Just for Sex

She can't run her hands through his hair to encourage him to continue, nor can she push him away if she wanted to. With her hands fixed to the headboard, and her legs likewise fixed into position and spread wide and back (offering up her pussy no matter her thoughts on the topic) he is free to indulge his wishes. And so he tastes her gently at times, and at other times with a sort of I-need-this-so-much urgency. She quivers with either touch, and also with the constant attention of his hands on her mountainous tits, which again he is reminded somehow provide a secret and complicated path to her deepest lust.

She has orgasmed several times, despite - perhaps - her best efforts to not allow it to happen.

The "Oh, god, no..." resurfaces as he reorients himself so that his cock can push into her cunt; she struggles to accept him, and then true to his hopes, he fucks her and all of her body's resistance begins to collapse into a wet heat. Her high heels decorate her feet; her tits slosh and overwhelm the view of her beneath him. The urge to cum is fought back and back, yet it is always RIGHT THERE. "You can't do this to me!" she says between breaths. "Stop...No..." Her orgasm overtakes her voice. In the dying remains of that flood she has given up trying to resist. He continues to plunge into her, over and over, letting the time they have been apart speak for itself. All of that distance, the continually references pictures still on his computer, the fever-dream memories of her, urging him to take her as long as he wants.

Times past she might have asked - where do you want to cum? She might have intimated that it was now his time for the same shuddering ecstasy that she had just experienced, and asked how she could be that special girl for him, right at the very end.

This time he won't wait for the question, especially as he doubts it will show up. Mid-fuck he pulls out of her, scrambles up to her top half, manages a panting "close your eyes" and exalts in a love-lust episode that has him heavily ejaculating on her face. It's the epiphany of his feelings for her.

************

There weren't any pictures to review or pine over in my memory and re-live. There weren't any dead end conversations to trouble the intellect and undermine resolve in the day-after recovery. We didn't turn on the TV as our bodies reset and our minds refocused to what the world was really about. Things that might have included: shopping lists, credit card bills, unfinished business at work, the empty space that surrounded life, and a Brahms melody that I couldn't get out of my head. Instead, I had turned on one small light in her room, which sat on a nightstand (the same nightstand that perhaps still might serve as a storage unit for - among other things - a bottle of oil that could be used between her tits, in the midst of heaven).

In the romantic light I had seen her, still presented in that extraordinary way, I saw my cum on her cheeks, around her lips, on her chin... I had done that thing, which we had both hinted at, in a manner that even overwhelmed me.

She said nothing, looking at me. Trying to find her breath. Used in a new way. Maybe owned in a new way, as well, just like I was. I stared at her, memorizing the scene and the feeling. Trying to store it in my vault of memories, not sure if I would ever visit it again in any other way than what I could store in my mind and remember.

I undid her wrists; I undid her legs. I allowed her a freedom of movement to - if she wanted - reach over to a box of tissues to clean off her face. Instead she lay there, looking at me and allowing the view of her massive breasts and cummed-on face to live on...daring me to leave her, like she had asked. The half-lit bedroom speaking for us both, as if she had unintentionally fallen asleep with her front door unlocked, and woken up to this fantasy or disaster. She was waiting for me to exit, because that was what she wanted. And that was what I had promised. Because that was what would happen in real life, after a stranger had entered her bedroom, tied her up, ate her pussy, fucked her, and then climaxed on her beautiful face.

It wasn't until the next evening that I received a message from her. I thought about the way she had watched me as I found my clothes in a little pile on her bedroom floor and put them on, piece by piece. I thought about the little "click" her door made as I shut it behind me as I left her there, because there was nothing except that blowing fan to fill the space with sound or activity. I had walked out to my car, unlocked its door, and sat inside of it for a few minutes before driving home. And then roughly 18 hours later I received a note from her.

'Next time,' she wrote, 'take at least a few pictures, because I want to see what you've done to me.'

I thought of that longed-for woman, always invading my thoughts. I wondered if we would ever get away from each other.