My cock so distended. Pumped hard with blood. Engorged, I stroke, your sex soiled knickers gripped to my shaft, gently beating my manhood against your rump, threatening to cover your rear in hot spunk.

You slip inside your fantasy, the biker of my past, at your door, and despite the rain. Your buttocks pressing to the cold iron ridges of those old Victorian radiators.

Hoisting yourself higher, your leg hooked over his shoulder, his greedy fingers and face, his kiss pressing to your petals, feeding his need at the crucible of your sex.

Your hands gripping into his mane. Your buttocks pressing harder to the ridges of iron.

He stops!

But only to stand, to turn you around, bracing your hands against the wall, two of his fingers buried expertly between your thighs, his free hand on your hip, firmly tilting you to let his fingers drive in deeper.

It’s not enough, he demands more, and his fingers are replaced with something that throbs to his own heartbeat; you’re impaled, driven closer to the wall…

And this is just a start, a single thrust that becomes two, three, six and then there are no numbers, just skin and the moment you both find release…

Until finally you let yourself cry out with relief, your climax rippling through you. And gently I rub my rock-hard cock against your rump as you soak in the last throws of your clitoral ejaculation.

You slip the slender vibrator from your weeping cunt and silence those rampant ears. I waste no time. Pressing my cock against your sex and crying out with you as the ecstasy of my fit inside you, comes home.

Once more, we slip inside the light of the other. Our energies interwoven, becoming one. Bathing in the beauty of our moment, before giving way to darker wants.

A fistful of your hair turns your kneeling body from penitent to supplicant.

My fingers tighten slowly, so you can feel just how much I enjoy positioning you, head drawn back, your throat exposed.

With your head tilted back, it isn’t hard for him to lean over and speak softly. My words are your only path towards something that could ever fill the ache I’ve instilled deep inside you:

“You, here, kneeling. It makes me want to take you apart… one slap… one kiss… one slow, hard, fuck, at a time.”

With my right hand tangled in your hair, my left draws a line up inside your gorgeous green dress to the firm curve of your naked breast:

“This is mine.” I command, my fingers finding your nipple, pinching you. Hard. Harder. Until I can feel your entire body tense with mine and I grip your hair even tighter to keep you still. My cock sunk to the very hilt of your gorgeously tight cunt.

Using my grip to guide you, I draw you gently, but firmly, pressing you over the edge.