stopping the elevator that we are on in the office after hours, when
there is no one left to call it to another floor and let you out..
before I move towards you, reaching a hand out, wrapping my fingers in
your shirt and pulling you to me... sliding my tongue out and flicking
it at your neck, letting you feel it hot, wet, textured against the
skin of your neck, not quite hot enough to distract you from the
feeling of my hips pressing against your body, a hard bulge in them
pushing into your belly as you feel my command of the situation, of
your body.
Can you find it in yourself to forget any reason you ever might have
thought of to stop yourself from letting your head roll back, and
exposing yourself for me, like a gift, a simple surrender. Helpless as
my touch gropes at your hips and belly, pushing your shirt up your
body till you feel my fingers, strong and determined wrapping around
your breast, the curve of your tit, and giving it a firm squeeze,
handling it like it is my own personal plaything. Can you forget any
reason not to arch your back and give them both to me, to take and
show you how well I treat my toys?
Can you forgive yourself for being compromised if it was all me?
Pushing myself upon you, taking you helpless to the carpeted floor as
my fingertips trace your breast, its smooth curves, its soft surface,
always getting so close to teasing your hardening nipple, but never
quite flicking across its sensitive tip. My attentions maddeningly
making you want more, but stubbornly denying it as your breathing
quickens underneath my tall body holding you to the ground, my lips
moving slowly, steadily, with a mind of their own up and down your
neck, making it difficult for you to think with the hot moist massage
of my steamed and ever heavier breath on your neck, behind your ear,
on your skin behind your hair as it falls out of place.
No one in the world would find blame in you for spreading your legs
for me at the moment my fingers finally flick just barely across the
tips of your exposed nipples, to let me have what I want, to save
yourself from the force I would have to use if you tried to stop me.
When you're mugged, you give your wallet, when you're here, under me,
you give yourself. It only makes sense to spread your legs, your knees
raising up, your skirt falling down till it is spread out and rumpled
around your hips at the moment that you feel that hard bulge again,
pressing against your underwear, pressing into it, grinding, hard
enough that you can feel how thick it is, as the lips under your
dampening fabric spread out, you feel it between them, the barrier of
our clothes like hateful wall, preventing you from feeling the heat of
naked flesh. If it isn't your fault, you might as well be satisfied by
it, after all.
You might as well use your fingers to undo the clasp on my slacks..
and pull your underwear aside when I thrust down, letting you feel the
round slippery head of my flesh, dripping with thick fluid all the way
down the length of your spread lips, stroking commandingly along your
exposed pink center. You might as well thrust your hips up when you
feel it, round, wet, in charge, pressing just barely over where it
fits inside, pressing just barely a quarter of an inch, sinking inside
of you too slow. Is there any reason not to pound your hips forward
and let out a little scream, here, in the elevator, where no one can
hear whether it's a cry for help or for more, a scream of pleasure at
the feeling of that whole length thrusting deep inside of you as My
lips finally touch yours, wrapping around your lower lip, tugging on
it with my teeth, my right hand tracing circles around the curve of
your ass, bumping over the scrunched up line that tugs to let the
center of your underwear pull aside and let me in, and back down again
before I pull my hand back and swat it right on you, just as I am
grinding inside of you, the pain of the hard smack feeling like pure
ecstasy as it mingles in your body with the heated pleasure shooting
up your spine, till you can't tell which is which.
Is there any reason left why you shouldn't buck your hips hard enough
to roll me down underneath you when I'm not moving fast enough for
you. Is there any reason left in the world that you shouldn't buck and
grind and rip at my throbbing probing flesh inside of you till your
whole body is battered with the spasms of overwhelming o%g#@!s, your
whole body cumming with the beat of your wild hips against my willful
control over you....
I hope you can let yourself imagine that...
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