Losing It – anal virgin first-time analingus cunnilingus nipple-play BDSM pussy plug clamp clamps

Mike, enough endless talk.  You once said that it’s not bragging if you can back up your words with action, and now it’s time to back up your words, my little one.   Please see attached; everything has been arranged.  Over to you, Jen.

No other explanation.

A “click”, a mental trick that my brain dealt with these three short sentences, and the time quite changed, my vision darkens as I read the attachment.  It read:

Dear Mr. Stone,

Thank you for choosing Alaska Airlines. Please note the following details relevant to your itinerary.  Please note that all designated times are local.

Flight 1085 from Newark (EWR): 11:40 a.m. June 9, 2017

Arrival Seattle-Tacoma (SEA): 15:00 9 June 2017

Flight 373 from Seattle-Tacoma (SEA): 9:10 p.m. June 11, 2017

Arrival from Newark (EWR): 2:40 a.m. June 11, 2017

There was more, but I didn’t save it the first time through. Just that she had bought me a ticket, and approval, yours, Jen.

Over to you, Jen.  Everything and nothing in a signature formula.

She had used the closure before; of her, it always seemed more than the formula. Something special, something different.  I knew it wasn’t, of course, just a reflexive closure, but of it… it was something to notice.

The sign off, fuck, the whole message itself, was now also a kind of challenge, mixed with a slight tinge of lust, and hope. Who, exactly, was this woman I thought I knew, to just buy plane tickets and so casually convey the itinerary with such a brief note?  He who expected his words to be obeyed, and obeyed without a doubt, to be sure.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I thought, even though I read and re-read the email; anyone who could write Voltage, an erotic story detailing the preparations taken by a woman who, after a long hospital shift, goes out for a reason and for one reason only – to release this tension. Dressed to kill, or perhaps to seduce her prey, to hunt a sexual partner for the night, a woman able to write Voltage certainly would not be shy to express his need for something wanted, nor to express the fact that the hunt was now underway, and his prey, this hunted beast, should know well its status in its world.

And somehow, as immediately became clear, like the words in the e-mail soaked in my brain – tangled as it was with the sudden beginning of lust and excitement – that someone, this beast deliberately hunted to his fate, had been chosen.

Chosen. I was the chosen one. The one chosen to take the last vestiges of her most sacred virginity, the one chosen to violate the virgin territory of her.  She had come to trust me, to come and know me, to tell me things that she had never revealed to another soul. And now she was throwing down the glove, challenging me to support my words with actions.

Despite this, I wasn’t quite sure how it happened. We met, in a devious way, on a website that catered to readers of eroticism.  “Literary Porn,” she called it.  I had not sought to plug in or engage in a false romance of this kind so unique to the Internet;  I had just looked for a place to put my pieces “literary porn”, to free the reins on this little removed from my writing skills.

Maybe that was the key. I was there to write and submit my stories and read those written and submitted by others.  I certainly wasn’t there to harass women to chat, ask for photos, or insist on sending pictures of my dick.  The latter being, as reported both by my Jen (when had I started thinking of her as “my Jen?”)  and by other women I had known on the site, was an unfortunate thing, not uncommon, and never appreciated.

I guess maybe my apparent nonchalance was refreshing.

It didn’t hurt that she liked my stories too, or that hers got me throbbing hard every time I read one. She had a little over a dozen bakers on the site, but as Spencer Tracy once said of Katharine Hepburn, all that was there was “dear.”  In many ways, it was a meeting of minds, albeit sexually frustrated.  Any woman whose favorite word was “irrumatio” was a rare creature indeed.

Don’t get me wrong, she was also strikingly beautiful, with a conscious and smoking sexuality that radiated with her big, piercing, surprisingly green eyes.  Even in the photos, it seemed that with these simplest looks, she knew everything about me, everything there was to know or that was to be known, those intelligent eyes soaking up the secrets of my soul.

With a love for fine lingerie, she had sent me different shots in various states of undress. And then there was this photo, sent almost without thinking late on a weeknight, a picture taken of her from behind, kneeling, legs apart.  This picture, the one that burned forever in the corridors of my mind.

Her and and everything else were waxed absolutely smooth, and the pale contrast of her translucent skin against the black velvet of the stool, she was laid bent on… fuck, even thinking about the photo made my breathing change.  The thought of his wide hips, the curve of his waist, his sex slightly opened a dark pink exclamation point vibrating against the pale and dark, the slightly slightly exposed of his most virginal place… Kiss.  I needed to find myself, and fast.

Everything has been arranged.  It’s a quirk, isn’t it, how sometimes you find yourself not challenging certain assumptions, assumptions that your conscious mind has missed, even when they are obvious.

We had been hurting for each other for months, in much more than the literary sense, but in my mind the physical distance between us was something insurmountable.  Not just the physical distance – his own personal rules of conduct seemed an equally insurmountable mountain.  Yes, she had, and has, a common list of personal rules of conduct – she being a woman who ran her life by her own code, and whether others chose to follow or not was not a concern of hers.

I don’t play with married men., she had told me. Without the rule #1, Do not fuck with married men, I steal you here, to the perfect cool humidity of the Northwest, for the weekend, soak in your talent and your tongue and your sperm and your everything.  You know damn well how much I like to perform fellatio … to have the privilege of taking you up to your mouth and throat, choking you, struggling to breathe and loving absolutely every second of the struggle… to blow you up in the back of my mouth, to have the privilege of swallowing every drop… God, but I want to, Mike.  You want to kiss and lick and tease and tease you to recovery, and after that recovery had been achieved, maybe you could take my virginity?

Still hesitating with that, this last bit, as if I would refuse his request to present him with the wonderful pleasures of anal play and anal sex.  Always curious, she invariably asked, after receiving the assurances she was looking for, Would you like me to kneel, in the air, or on my back, with my legs up to my chest?

I never knew how to respond to that one, except with a decisive, all-inclusive “Yes.”  This had always seemed to satisfy his need for information.

Something had changed. Enough endless speeches. Had the “tension” become too great a burden for it to bear? I did not want to question it; I was thinking of why it might be suggested that I might not want as much as she would. And how I wanted it, how I wanted it.

I was addicted to it, checking the site on my phone much more often than was what was prudent for a professional man to position my. I’m looking for it to be online. Hesitating to always be the one to start our cats online, lest she start to feel like I was a pest. I was thrilled with the excitement every time she declared her desire for me, and I despaired that somehow I might miss her by expressing how much I returned her affections.

The flight was uneventful, but five hours had never been longer. I read the same page of my book for the first few hours, then I tried to watch a movie on my iPad, without more luck. His words and the memories of these images flooded my mind;  his unashamed desire, tinged with a hint of shyness, left me paralyzed by lust.  Oh, that shyness.  Perhaps born of having relatively little real physical experience, compared to what her mind and body needed, it was something that made her almost inexplicably more desirable.  At this point, I did not care what this shyness was born of;  in a few hours, I relieve herphysical and mental, including this shyness.

The touchdown shook me out of my daydreaming, and I soon found myself in an airport lobby that was quieter than I could have expected just over four hours or more in the afternoon. I looked around, wondering what was to follow. Jen had been intentionally vague. Damn, everything she did, she did with intent.

Everything has been arranged

Would she be there waiting for me?  I scanned the crowd for her, figuring out a six-foot-tall woman in her bottom feet would be easy to find.  Nothing.

The small crowd clears up. I hesitated, I don’t know what to do next. Rent a car, take a cab? Part of me — a very small part of me — was relieved. I wanted to see her, touch her, right away, but I had also been in transit for most of twelve hours. I needed a shower, stat.

“Mr. Runner.”

I turned around, surprised by the sound of My pen name talked here, in this, this place effectively without friends.

“You’re Mr. Runner, sir, yes?”  That is not a question. The talking gentleman looked from his phone carefully webbed at my face and back again. In fact, she took good care of everything.

He took my luggage and asked after my checked baggage.  Soon we were at the black town rigeur car.  He placed his right hand on the door handle of the left passenger side door, and then came to a sudden stop.  He reached into the left inner pocket of his suit and from it removed an envelope, which he handed me.

“For you, sir, Miss Jennifer.”

The envelope now firmly in my hands surely unworthy, he opened the door and inaugurated me inside the car.

I held the small, perfect, first hint of the gift that was supposed to be mine for a while.  The envelope was laundry, sturdy under my fingers. Heavy. “Bespoke,” she once said of her stationery, and now I understand the meaning as it was meant outside the dictionary.  His monogram adorned the closure, embossed in the heavy stock.

I slipped a finger along the underside of the closure, and the very light waft of a very particular scent escaped, teasing my nostrils and my cock.  I took out and carefully unrolled the note inside, the paper itself a jewel to handle with the utmost care.

You’ve come a long way.  I’m sure you’ll want to clean up and rest a little.  Dinner will be delivered to the room and I hope you will find it to your liking.  Anything you find missing, please alert the concierge.  You will need all your energy reserves more than you know.  I’ll be there soon.  Not soon enough, but soon. Over to you, Jen.

My cock hardened to her spare words, perhaps less to words than to know that she had handled the heavy paper stock. A real note was infinitely better than an electronic facsimile. I didn’t remember wanting a woman as much as I wanted her at that very moment. I read the note over and over again. The ride from the airport to the hotel was a blur.

I said, “Sir. We’ve arrived.

The door of the car opened, and the fresh, spring air of Seattle struck me squarely, with the inevitable mist, held back by the driver’s large umbrella.  I clumsily unlocked my seat belt and went out in time.

I noticed, if only by the way, that a hunter was already sweeping what seemed to be all That I had brought with me. Only the envelope remained in my possession.

As for the driver, I reached out for my wallet for a tip.  Before I even took out my wallet, he thought. “I was taken care of, sir. Enjoy your stay.

Everything has been arranged

I walked to the hotel office.  Looking up, the clerk smiled, a warm and deferential smile, and without even asking after my booking information, summoned a second bell tower, which began to nod at me, and then, with his hand outstretched, turned to me towards the elevators.

I thought I had detected a hint of curiosity about who I was, and why I evaluated the treatment I was receiving. I was definitely not dressed for the role, in jeanfros and a polo shirt, with a track jacket from the team that I coached back from the East.  My imagination, I’m sure. It was not the kind of place where a guest would deserve curiosity.

The hunter, as with the driver, refused my offer of a tip.  He introduced me into the room, then politely turned and closed the door with a solid thunk behind him.

Everything has been arranged…

Only.  I started to relax. Only.  The room was airy and large, with windows framing a sparkling view of downtown Seattle and Elliott Bay. Perfect, and perfectly laid out, depending on the case of the Four Seasons Olympic Hotel.  The four-poster bed was stacked with extra towelling and dins, each bearing the hotel logo, and two sets of equal blazone emblazoned dresses lay on the pristine white duvet down.

In the center of the room was a food cart. On a plateau of ice lay a dozen oysters: Olympias, Kumamotos, and the Pacifics. Two bottles of Grolsch were waiting in a bucket of ice next to them. Almost before I realized what I was doing, I opened a beer bottle, with his distinctive swing-top cap, and took a quick swallow. My God, but I needed that, whatever “it” might turn out to be.

I squeezed some fresh lemon on the oysters, proceeding to do a short job of them. The lively, metallic taste of the sea slipped down my throat.  The oysters were, I even knew that the last slipped on my tongue, a kind of joke.  Jen was making it clear that she had plans for me.

Prey.  I was a prey.

My hunger became easy, I looked around the room. At the foot of the bed lay a small black velvet bag, tied with a long ribbon of red satin. Curious, I unceremoniously threw the contents on the bed.  To this, Jen’s plans for our little one-on-one quickly became less theoretical and much more real.

The contents of the bag included a length of silk rope, pink stelastable nipple clamps with metal chains connecting the pliers, a stainless steel tip with a pink jewelry base, and a bottle of sliquid lubricant.

It occurred to me that for someone as in control of things as it was, the idea of giving up a large measure of control had to be overly attractive. My pulse accelerated when i eyed toys and accessories. My cock hardened too, reminding me of my need to take a shower before its imminent arrival.

I turned out of bed and walked to the bathroom.  It was, of course, to the extent of the rest of the hotel room, stacked as it was with towelling, the sink carefully displaying a range of amenities. I wanted to feel like myself, however, so I picked up a plain Dove soap bar from my traveler’s kit and climbed into the shower, taking advantage of the luxuriously high water pressure.

My nerdy side has rung now. No water restrictions in the Pacific Northwest? It makes sense.

I started to lather, taking special care with my dick and my balls.  Not that it would matter to her – she was simple and open about her love of fellatio, sucking.  Clean, dirty, it makes no difference in his pleasure.  Makes sense, since she loved the esoteric word “irrumatio” so much that she had written an entire story about that word.

I stroked my soapy cock urgently for a few seconds, before fighting the inevitable temptation. Everything was going to her. All.

Now, my, slip a smooth and soapy finger into my anus, enjoy the sensation of intrusion, pressure on my prostate. I washed carefully, if she, being a nurse, would surely arrive sparkling lying clean, inside and out.  I rubbed more vigorously, before I started rinsing.

My cock pulsing painfully, my balls feeling heavy and painful, I reluctantly came out of the shower and towelled off.  I wrapped myself in one of the hotel dresses hung precisely on the back of the toilet door and went out into the room.


Waiting.  My phone didn’t show any new messages.  I reread his note. Its fragrance, which escapes from the heavy stock, did nothing to relieve my erection. Not soon enough, she had written. I agreed.

I started playing with the silk cord, threading around the posts on the headboard, and tying two buckles to his wrists.  That would be one of the facts.  His legs had to be free.  I carefully arranged the other toys at hand, the Swarovski crystal in the stainless steel cap that shines me, taunting me, teasing my cock with the knowledge of what was to come.

I sat now in an armchair, clutching another Grolsch, waiting. A satisfied peace that has just been well fed and clean and comfortable ran through my veins, mixed strangely with a sexual need so powerful that it made me crave rhythm of the room.


Time passed strangely. Maybe it was five minutes, or an hour. Quiet steps passed by my room, smothered by the outside carpet and the sturdy and well-fitting door.  None stopped, no blow fell on the door of this room.

Waiting.  The wait was killing me.

Then… one click.  Why didn’t it occur to me that she would have a key card?

Everything has been arranged…

A moment later, she leaned over me, pale neckline glowing against a plain black wrap dress.  Hands on either side of the chair, she bent down, whispering in my left ear, soft pink lustrous lips send electric shocks of wanting into my spine.

“Wait a long time?”

I was made mute.  She was… Glorious.  I got up from the chair, my dress opened as I did.  A perfect, sweet, high laugh resounded across the room, reflected out of my dick, and allayed my skin with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. I started wrapping myself before being stopped by a thin, fresh hand on my right wrist.

I said, “No.”  She was giving orders now.

In her strappy black heels she was at least six feet three, about five inches tan more than me. No waif her, not with those heavy and wide breasts, perfect hips. Even through the dark fabric of her simple dress, I could clearly see her hardened nipples.  I was briefly wondering if she was wearing one of those quarter cup bras that wouldn’t even cover her nipples.  Designed to display, not hold back, she had always said.

I looked up from his frame on his face.  Her surprisingly dark hair pinned loosely, revealing a graceful neck length highlighted by simple gold hoop earrings and a choker-style Byzantine weaving necklace.  High cheekbones framed a penetrating look, green eyes lit with joy to see me, to touch me. I felt wanted and lucky and crazy randy all at once.

She reached down and slipped out of each heel.  Even bigger than I could have imagined; I knew she was great from what she had told me, but understanding something and knowing it are two different things.

The kisses started without a word. She was hungry, desperately so, her lips separating to allow me full access, her hand reaching in my dress, finding my hardness without hesitation.  Her body seemed to blend in impossiblely into mine, and oh my God, I needed that, need ed.  Right now.  Just that fucking second now.

Until now, she had controlled everything. In every detail, she had controlled.  Up to the beer sitting, laid quite abruptly, now quietly ignored, on the wagon.  No.  She’d give me power.  All for me.

I turned her abruptly, rudely, so that she faced away from me, towards the foot of the bed, her hips loose and the round pressed back into me. By cutting her breasts, finding and pinching her nipples, already distended with excitement, I felt the outline of the quarter cup bra that I knew she had chosen so carefully before her arrival, and fuck …No, Mike. Control yourself.

My dick pressed as if on its own against his generous ass, that ass I was about to strip away all the remnants of virginity, that ass I would take before the night was through. The idea was almost too much to deal with.

For all my experience, I had never taken the virginity of a woman, of any kind, whether oral, vaginal, or anal.  At forty-three, I had stopped thinking that this would happen one day. Now he was there … Here I. was, with this woman who wanted nothing more than to please me as she herself was happy.

A gentle push, and she let herself fall forward into the duvet, supporting herself on her elbows, obediently sticking her to me.

I responded to his obedience with a silent obedience of mine.  Pulled her dress, exposing the top of her top black lace top, on her alabaster thighs, on her generous hips, revealing the full extent of her, her most private bits shyly covered only by a pair of black mesh and dark pink lace tanga cut panties.

It suddenly became very difficult to breathe, as if the air had thickened without me noticing.

What happened next could not be helped.  My right hand descended on the dazzling perfection of his, twice on each cheek, the sound of each dull echo blow against the luxury absorbing the sound of the room.

She did not flinch.  Only a sweet, moaning belied his desire.  The sound of his need, that perfectly vivid vulnerable sound that I had heard so many times in so many phone conversations, now become real, was beyond awakening.

“Stay as you are,” I said softly, the first words I had uttered, “but go up and pull your panties down. Then spread your cheeks and show yourself to me.

She obeys.  On the way up, she began to pull her panties down as ordered. Shimmying the thin fabric down on her, on her thighs, finally getting out of them with one foot before kicking the other foot to the side, sending her panties, the latter little of her modesty, flying across the room.

Breathe, Mike, breathe. I was absolutely pierced, but by what I did not know – my absolute control or my absolute privilege?

Right now… now, as indicated, she reached back, thin manicured fingers grabbing her own generous and sweet flesh.  A brief pause, then she spread her wide cheeks, putting herself on full display.

Her was already visibly wet, her inner lips engulfed and the exterior perfectly smooth a beautiful swollen frame for this portrait. Its surprisingly pink interior stood out clearly against the ivory of its skin.  The crumpled bud of his, his last virginity, was easily visible.

“Who’s all this for?” I asked softly.

I said, “Michael.”

I said, “One more time.”  I punctuated my request with another pair of sharp slaps to her. Its skin becomes thinner, blushing with the two overlapping marks of slaps on each buttock.

“It’s for you… That’s it for you, Michael…”

“Good girl.”

Happy, I crouched down, the prey becomes the predator, to better examine what was mine, and mine alone, to take.

I knelt close enough so that she could surely feel every breath reflecting out of her open sex.  This sex… this con, so dark pink, already sparkling with need, her perfume a mixture of her perfume and her exposed, dripping desire.  I wanted nothing more than to taste it, but I took my time, letting him feel my presence a fraction of an inch from its center.

I breathed cautiously.  She’d beg before I started… my lips were millimeters from her skin now, and she shuddered slightly, surely feeling every exhalation.  Finally, it came … a sweet and plaintive word, that singular word that I needed so much to hear.


Out of my own trap, I dived up and down, pausing to let my tongue caress its knot, sending chills through his body, and then descending.

His cunt – God, but his cunt tasted delicious. Tangy and clean – she had always described her own taste as “blandly sweet” – sopping already with her own juices, betraying her need.  Her bare lips felt fucking incredibly smooth under my tongue, and I probed deep into her carefree pussy, my tongue and fingers stretching her tight walls, exploring her, teasing her.

I wanted her to beg. There was something about this woman begging who was beyond all synonyms to “awaken”.

Time has again slowed down, or rather stopped, a fermata in a piece for orchestra, as I worked her consenting.  His body slowly began to tighten, then suddenly regained speed, his hips grinding back in my face, his legs begin to tremble … and then I stopped.

She was not going to be allowed to enjoy the pleasure of an orgasm, not quite yet.

“Michael, please?”  She turned her head back to look at me over her right shoulder, the most plaintive of looks now gracing her face.

I got up and smiled at him, his face was full of excitement, even as I reached the cap and lubricant. Her eyes widened at the sight, and she turned her face back into the duvet, preparing.  I ceremoniously slapped the cold lubricant in the crack of her ass, watching him drip, even in her hungry pussy.

Very gently, I touched the stainless steel tip of the plug to its anus. She flinched, but held. The socket was shaped like an oversized metal strawberry: a defined point expanding to a maximum of about an inch and a half in diameter, before shrinking to the thin stem that connected to the jeweled bridle.

Slowly, surely, I ran the end of the plug around the edge of his hole of the . And surely, slowly, she relaxed.

I started to put persistent pressure, even on the grip.  Was she pushing her hips against the pressure?  Kiss…

“Does it hurt?” I asked.  It must have been wrong, or at the very least, a little uncomfortable, as the wider part of the plug began to pry its door open.

A gentle groan, somehow thicker than the last, was his only answer.

“Do you want me to stop?” I turned the socket slowly, looking, pierced by the stretching of her virgin.

“Please … Michael… No, please.  She was losing her English.  Perfect.

Now I pushed hard, relentless in my pleasure, watching her tight muscle ring stretch until the full circumference of the toy was inside her, and her anus closed around the thin stem.

She moans in bed.  Kiss.  The swarovski wink jewel in her tease me… Kiss.  I couldn’t help it.

I suddenly pulled her out of bed and almost threw her on my knees in my wild hunger. A few blows to her dress, and she came unwrapped, leaving her in her quarter cup bra, black mesh and pink lace as the panties had been. I shrugged off the dress and stood in front of her completely naked, my cock throbbing inches from her face.

When she leaned forward, hoping to take me, I held her at a distance, my left hand on her forehead.

“Is this going to be a polished pipe?” I asked, answering my own question by rubbing my leaky cock on her cheeks, intentionally belittling her, making her my good little whore.

Looking at me, she shook her head, briefly throwing her eyes down as she did.  Still, she tried to take me in her mouth. Kiss. Control yourself, Mike..  My hands prevented him from closing his lips around my dick.

“What’s it going to be like then, bitch?”

“You’re going to fuck my mouth and throat. Fuck my mouth and throat until I choke on you.


“Because… because I’m your little cumslut.

My little cumslut.  Mine.

He could not be helped.  I stuck my cock in his greedy mouth, feeling his greedy, sucking need. I groaned with pleasure, allowing him to wash my tree with his tongue. Allowing him a moment of control before suddenly taking his face in my hands and driving my engorged head to the back of his mouth, forcing my entire tree down his consenting throat.

She choked, gagging for a moment, drooling profusely, moaning her desire around my dick.  I pushed hard, rhythmically, without thinking about his comfort.  In and out of her mouth, own her, take control she desperately needed me to take.

I could only handle a minute or two of this divine abuse of his throat before I began to feel the revealing tautening of my. As much as I wanted liberation, I had other plans for my first orgasm. Grabbing a handful of her long black hair, loosening her pins, I pulled her roughly to her feet, calming her interrogation mouth with a wild and selfish kiss. Again, she gave up control, allowing me full access, her body again melting into mine.  I taste myself on his tongue for the first time… even with the fresh air from the room on my wet, my erection required attention.

And again, he couldn’t be helped.

I threw her on the bed, the soft, immaculate white duvet around her now rinsed skin.  Kneeling over her, riding with my knees, lifting her thin wrists and pulling the tight silk cords on each in turn. As I tied the second loop, she raised her head from the pillow.

Feed me your cock, her eyes begged, but I kissed her, smiling against her lips.

She has mwled in frustration.  Those green eyes burned now with a mixture of fear and lust and the most perfect love.

I climbed out of bed, backed away, surveying her.  My predator, my prey.

Her breasts have moved now, her breathing coming hard and fast.  The dark pink of her thick nipples and large areolas beckons; her legs were upright, her knees fell open, exposing the painful swollen pink of her and the pink jewel of the plug. All.  Everything she had to offer was exposed.

Breathing hard, trying to control myself, I climbed on the bed and positioned myself above its supine shape.  She fought briefly against her constraints, wanting to kiss me, before I silenced her howling hunger with my mouth just as hungry on hers — oh My God, her tongue.  His tongue tasted like me.

I broke the kiss.  It was more than a passing time.  I reached down and positioned myself at his most intimate entrance, my head pushing open his desperate drawing petals.

“Please … my cunt…”

I smiled; she knew how much I loved hearing her say the word cunt, especially in her cultured, sweet and French-speaking Canadian accent. Seconds later, looking directly into the big green eyes looking back into my own hazel eyes, I plunged into it, burring into her tight and soggy.  She raised her hips to meet mine as I felt slamming into her welcoming cervix, felt me forcing her to open.

My god. She was so tight.

The cap in her changed the architecture of her vagina, making it tighter than anything I had ever encountered before. It was a blur now, a haze of sex and her incredibly wet pussy stun, the only sound of her moans and the very audible squelching of my cock as he drew in and out of his body.

I grabbed her bound wrists, I appreciated that feeling of complete ownership that came with her holding down. His breathing was shallow, fast; mine was, if I had taken the time to notice, surely hard and rough.  Kiss… I was going to lose him, and soon. Resist.

I said, “No.  Please… Michael, I need it, please?

This woman can read my mind.… and just as this thought formed, I lost it, my orgasm overwhelmed me, hot thrusts of my sperm mixing with its juice, flowing unchecked on the bed linen as I fucked it thoroughly and well.  I asked for it.

I asked for it.  To claim it, literally and figuratively, felt surprisingly good.  Biological imperative, I suppose.

I collapsed against her, taking advantage of the almost too intense synaptic jolts of post-orgasmic happiness. It wasn’t until she moved under me that I realized that all of my weight was entirely on her body, and I got up, slowly pulling my cock from her still squeezing, still desperate pussy.

She relaxed, looking at me.  I’m looking at myself.  The predator shone briefly in those green eyes again.

I slipped out of it and padded around the right side of the bed.  I wasn’t at full hardness, but I wasn’t quite soft either.  I stopped, leaning forward so that my dick was a taunt just above his lips.  She raised her head, struggling to reach me, to taste me. I kept myself, with a distinct intention, just within reach of his mouth of begging.

“Get your tongue out.” She obeys.

I raised my hand slowly and firmly to the tip, milking myself with a few drops of, which must fall on his greedy tongue.

Watching her lick her lips, meeting her eyes… I reached down between his legs and plunged three fingers into his sex, each completely coating in my own sperm.  She was shaking at the brief touch of my fingers with her sex, but made no complaints when I took my hand away – she knew what was coming.

I presented him with these sperm fingers, allowing him to lure them into his mouth. My dick was shaking at the sight of her lips slurping, sloppy, breastfeeding.

“You’re really my little cumslut, aren’t you?” I asked.  I do not know if that was a question.

She did not respond, mimicking only carefully the fellatio on each finger offered.  My dick was completely hard again, leaking, clear fluid sliding into my tree.  It was time to hurry up a little bit.

I said, “Enough.”  I pulled my fingers out of her mouth, eliciting the smallest smile from her – she knew what was to follow, what the next language her would taste.

A little clumsily, I climbed on her, facing the foot of the bed and arranging my feet on either side of her chest. I crouched down, presenting my to his face.

My, Jen.  As requested previously.  It’s yours.

I could feel his hot exhalations on my anus; she was breathing fast. She had not done that before; it was something she had read, studied – as she studied all things, with intent – and it was something she had expressed a distinct interest in doing with me.

Me.  For all my experience in all sexual things, I had never known what she had expressed, on several occasions, a desire to do, what she was about to do, what Ie knew that she knew exactly how to do, in the theoretical sense – a theoretical meaning that she wanted to make practical.

Me.  She wanted to make theoretical experience a more practical experience with Me.

Maybe she hesitated for a second, maybe not at all.  I felt his soft wet tongue approaching my most secret place, and then… then an electric shock of pleasure stabbed through me as his tongue made first contact with my.

My body stiffened to brand new intimacy – it was almost too much. I remembered being sixteen, the first time a girl had touched my cock, the intensity so great that it almost hurt.

“Jesus!” I moaned, momentarily losing control, pushing hard towards his face, spreading me even wider.

It did not stop.  His tongue swirled around the edge of my, floating, flashing, tateting. The pleasure radiated from my center at each end: my toes, my fingers, my everything.

My position… Kiss.  Her.  Yes. It. If visible, so open, so ready. Concentrate, Mike.

I cut her slick, swollen, soggy sex with my right hand, my middle finger slipping into it as my index finger slowly circled and teased off to hide her shy little clitbe. She moaned, raising her hips slightly, even as her tongue became bolder, more insistent.

Any concentration on her was lost as she pressed the tip of her tongue forcefully against my anus.  I could feel the tip of his tongue deworming in me, open me, penetrate me. I felt both absolutely vulnerable and absolutely desired.  Absolutely sure.

I was blind to lust. Without knowing how I did it, I changed my position, straddling his head, grabbing at the headboard.  I didn’t stop. I did not ask. I pushed myself into his mouth and throat, burying me deep balls, making his gag in surprise that my cock invaded his throat.

Again, I was ruthless, without even thinking.  Again, she moaned her joy around my dick, and again, she was my consenting little bitch.

His eyes were wide with a mixture of pleasure, lust and concentration. Knowing that she loved what I was doing, that I didn’t take anything that she didn’t want to give, somehow did the act all the more powerful, all the more perfect.

Not now, Mike. Kiss. Take control.

Suddenly, so reluctantly, I withdrew from his mouth wanting. We were both panting, connected only by a thin line of saliva flowing from my acorn to her lip from the glittering bottom and smoothed by the semen. My dick was pulsating right in front of his face.

“Ready?” I asked.

We both knew what I meant. She made a slight nod said.

I said, “Yes.”

One word, and yet… that a word was tinged, in its slight accent, with lust and – perhaps?– a hint of barely concealed fear.

My dick was shaking at the thought of taking his last virginity.

“What am I going to do to you?” I asked. I wanted to, no, I needed to hear it say it.

A smile briefly touched the corner of his mouth. She knew what I was doing, and she played the game.

“You’re going to fuck my ass.  My virgin ass, go fuck him, beat him, fill him, take what’s yours to take.  Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts, Mike.

Her whole body blushed with pink as she spoke these words, a color that began in her cheeks, spread over her breasts, to cover her belly and the inside of her thighs.  She was more than ready.

I slipped out of the duvet and walked – God, how I wanted to run – at the end of the bed, picking up the pink nipple clamps.  An ironic and curious smile played on his face.  She knew what was going to happen, and she wanted to.  She wanted pain, she wanted pleasure, she wanted everything.

The apprehension, anticipation, and perhaps a little impatience mixed in his expression as I returned to the right side of the bed.  I ran the fresh metal of the clamps around a dark, pink areola, teasing her as my free hand played with her soggy, sliding beyond all knowing, soaked and smooth as it was with its own excitement and my thick.

I drew careful circles around her clitoris before stopping to attach the first clamp to her thick, hard left nipple. A moan briefly escaped her lips – this must have hurt, her nipples being so very sensitive.

Her back arched and she muttered something unintelligible and desperate as I rubbed her clitoris hard, grinding down, mixing pleasure and pain, two more fingers probing deep inside her sloppy cunt.

Pulling my fingers off slowly, teasing, I leaned over his body, tracing the other pink metal clamp around his right nipple. This time, knowing that she now knew what to expect, I took her out longer, torturing and teasing her before moving to tie the vicious clamp.

“Here?” he asked. I asked, running metal slightly on her thick nipple. I held the clamp open, on either side of the nipple absolutely vulnerable.  All it would take for the clamp to bite into its soft flesh was my release from the pressure I used to keep it open.

I kept the pressure.  The clamp stayed open.  I ran the metal toy slowly, painfully, along his body, touching him to the clogging of his small hard clitage.

“Or… Here?

I said, “No! Yes! No, she cried, torn between horror and desire.  I laughed, a good, deep, but serious laugh.  The prey has become the predator again.

I gave him the clitage a little with my free hand before running the clamp back up to his body and unceremoniously attaching it to his right nipple.  The chain connecting the two pliers shone in the twilight falling on the room.

Only one, abrupt, down yank on the chain.  That was the right thing to do, and that was what was duly given.

“Mike! Michael! Her back arched, her breathing coming quickly as she struggled to control the pain. Her breathing slows down again as I reposition myself on the bed, lying between her sequestered thighs, examining the unique beauty of her.

It was perfect.  The perfect start to the perfect end.

Her bare, waxy outer lips were plump, smooth with excitement and not a little sweat. I extended it as wide as possible with my hands, exposing it in its entirety. Kiss.

Dark, deep, peony pink, her most intimate lips were swollen, a marker of my earlier abuse.  A slight stream of my leaked, pooling in his fork, just below its tight opening.

Impulsively, I read, my tongue tasting something so familiar and yet so strange. His excitement mixed with my own sperm. Hell, Mike, you’re a lucky fucking bastard.

My tongue washed gently to her swollen craving, cleaning it, preparing it, until she raised her hips and uttered that one word.  That little name.

I said, “Michael.”

She was done with teasing, and with gambling.

I had to pull the plug slowly. The pucker of his anus stretched as I did, working to keep the plug in place.  I used a little more force, and his elastic struggled to stay closed around the cold steel, even briefly clinging to the circumference of the plug. Then, all of a sudden, the cork came free.

His remained open for a two-count, before winking closed again, as if the plug had never been.

Hell, but she was going to be tight.

I teased the beautiful pucker of her anus with my tongue, flipping through it, not quite touching it, driving her crazy with the desire for me to work my way to its forbidden center.  Finally, I pushed my tongue hard and directly against her rosette, as she had against mine, the tip of my tongue just entered her, just enough to make her beat, her legs wrapping around my shoulders and neck before falling back on the bed.

She was screaming now, that quick moan, this desperate plea, my name mixed with something unintelligible, something in French.

I couldn’t control myself. She had sent me to Seattle for a reason, and only one reason – to take the last vestiges of her virginity, to take her.

I was now more than willing to make him want naked. Desperate, even, I was going to defile her, to make her enter the slut she already knew to be for me.

I knelt between her thighs and stroked my cock with my hand, the hand in which I had poured a generous amount of cold lubricant.

She looked at me, looked at my preparations, with a strangely studious look. Only a kind of fire illuminating his face betrayed his anticipation, his desire, perhaps even his fear.

Silent, watching her look at me, I drew her ankles on my shoulders, exposing everything in the most absolute of manners.

I smiled at him, placing my slick and sparkling head against his virginal entrance.

“Is this for me?”

“Please … Mike…”  His voix, always sweet, was now at the door of the plaintive.

Jabbing my cock pretty much now against his anus, I repeated the question.

“Answer the question.  Is this for me, Jennifer?

His whole body bronchi, but his expression remained the same – desire mixed with curiosity.

“Yes, Mike.”

“Is this for me?” I asked again, sliding up, penetrating her pussy briefly before removing and pressing the engorged head of my cock once again against her asshole.

“Yes, Michael.  Please…”

“Is that all to me? All your holes?  Tell.  Say it now.

“Michael, please!”

I started pressing the bulb of my dick forward into his tight anus, just enough to force it open, holding firm, even as I felt him trying to move his hips, to move on me. To his frustration, every move of his was paired with a mirrored movement, keeping my cock barely housed in place.

Now they came, the words I wanted – no, necessary – to hear.

“All my holes, Michael.  All this for you.

Not good enough. I withdrew completely, eliciting a hiss of frustration.  Her face was crossed by a brief look of confusion, and then she spoke again.

“All my holes, Michael.  All my holes.  I’m your dirty little bitch.

“Good girl…” I encouraged her.

Your dirty little cumslut, for you to fill with in all my holes. Please, Mike?

I insisted again. His stretched around the circumference of my head. His hips rose.

“Tell me what you want,” I insisted.

“Fuck my tight little virgin ass! Please! Mike? There was a querulous tone, quivering, desperate in his voice now.

She played a role, but the role was rooted in the reality of her fantasy, the reality of her lust.  Our lust.  Where the acting died out and the real need began was something impossible for any of us to know.

I moved my weight, shaking a hand heavily around the creamy length of his throat.

“Are you ready to be my little anal whore?” My hand has shunned, firm against its larynx.

With her eyes wide open, she nodded her in one’ eye, desperately.

I calmed down on his throat, now marked by the distinct pink of the recent external pressure.

“Say it.”  My voice was hard, a grunt I didn’t recognize.

“Please, Mike.  Fuck your little anal whore in her ass, give your little cumslut your cock and your cum!  Michael, please!

She was in a very unknown place now, a place where her lust dominated everything. Reason. Logic. Restraint.  Politeness.

I smiled, watching his own smile disappear as I began to press my cock forward, slowly, inexorably, entering his last bastion of purity.  If I had been in a more restricted state of mind, I might have asked after his well-being.

I was not, however, in a smaller frame of mind. Not now.  Quite the opposite.  Centimeter agonizing centimeter, I forced my way into his virginal.

What I was doing was hurting him, judging by the slight tension of the muscles in his jaw, and the good civilized part of me, lurking just under that aggressive veneer, shuddered.

I was beyond worrying about the civilized Mike.  In his face something else was also visible – a release. A softening, perhaps.  A way of seeing himself as a purely sexual being who had until now lived only in his head, in fantasy.

The pain made it real, and the reality of pain was a release, a license of sorts.

Looking at his face, the muscles of his jaw relax as the pain began to transform, twist and transform, into pleasure. Without notice, I was suddenly deep inside her.  Breathing heavily, I looked down now, the sight of my cock fully buried in his ass a sight of wonder and beauty.

I stopped, the civilized Mike hesitating, holding to a halt.

Too soon, however, Mike civilized was set aside in favor of Mike’s pure animal lust.

I began to withdraw, a more surprising and strange feeling to her than the first penetration had been.  I’m getting ready for the outcome.

Her grabbed me tighter than before, and her eyes now seemed even wider, something I never thought possible.  I kept going out until my head was housed once again at its elastic opening.

Now, without warning, I plunged back into her, stronger this time, frantic in my fury of fucking her and fucking her well. His body stretched under me; the muscles of his throat floated under my hand. Again and again, I went into it, on and on her back bow, on and above her hips lifting to meet my thrusts.

His face is contorting, his throat a butterfly under my hand.  I became aware of the light glow of sweat slipping on her inner thighs, making them slippery on my shoulders.

My self-awareness began to move away as my task engulfed me.  Sometimes I would lean forward, kissing him hard, his legs still on my shoulders, his body bent double.  Other times I was back on my hips, plowing into it as I played with her or clitoris, or pulled on the chain connecting those vicious nipple clamps until I got her delicious, desperate cries of pain.

My hands, one always on the throat, sometimes gathered at his soft neck as I sodomized him; sometimes one would go to his wrists, emphasizing his helpless position.  My free hand flew away as if it were on its own and slapped it on the face.

His eyes floated, and for a while I thought … Of course not.

The acute contact of my hand against his cheek served only to inflame his desire. His clung to me, the blow bringing a new animation to his actions.

My hand went down on his right cheek. With each blow, it became more real, more mine.

I leaned forward and covered her body, pressing into her, nipple clamps cooling against my chest.  I kissed her carelessly, my tongue invading her mouth. I broke the kiss as abruptly as I had started it. She was close.

The feeling of his tightening, tightening, the necessary grabbing to my motionless, suddenly cautious caused jolts of pleasure to undulate through my muscles and tendons.  Smiling which was surely a kind of slightly evil smile, I stopped all movement entirely, balls cast deep inside his body.

She would lose it to me when I was damn well and ready for her to lose it, and not a second before.

Without getting out of her, I got down on my knees.  Keeping an inch on his clitoris, I released my handle on his throat and slipped my fingers down to grab the chains connecting the nipple clamps.   Pulling on these chains like reins, I beat her with renewed fervor, rubbing her clitoris all the time.

The noises that fell from his lips were just noises.  An incoherent mixture of words, possible words, moans, all punctuated periodically with my name.

In the dancing tightness of his muscles, I could see and feel his building climax. I pulled even tighter on the chains, enjoying the sight of her distending nipples even further than the cruel pliers exerted their relentless pressure.

“Michael…”  That was it, and then… then large muscles jumped into her inner thighs as her orgasm crashed over her, subsuming everything she was at that time under a wave of pleasure.

“Jennifer…” I grumpy between the teeth that I hadn’t realized were gritted.

I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but her orgasm made her even tighter, to the point where I thought she would keep me still.  I fought her, fucking her through her tight muscles, through her monstrous climax.

She threw her head back and shouted my name. My Name.  The sight and sound of his loss absolutely and completely turned me upside down before sending me tumbling on the edge in my own black pool of fun.

My orgasm deflated in a seemingly endless explosion of liquid fire. I closed my eyes, growling and pushing, pushing and growling, for one last moment more animal than man, rutting into my companion.

When I came to my senses, I was covered in sweat; he even fell from my nose on his stomach. The room stank of sex; his chest was flushed and heaving his efforts. Tiny beads of sparkling sweat decorated her forehead.

I took his ankles in my hands and held his legs up and straight; I wanted a clear view of my dick coming out of his ass. I walked out slowly, watching the tight ring grab my acorn at the very end, watching with astonishment that my cock cleared his body.  Its sphincter winks slightly before closing completely again. No wonder she felt so tight.

Elsighed.  A sigh so sweet and so full of… What?  Contentment, satisfaction, frustration to feel empty once again, all contained in a single sigh.

Then the demand, the almost inevitable demand, its low tone and throat and in need all at once.

“Michael, give me your sperm?”

I obey, settling between her thighs and licking deeply, from to constos, and back, gathering everything I could with my tongue. It had a musky and tangy taste and quite delicious; the dangerous and addictive taste of myself dared me to continue, but I wanted to give her what she had asked for.

I climbed her body once more and kissed her, giving her a good dose of my sperm and her own self. She swallowed us, then sequestered her lips, inviting me to come in, inviting me to kiss her again.

As we kissed, a kiss softer than anything we had still shared, my stomach growled, making us both laugh. The oysters hadn’t really been enough to hold me.

Breaking the kiss, as gently as it could be broken, I rode his face again, presenting my softening, satiated cock to his mouth as I loosened the silk cords of his wrists.

Her hands were free now, and fresh, thin fingers dug into the flesh of my hips as she raised her head, guiding me through her mouth and throat now, not hesitating at all in her efforts to suck me clean. She seemed to savor the taboo aspect of what she was doing, sucking my cock directly from her ass.

I moaned as she treated the last drops of sperm from my shrinking. Ruthless, she slipped her tongue over her head, pulling tiny tremors from me, replicas of my orgasm.

The intensity of his ministrations, however, quickly became too, too painful.  I pulled my sweet, well emptied cock from his mouth, slipping on his body like I did.

The nipple clamps were still in place. The pain that would come when I released everyone would need to be soothed, and fast, and my mouth was moving on his left nipple, my fingers resting slightly on either side of the clamp.

“Take a deep breath and exhale slowly.”

She obeyed without a doubt, and on the exhalation, I released the first clamp, closing my mouth on the thickness, tortured flesh that the claws came free.  She trembled under me, of pain or pleasure or a perfect mixture of the two, I don’t know.

I moved to her right nipple.

I said, “One more time.”

As with the left, I released the clamp, and the tremor increased, even as my mouth worked to distract her from the pain.  After a few seconds, I stopped, sitting and kneeling again between his legs.

I reached back and grabbed the stainless steel cap once again, wiping it unceremoniously on the duvet before pressing more cold lubricant onto the shimmering metal surface.

“Wh-what are you doing?” For the first time, she legitimately looked at a loss.

His answer came in the form of my lifting of his legs, the spreading of his cheeks, and with a rapid twisting motion, pushing this perfect grip into his rape, decidedly unvirgin.  She gasped, realizing my intention.

“We’ll get dressed for dinner now.  You’re going to wear this socket for me.  Come on, clean yourself up a little, if you like, but it doesn’t matter anyway.  You, my love, are mine, and everyone we pass will feel me on you.

She smiles. No words, just a blushing nod.

“Please?” My French was ugly, but I wanted to make sure she liked my little proposal.

“Absolutely,” she replied, sitting down and kissing me gently on both cheeks.

With this, we each dressed, me in fresh clothes, her in the dress she had come, after a few minutes spent in the toilet.  She came out smelling her perfume.  Perfect.

She made only one call, took her clutch, and took me by the hand, leading me to the door.

“Thank you, Michael.”

With that, we walked out of the room in the hallway.  Dinner expected, at any restaurant she had organized for this one call.

I grabbed him with a tight hand, whispering my own words as we walked to the elevators.

“Nothing, my little owl.”

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