Gently, Firmly


"Could I ask you to do me a small favor?" She looked up to see he had finished. She still had half a plate full of food. He was staring into her eyes, his expression open and clear, his smile infectious.

She raised her eyebrows, unable to speak.

"Please," he said, standing, his cock at half mast, his hands open, implying she should join him.

She shook her head, looking down. No, no, no. Please god, no.

"Laura?" He waited, his cock pulsing just outside her line of vision, now sticking out at 45 degrees.

She looked up, hoping her eyes were explanation enough. Please don't make me speak. Please don't make me explain.

He walked behind her, his hands reaching down and gently, firmly enveloped her elbows. "Laura," he whispered into her ears. She knew he could see her from there, the napkin a poor cover for the expanse of hair, her blush now practically below her breasts, her breath ragged. Why can't I just say no!?

Gently, firmly he tugged her elbows up, lifting her from her chair, her robe falling away from her back, exposing her rounded ass. "Laura. It would give me such pleasure to finish my meal with you. Please." She knew what he was saying but couldn't imagine letting him do that to her, here, this way. But he wasn't waiting for her to let him. Slowly he brought her to her feet and turned her to face him. She tried to hug him, to wrap her arms around him and hide herself, but he held her arms away, placing her hands on the table's edge.

"Can you let me do this for you?" He let her hands go. She watched, as if from another part of the room: the woman stripped naked and exposed, her hands fixed to the table as if with glue. Looking at herself from this perspective, she realized the part of her body of which she was most proud, her beautiful rounded ass, was pressed tight against the corner of the table, hidden from view.

And now she could see how truly exposed she was: her black bush, a fierce triangle of matted hair wildly presenting itself to him, her blush, a crimson red down to her ribs. She closed her eyes in embarrassment and shame, waiting for him to gasp in disgust.

His hands brushed down her sides, his thumbs lingering momentarily on her nipples, his fingers tracing the line of the blush. "Amazing," he whispered, his face held back to take her in. She forced herself to breathe. As his hands moved lower, she caught her breath again, his thumbs finally reaching the margin of her hair, just below her waist.

He shifted his hands a little, pushing on the bony part of her hips, forcing her to widen her stance. This only exposed her vagina more to him and she let out her breath. She realized it sounded like a gasp or a moan and she felt him change his position slightly, forcing her open even more.

He was kneeling now – at least she figured he had to be, her eyes were still tightly closed, his hands sliding between her thighs, opening her up as far as her legs would allow. He pushed up on her thighs slightly, signaling she should lift herself onto the table. Now her legs were dangling and she couldn't keep them apart. Slipping his arms under her thighs, he moved her legs onto his shoulders, doing some sort of gymnastics with his arms behind him. The sound of the chair sliding across the floor telegraphed it brushing against her shins.

She put her feet up on the seat behind him even though it meant opening herself back up. He would have moved them there in any event, she figured. Something made her open her eyes, a slight change in the light, a shadow, something and she gasped again. She was facing the picture window across the small living room. The picture window overlooking the walkway serving all of the apartments on the second floor. Anyone walking by could see them, see her, split open, his face buried in between her legs. The only reason she didn't jump off the table was her trust that the sheer curtain liners were truly enough to obscure anything inside the room. What she had sensed through her closed eyelids were her neighbors leaving, their figures shifting the sunlight and shadows.

"You smell delicious," he said to her open slit, bringing her back to the here and now, and it was at that moment she realized how aroused she had become. She could feel the moisture between her lips and gasped yet again when his fingers opened her outer labia, knowing he would be seeing how wet she was. And then, unexpectedly, a powerful spasm went through her. She realized he had gently wrapped his lips around her clit, confirmation she was closer to the edge than she had been aware. What is going on with me? How could I have lost touch so quickly?

Memories of the night of love making returned: he knew how to tease her, how to stimulate her in ways that brought her up on a wave of sweet arousal, forcing her to push against him, only to have him back away. A rhythm he seemed to excel at, a little higher each time, but never enough to push her over the top. Just like before, she found herself panting, moaning his name and those of various deities. She had lost track of time, and almost lost track of her situation. Almost, but never quite: her viewpoint from the other part of the room served to push her higher, accepting her absolute nakedness and submission to his tongue and lips and eyes. His eyes. She knew he was studying her, his eyes deep in the forest of her hair. There was no hiding her secret now.

Something clicked in her, as he backed away for a countless time. Something let go, just as he inserted two fingers into her cunt. Because at this point it was a cunt – a hairy wet cunt, open and wanton. She felt shame and humiliation replaced by a golden yellow arousal she hadn't felt in years. His fingers gently, firmly, wriggled their way up inside her, the gushing sound of her liquid squeezing between them adding to her rising orgasm. He leaned forward again, pressing his lips against her labia. He pressed his fingers deep inside her, against the flesh just behind her clit and she was on the brink.

"Please, Mark. God. Please, yes. Please, please, oh god, yes, let me cum. Let me cum. I'm going to cum. God yes, I'm going to cummmmm." But just at that crucial moment, he backed off. Just a little. Just enough that the echo of his fingers didn't come pulsing back and flip her over the edge. Just enough that the lack of pressure from his lips and tongue wasn't enough to add the final spark.

"NOOOOO! GODDD! NOOO! Please! What do you want? Why won't you let me cum?" Shame and humiliation returned briefly at hearing her voice beg this virtual stranger, this amazing lover; she lost track of what she said, and then stopped caring. She was so close and he held the power to release her... in his fingers, tongue and lips.

"Soon. Very, very soon, Laura. I promise. But first I want a promise from you. Can you promise something to me?"

It was obvious he expected her to look down at him, to meet his eyes. It would mean actually witnessing her exposure; actually recording the event in her brain that he was seeing her. Her vision was blurry, and she blinked until it cleared. Looking down at his upturned face, his eyes clear and honest, his face shiny from her juices, she waited. She saw her wild black curls just millimeters from his chin and nose and shook her head slightly in disbelief. Disbelief and a need to go over the top to get on with whatever he wanted. She realized he was waiting for a reply.

"What is it?" Her voice was husky and soft; she needed to clear her throat, to swallow, but didn't dare.

"I want to see you again. Soon. But I can't stand the thought of you sharing yourself with anyone else before then. Can you promise me you won't share your beautiful body, your gorgeous sweet pussy, your incredible legs, those amazing breasts and throat with anyone else between now and the next time we see each other?"

It would have been an easy promise. She wasn't dating anyone, instead visiting bars with girlfriends on the off-chance she'd get her drinks paid for. Under any other circumstance, his presumption would have made her so angry she would have laughed. She could hear some small voice in her brain: Who the fuck does he think he is, extracting that kind of promise from me? But the voice was almost too hard to hear beneath the roiling waves of her impending orgasm and the pulsing/receding feelings of shame and humiliation.

She was watching him watching her, his face next to the one part of her body she showed to no one, her body stripped, and open to him: eyes, fingers, tongue, lips. He was asking her to promise not sharing the very thing she had no desire to share with anyone. To only share it with him.

Whatever had clicked just moments before returned; like a key in a lock, she felt something turn. Months later she would reflect on that click: whether it was locking away her years of self-loathing, or whether it was freeing her from them she could never quite resolve. In the moment, though, realizing she had tensed up her legs, she let her hips fall open as wide as was comfortable, rolling back on her elbows to take the weight off her hands. She felt the edge of her breakfast dishes bump against her back. She would do this. She was doing this.

"I promise," she said, her voice stronger than it had been all morning. She pushed herself at him to make her point. And moments later screamed as her orgasm exploded up her spine; screamed in a way she knew her neighbors could hear (if any were home), and for the first time in years, she didn't care. FUCK THEM! FUCK YES! FUCK ME! PROMISE? FUCK YES, I PROMISE. If this was what he would do to her, if he didn't care about her hair (the absurd realization popped into her climaxing brain that he hadn't even mentioned her hair...just her beautiful pussy), this promise was easy to keep.

The orgasm, her screams and her mental shouts all boiled together, her eyes rolling back into her head, her back landing squarely on the plate under her. He didn't let up, his fingers pushed on that spot, his tongue and lips clamped on her clit for an eternity. She may have blacked out. Years of pent up sexual frustration and fear poured out of her until she could only breathe and laugh.

Softly, slowly, he stood up stretching his legs and uncramping his arms. She looked at him from between narrowed lids, still floating on the rolling seas of her climax. She could see his cock, erect and ready, pointing at her wide open slit and she opened her hips even further.

"Fuck me, Mark. Fuck me very very hard. Make me feel that hard cock deep inside my cunt. I want to feel your balls slapping against my ass. Now, tomorrow. Whatever you want, Mark. I promise."

Gently, excruciatingly slowly, he penetrated her, hard and firm, the sensation of his fingers dragging through her thick pubic hair electric shocks.

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byElRoylk© 6 comments/ 36507 views/ 5 favorites
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