His free hand pushes up between my thighs, and his burrowing blade digs into the sodden fabric at the front of my soaked silk panties.

With his strength I wonder if he might lift me off my feet, his fist at my scalp, his wrist guiding up between my thighs, and so firm, the bones of his hand so hard against my soft and sodden sex, as he’s steering me towards that deep leather couch.

I place my knee on the couch, perching on one leg, his hands holding me steady, my weight resisting his wrist, my cunt soaking against him as his wrist ruts into me.

His persistence presses up into my soft cleft and holds me so hard, pressing into me so purposefully, rubbing through the silk of my knickers, grinding onto my pubis.

He knows exactly how to make me raise my hips, and he persists in guiding me. I ride up higher on my knees, until he’s satisfied my ass sits at the height he desires.

He smoothers his hand with my juices, from blade to palm, digging into my most tender flesh then cupping me, opening and closing his grip, feeling me, smoothing me open, then squeezing me until I start to gasp.

“God you’re so wet, you really want my cock, don’t you? You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Yes I am.” Almost unconsciously I hear myself saying the words.

And he doesn’t wait. He releases his grip at my hair and pushes his massive cock up against the very cusp of my soaking hot cunt, the weight of him pressing my face down against the leather.

The soft hide smells of me, and of him, of our sex; my senses search for the presence of any lingering warmth, as if the heat of my last visit might still be trapped here, maybe branded, our erotic embers burnt into the leather skin of this couch.

He presses one knee between my legs to part them, and he kneels up close behind. The worn denim of his jeans brushes gently against the exposed skin of my left upper thigh. My flesh still smarting from the slaps. The softness of the denim so unlike the rough of the coarse brick.

He’s pressing closer, I can feel his thick rock hard erection flexing against my tender soft rump as he presses himself against me.

His hand slews sideways, and his fingertips curl under and inside my lacy knickers, pulling the soaked crotch aside. His blunt, worn digits skillfully skim into my soft freshly shaven cunt, tenderly parting my swollen wet lips.

It becomes impossible for me to stay still or quiet. Growling like an animal, I push my slender hips back into him, wanting to feel something, anything inside me. But even as I do, I know he won’t give me what I want, not right now. This is the game he plays: He demands until I beg, and then he refuses.