The Artist's Hands

"I am ok, I am so ok with this."

He takes my hand and pulls me to the back of the gallery, the meet and greet spot when we have an artist in to meet potential buyers.

It has a grey velour sofa, a small table, a lamp, some other shit that now looks to be in my way.

He gently deposits me, still in my knickers onto the sofa.

He pulls his shirt over his head, and in one move loses his jeans and his underwear.

I have a moment when I don't know where to look. I am suddenly mortified, and unsure, and I realize that this man, this younger man, has all the control and I have none.

He kneels before me, his thumbs hook my knickers and he pushes me back on the sofa and pulls them, ridiculously slowly down my legs.

The cold of the aircon hits the dampness between my legs.

He pushes my thighs wide apart, then with excruciating slowness he begins to lick from my knee to my waiting pussy.

His mouth is hot when in gets there, his forehead presses into my tummy while his tongue snakes from my pubic bone down, lower, a slow kiss, then his tongue darts out, and there is a shot of electricity that rips through me.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, noisily lapping, he pushes my legs even wider while his tongue explores the wetness, ramming into my waiting pussy.

My head is thrown back, my fingers are buried in the expensive fabric of my sofa, and this man is fucking me with his tongue.

I want to ask him to stop, it is way too soon for me to orgasm, but I can not find the words, instead my hand holds his head in place as I arch and grind against his mouth as every nerve ending erupts on fire and I scream some words that make no sense as his thumb slips into my ass and the world stops and ends with his mouth, and my pussy, and I explode, and he is greedy, his fingers probe, his mouth sucks every thing it can get, his fingers parting my arse to burrow deeper.

And when I think there is no way this orgasm can keep going, he slides his finger into my ass and my muscles trap it there while I spasm like I never have before.

I think this must be it. The end of the line, this is the moment I die of ecstasy my body becomes just a vessel.

He lifts me like a rag doll, I am a fucking rag doll, and he lays me with such tenderness onto the sofa that I feel a tear slip from my emotionally overwrought eyes.

He slides into me, and it is the most intimate moment of my life; without exception.

And I am fully alive, and my legs wrap around his waist, and I pull him tighter and deeper, and he is saying words that I can not understand, and he is pounding into me, his hands are everywhere, his mouth is greedy on mine, a clash of lips, but his strength is guiding me pining me beneath him.

My eyes are watching his, and he pauses, for just the tiniest of seconds, a split universe.

"Now." He says.

It is a command he doesn't need to utter because I could not stop the flood between my legs if I wanted as he buries himself so deeply inside me, I feel every glorified inch of his cock. And he pummels me, bare moves that tell me he has the control while he fucks every iota of doubt out of me, while I scream nonsense words and he fucks me to within an inch of my life and then he bellows and I can feel his cock spurting inside me, his mouth is buried in my neck, his hands burning across my arse and I meet his cum, drenching him, the bull and the fighter conjoined.

It takes way too long for either of us to speak, I have begun to wonder if he died? only his heart is a jackhammer beat on my chest.

He raises his head looking at me so intently I blush.

"Bit late for crimson face love." He says in a fake cockney rasp.

And the laughter from my belly is a release too. I was so scared in those moments as our bodies subsided from orgasm or the next part, the after-sex bit, the bit where the performance can still be ongoing or just done, and it's time for the movie star cigarette.

"Is it too late to buy you a drink love? 'Cos there is no way I am letting you go home tonight." I tell him, my cockney as good as his, but my promise is implicit that there will be much more fucking on this night.

He moves with fluidity, he is so in control of his body, his energy is like that of a trained ballerina.

He walks away from me, in command of his layout, and my body misses the connection immediately.

His ass is so tight I could bounce stones off it, his thighs are rugbyish, and I wonder how I never noticed his physique to this extreme before.

And then the laughter bubbles out of me.

"I fucking hope you are not laughing at my ass." He says, and it is back to that dark voice and I realize I am fucking loving that dark voice, that danger just beneath.

"Nope. I am laughing that you have just fucked me, and this was not how I saw this going, and that you have such a bloody hot body."

He turns, and his cock is starting to get hard again, so my pussy reacts to that, but I don't move, I want to know what he is doing. He walks like he owns my space, with a sense of autonomy, and I realize he is going for the fridge, where we had the conversation two weeks ago after the sale of his second piece, where we opened the expensive champagne, where I said I hoped life would not continue to be so difficult, and I hoped champagne would taste like fun again.

And he bends and takes a bottle with no regard for its price tag, and I fucking love that. He knows there is liquid cheer, and it doesn't matter if the grapes where shod by dinosaurs or divas, the taste will be divine.

He uncorks it, without finesse, and strides to me.

He pulls me up, and shares from the bottle the sweet fizz of Dom Perignon.

"You know, the first time I met you, you were so cool. You said, other galleries will offer you the sun moon and stars, but to them you are just a pay cheque. Do you remember?"

I did, so I nod, not sure why we are getting into deep territory and not really wanting to.

"You said, I will do what it takes for your talent to be known, not your name." He puts the bottle against my mouth, and I take a slug.

"I knew, that you believed in me, but to hear you say it. Fuck, that was hot. Some fucking guy who makes shit."

I don't know what to say, so I stay silent.

He is intense, as he passes the bottle to me, I drink greedily, because I am not sure if this night is about to end, and I need to be soothed by numbness if it is.

The silence stretches, and suddenly I am aware of every sound, every movement, every inch of my body and his.

The bottle is passed back and forth, and he takes my hand.

"Anna. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you and make you scream. I want you to lose yourself and let me in while you do it."

And the bottle is gone, and the floor is beneath my arse, and his cock is inches from my face, and I want to taste him so much, my hands guide him into my mouth. I can taste cum, its mine, and his, and its salty and sweet, and I swallow as much of his cock as I can, more, his cock is making me gag, but I don't fucking care, because this moment is my freedom.

He is surprised at my intensity, and I feel him trying to hold back, but I want a piece of the control here, and I slide my finger under his scrotum, slowly, feeling, waiting for the moment he will tense, and he does, and I know I have found the place where the control is mine, however briefly.

My tongue glides along his cock, and he is so full in my mouth and I know he does not like this loss of control, his hand in wound in my hair, he wants to be rough, but he is reluctant, and my teeth nip the head of his cock, while my finger slips deeper at the base, and I can feel the change, the throb of cock in my throat as I suck in deeper, and my pussy gets wetter, and his body arches more to my face, the hand in my hair pulling the tiny strands of hair in frustration and delight.

And he is grinding, and his cock is bouncing in my mouth, and I am gagging but I want to take him, and taste him, but he pulls out, twists me in one move and I am pinned across the stupid coffee table, and his mouth is behind my ear, and its one word.

"Ass."

And I comply because I can think of nothing else but to please him, and to explode again for him.

And his cock is at my ass, and there should be a moment where I hesitate, or let him have control, but I don't, I slide my finger into my asshole wetting it first, and it doesn't need lubrication, every part of me is on fire for this man.

He presses against me, and I know he is steadying himself, the feel of his cock pushes, he uses a finger to spread the hole.

It is slow, my body stretching to meet him.

The first entry is sore, I feel pain. I feel momentarily unsure, his hands find my nipples and he squeezes them, one at a time, slowly, they are connected to my clit, to my asshole, and they are the passwords for entry, because he is sliding into my asshole, and I can feel every single nerve in my body on fire, reacting, and there is a rhythm, and he is fucking my ass.

Those hands that make sculpture in innate detail, have my cheeks spread wide now and his cock is ramming into me and I can barely keep myself on all fours, my arms feel like they will not hold me up, and my muscles tighten, and he has found that place where my nerves are strung together, and my ass feels wide and powerful, and I can hear him grunting as his hands pull my body back to meet his cock as he slams me I scream.

I scream as he impales me on his cock, as my whole body explodes, as his cock fires inside me, as the wetness seeps down my arse cheeks, as he screams my name over and over.

As his body fucks into mine, as I meet him every move on the way, as he gets so deep into my arse our bodies are a single unit, and he is true to his promise as I scream the fucking place down as my body buckles beneath him.

This kind of joy doesn't happen every day, but as our bodies cool, I know I will get to fuck this man again.