation. I know he understands because he holds me closer, tighter, and speeds his thrusting a little. I match him stroke for stroke, lost on a cloud, moaning and shuddering in ecstasy. He pulls out of me and I protest.

"One second, I'm uncomfortable. And this feels too damn good to be uncomfortable." He adjusts his legs, and pushes back into me.

I reach back and pull my ass apart for him. I've missed him so much. I reach down and grab his hard thigh, pulling him into me. I rock back against him. I can feel another orgasm building. I rock harder, and swirl my fingers in little circles above my clitoris. "Are you fingering yourself?" he asks. I can only nod. "I fucking love when you do that. It is so sexy."

Something else I didn't know. But I can no longer hold a conversation. The sounds coming out of me are guttural; an animal making mewling noises. I can hear him moaning behind me. I know he is holding himself back, making it last for me. I don't want it to end, but I want him to feel the pleasure I am feeling.

"Come. I want to feel you come inside of me."

A few moments later he complies. His orgasm sends me over the edge and I scream. I don't feel the scream coming, I don't send it out on purpose, he rips it from me. I shiver in his arms as we fall forward in a heap.

I feel him start to withdraw. "No," I say, holding his hips with my palms and squeezing him in with my body. I begin to sway, and twirl my hips in little circles. After a few twirls he cries out again and my voice becomes his twin, a duet.

"You made me come again," he says after catching his breath. His voice sounds strangled.

"I did?" I am truly surprised.

"Yeah," he answers, kissing my back, my shoulders, my neck.

As we take a moment to catch our breath, he apologizes. Why? For not taking more time with me, for this being a "quickie". I had almost forgotten that what is an average encounter for most men is just a quickie for him. Like him, I would have loved to spend more time to languish in our lasciviousness. Like him, I know how to play the game. But he gives the word marathon a whole new meaning and there is just not enough time.

Today we don't have time to enjoy the afterglow for more than those first few moments. An unfortunate reality of our situation, it happens. Not all the time, just often enough to hurt at times. But I have always understood the rules of engagement; they are what have allowed us to be "together" for so long. We know he has to get back to the real world, where we get to pretend that we mean nothing to each other. We are not supposed to be together. Too many people would get hurt as a result.

But for us, it is like this every time we touch. So my question to you is: would you stop? If you had this magic with someone, even if that someone was supposed to be strictly off limits, would you stop?

As I sit here and write this, my body aches deliciously. Pleasure has ridden me hard. Small movements bring about pain in the most delightfully unexpected places. They serve as reminders of what we've done. As if I really needed any. As I sit here and write this, I am not ashamed to say that it's like a drug. For both of us. I can't stop this. And you know what? I really don't want to. Not anymore.

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