Again the strike of his palm makes clean contact with my tight rump. I let out a muffled scream, and it’s crystal clear to both of us that the origins of my innate animal sounds are laden with pure arousal. Pushing me forward, pressing me harder against that unforgiving wall, flattening me up against its merciless embrace.

Pushing me forward, pressing me harder against that unforgiving wall, flattening me up against its merciless embrace.

He’s a bastard, and he knows that’s why I’ve come here, all too often I’ve left this place with a lot of flesh marks, not scars, just proofs of a well-tended garden; a wild garden that’s been well worked and grows all the more beautiful for it. I want the earth of his skin under my nails, and the earth of mine under his.

“Better” he says, releasing his hold for a moment, only to catch me around the neck and shove me, bodily, toward the huge window, and over onto an old beaten up, rusty red leather, button studded couch.

My eyes scan the open space and confirm a catalogue of details: converted loft space, clean, light, airy and empty, besides that one couch, there’s nowhere else to sit, but the strip wood floor.

Just that couch, no sign of a bed, there’s a workbench with engine parts scattered. Metal tools. The frame of an old motorcycle. Piles of hardback repair manuals and coffee table sized books.

There’s an expensive looking digital camera on a tripod, some very risqué black & white pictures of me scattered on the floor beneath the tripod. There’s a laptop and projector, but no TV.

“Fuck, I want you” he growls. And he’s not threatening me, and he’s not begging me. He’s promising me. He sounds animal, instinctive and determined, he’s a predator for my prey.

My silence hangs for a few moments, thickening the already charged atmosphere. Then affirming how much he wants me, telling me: “You look so good, I’m going to take you so hard”

I’m lost inside his voice as his work worn hands make a firm survey of my ass cheeks, then ride down the backs of each taught thigh. My legs are long, slender smooth and bare. I feel so soft and clean against his hardened hands.

Outside I hear a car go by along the worn wet cobbled road, its engine echoing through the surrounding narrow canyons of red brown brick warehouses and converted wharf apartments.

The streets are Sunday Morning quiet, letting the sound of our heated breathing fill this open room. The space echoes with the sound of our sex, and we haven’t even begun.

Suddenly, unpredictably, his hand grabs a fistful of my hair and forces me forward, pushing my face down toward the couch.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard” he growls, heated, determined to subordinate and seduce me further, demanding more of me, overpowering my already discarded defiance.

“I’ve wanted you so hard for so long”

The urgency of his words, turning me on.

Continued…