Total Surrender

by Cheryl Holt

  Steadying her hips, he centered her so that she was, once more, lingering over his erection. How he longed to thrust against her! He was so hard, he ached. His balls wrenched and cried out, but he restrained himself. This was her first encounter with male nudity, and there would be abundant excuses in the impending days to rush toward total fulfillment, but not just yet.

  More sure of herself, she now confidently nestled into his matting of chest hair, burrowing her nose, sniffing at his skin, and he caught her chin and steered her to his breast

  "Kiss me here," he dictated, and his brown nipple peb-

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  bled into a compact bud as her superb lips painstakingly submitted. "Suck me into your mouth."

  An adept pupil, she instantly acquiesced, nibbling and toying until he could barely remain stationary. When her teeth nipped at the tiny nub, he couldn't block the groan that escaped.

  She grinned up at him. "You like that, do you?"

  "Very much."

  "You did it to me ... that night in my room."

  "Yes. A woman's nipples are incredibly sensitive. When a man dabbles with them, he accentuates her titillation, and she is excited and relaxed. The stimulation prepares her for what is to come."

  "And what is that?"

  "Soon, milady, all your questions will be answered."

  He ushered her hands to both his nipples, revealing the suitable pressure, the appropriate manipulation. She trifled and played, her eyes glued to his so that she could judge his reaction.

  The minx! She was a natural! Too astute. Too disposed to attempt any risqué procedure.

  Her unwavering concentration was extremely disconcerting, so he guided her mouth to his other breast, easing her to the nipple. His cock was throbbing, the crown oozing with his sexual juice. He stabilized her and partook of an unhurried flex against her cleft.

  As though she'd been poked with a pin, she jerked upright. "Why do you keep doing mat?"

  "Doing what?" He pretended innocence, flattening her against his erection, and feasting with another leisurely flex.

  "That thrusting motion. It just feels so... so ..."

  "Extraordinary?"

  "Yes. But naughty, too. And forbidden." She wedged herself more fully along the crest of his phallus. "My body seems to fathom what you propose, when I've no notion myself."

  "Absolutely." His wanton fingers slipped under the hem of her chemise and petted the smooth skin of her thighs.

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  "You are so ready for me to be your lover."

  "How can you tell?"

  "Even though you are a woman, you need sensual animation just like a man."

  "I was told differently."

  "You were told wrong."

  The veracity of his statement sank in, and she acceded to the inevitable, initiating some flexing of her own, driving herself forward, using her knees and toes. Joyous, she smiled as though she was a child who'd just found a unique flavor of candy. "Do you feel it?"

  "Aye, lass, I do." He gritted his teeth, speculating as to how he'd persevere at a sluggish pace, how he'd take minimal steps, when his entire being was spurring him to skip to the finale without delay.

  Eliminating temptation, abandoning paradise, be levered her away. "You've never seen a naked man," he reminded her. "How about a boy?"

  "I've bathed a few male children in my day."

  "Then you're aware of how we vary."

  Her brow furrowed, then realization dawned. "In our private parts." She peeked down, to what was concealed by his robe, but the solid vertex of flesh couldn't be missed. "I've always wondered why."

  "It's for coupling. So that we fit together."

  "How is it accomplished?"

  "My cock swells, and by flexing, my seed is lured to the tip and rushes out the end."

  "What does your seed look like?"

  "White. Creamy."

  "Where does it go?"

  "Into the chasm between your legs. In the site from where your monthly blood flows." He rested his hand on her abdomen, his thumb pressing at her mound, but she wasn't equipped to handle more, so he didn't move downward.

  At the mention of her menses, she flushed, but the delicate subject wasn't inordinately disturbing to her, which

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  he took as an excellent sign. Before the afternoon was through, they would discuss many more distressing topics.

  "And a babe is conceived in this fashion?"

  "It could be. If the timing is right."

  "Is this dangerous, men? I hadn't thought that we might create a child."

  "We won't. I'll be circumspect."

  She shook her head. "I say it again: I don't understand what we're about"

  "There are techniques for dallying without proceeding to marital copulation. That is what I contemplate."

  "But why would you simply want to..."—she searched for a term, but couldn't pick one of her own, so she employed his—"to dally?”

  "For pleasure, Sarah." The mode in which pleasure rolled off his tongue caused her to stir, her loins descended, instinctively extending out to him. "A man derives great satisfaction from spilling himself. It is an activity he seeks above all others."

  "So... pleasure will be our goal?"

  "Yes. Our only one."

  "What do I need to do?"

  "You'll stroke me. With your hands and your mouth. I'll show you."

  He placed her fingers on top of his bulging erection. Adding tension, he demonstrated the rhythm, but he abruptly realized that he could settle for nothing less than her bared flesh applied to his own.

  He untied the knot at his waist. "Open my robe. All the way."

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah didn't hesitate. She was trembling, not with fear or trepidation, but with anticipation, so she prudently masked her excitement, not wanting to give the impression that she'd become a coward at this late juncture.

  By all accounts, he'd hardly done anything to her. He'd talked, he'd eliminated most of her clothing, he'd flexed against her through several layers of fabric. Yet her body was on fire, her nipples contracted so that they hurt, her skin stretched so tightly that it didn't seem to fit her bone structure.

  He'd slackened the belt at his waist but, daring her to proceed, he hadn't untied it. As if she'd back down! Without being conscious of it, she'd craved this moment forever.

  Carefully, she controlled her shaking fingers and unraveled the knot. Deliberately, prolonging her discovery, she drew the lapels of his robe aside, sequentially revealing his navel, then the arrow of hair that shot down his belly.

  Her eyes dropped imperceptibly, and she encountered all. Like a supplicant before a shrine, she pushed at the remaining material, baring him inch by glorious inch, until he was totally naked, and the reality was like nothing she'd imagined.

  At viewing the male accessory on small boys, she'd never postulated that it would enlarge, that it could mature to being so bold and manifest. Looking angry and alive, the attachment was red and distended, with a bulbous head and purple, ropy veins. It protruded from a nest of his dark hair, two sacs dangling beneath, and her visual assessment made it extend out toward her in entreaty.

  She hazarded a glance at him, and he lay silent and still,

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  studying her with an impersonal, glacial intensity.

  Had he planned to shock her? To have her tearful and swooning? To send her stumbling from the room in offense and alarm?

  He was motivated by deep, unfathomable issues that she couldn't hope to understand. The chances were great that he'd merely instigated this as a bizarre diversion in order to gain a response from her, but if the man thought she was some prim, squeamish miss, he obviously didn't know her very well. She was fascinated, enthralled, and ardent to explore.

  "It's larger than I supposed."

  "I'm aroused."

  "It changes size?" Her eyes widened with astonishment, and he chuckled at he
r naiveté?”.

  "Usually, it's flaccid and harmless." Tensing his stomach muscles, the extraordinary appendage inflated even more. "But not when I'm here with you like mis. I'm so hard for you. I ache with my desire."

  There was a husky tone in his voice, a desperation that plucked at her common sense, leaving her reckless and rash, and just then, she'd have performed any impulsive feat he requested.

  "What do you call it?"

  "My cock."

  She struggled for terminology, but her innocent background hindered descriptive dialogue, so she gestured over his erect body part. "Are all of these... these cocks so large?"

  "Mine is bigger than most" .He directed, 'Touch me."

  Tentatively, she reached out and traced a line from the base to the apex. The sheltering layer of skin was hot and smooth, pliant and malleable, but the timid contact didn't satisfy him, and he clasped her hand in his, and wrapped them together around his heated staff, so that she could adjust to handling him so privately. Then, he commenced moving them conjointly, showing her the most effective maneuvers.

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  "The tip is the most sensitive," he pointed out. "Try to run over it with each stroke."

  "Like this?" she asked, drawing back the yielding skin, unveiling the crown.

  "Yes," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I'll obtain the most gratification that way."

  As she was an avid, enthusiastic pupil, he readily left her to her own devices. Fastidiously, she investigated, learning his shape, awed by the variations of velvet over steel. She pampered and played, altering the pressure, the speed, the length of her caress. Amazingly, with the slightest modification, he reacted accordingly.

  What power she held over him! What marvelous authority! If she wielded this much dominance when she was unskilled, she'd be a holy terror after a few hours of practice, after a few days.

  Her nerves galloped at the realization.

  "What are these?" She cupped the sacs between his legs.

  "My balls."

  "What are they for?"

  "They shelter my seed, and they're very tender." But she'd already surmised as much, and she'd decided to withdraw when, sounding afflicted, he interrupted her. "Don't stop. Just be gentle."

  Cradling the precious pile, she scooted down his thighs so that she had more space to observe and manipulate. The new position brought her over his stomach, and her sudden comprehension startled her.

  She remembered the lover she'd witnessed, the woman who had been bent over him, but Sarah hadn't been able to discern her activity, and she'd been so blasted curious.

  Could it be?

  A inexplicable tingle rushed through her fingers, up her arms, and she was jolted by her keen insight. She gazed up his broad expanse of abdomen and chest. The pillows were braced behind his head, and he regarded her dispassionately, his sapphire eyes glittering.

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  "They put their mouths on you, don't they?"

  "Who?"

  "Your... your women. That's what you require of them, isn't it?" She rose onto her haunches. "They take you into their mouths."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Why do I prefer it? Or why do they go down on me?"

  "Both."

  "I fancy it because it's erotic and naughty, and they do it so that they can brag to their friends that they've sucked me off."

  Her brow furled. "What does that mean?"

  "It's a crude phrase." He shrugged, but didn't appear repentant for having recited it. "It refers to when a man thrusts his cock into a woman's mouth. He continues until the friction is unbearable, then he discharges his seed into his lover's throat."

  "You really do this?"

  "Yes."

  "Often?"

  "Well, I wouldn't say often" He seemed amused. "Whenever a woman volunteers."

  "Your partners swallow it?"

  "Aye."

  "What is its taster'

  "It doesn't actually have one. It's heat and salt."

  "Your very essence," she murmured.

  He shrugged again.

  "This deed ... does it have a name?"

  "A French kiss."

  "It's enjoyable for you?"

  "Beyond measure. I relish the opportunity to spill myself between a woman's legs, but I never do, because I might create a child. So I'm obliged to any female who renders such a stunning delectation."

  "You always agree?"

  "I'm not in the habit of denying myself. I have a strong

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  sexual drive, and I accept what is freely offered."

  He could baldly analyze his scandalous conduct. Most likely, he'd reveled in so much lewdness in his life that discussion of his untoward behaviors was extremely easy. How could she break through that unruffled façade?

  Her heart was racing, her body afire, her womanly places pleading for his intricate manual attention. She was anxious to bring him to the same drastic condition, to where he was out of control, his guise of ennui shattered.

  "Open yourself to me." He nodded toward his groin. 'Take me into your mouth."

  "I'm not certain that I—"

  "You are."

  "You're demanding too much, too soon."

  "No I'm not."

  Once again, he arranged her hand on his pulsating member, leading her in a languid motion, and she stared into those mesmerizing eyes. They were sublime, reassuring, and they made her crazy to blindly effect his every command. As though enchanted, she found herself leaning forward, leaning down.

  "Will you finish inside me?"

  "Not today."

  "Why not?"

  "You're geared for some. Not all."

  "When, then?"

  "After you've had more indoctrination."

  Still, she vacillated. What had she gotten herself into? She professed, "I guess I'm apprehensive."

  "About what?"

  "About what I don't know."

  "I won't hurt you; I never could."

  The strength of his avowal was encouraging. "I grasp that. I just..."

  Just what?

  Their rendezvous was so devoid of care or concern, and he was so indifferent. It seemed wrong to proceed in such a disjointed fashion. The somber, aloof stranger lying be-

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  fore her wasn't the man of passion to whom she was devoted. The real Michael was in hiding, but she wasn't positive how to draw him out. Perhaps if she complied with his proposition, she could melt the barriers he'd erected. She was eager to please him, yet she was skeptical of his motives and fretting over her own.

  "I want you, Sarah. I need you now."

  His declaration soothed her turmoil, urging her on, and she couldn't deny him. Starting at the bottom, she flicked with her tongue, by degrees working up his length until she was licking at the oozing crown. When she arrived at the blunt apex, she eased him betwixt her lips.

  The sensation was indescribable, his nature and spirit embedded in the turgid, obstinate extremity. Inhaling slowly, she was surrounded by his masculinity, his virility, his potency,

  His hand went to the back of her head, holding her, guiding her. He shifted to his side, rotating her, as well. With his leg, he steadied her, pinning her close, and she opened further, procuring more of him than she'd previously believed possible.

  As he scrupulously thrust, the physicality was amazing. The indiscretion, the impropriety, titillated her, leaving her wild and hungry for more. She basked in the lengthy, ribald interlude while he overindulged and, as she adjusted to his movements, she became cognizant of his rising ardor. Then, with very little warning, he pulled away, and she instantly regretted the loss.

  Her lips were sore, chapped and stretched as they'd never been, yet she wished he'd kept on. She sensed that the procedure could have grown particularly raucous, and that he was restraining himself on her account.

  "Are we finished?"

  "No, love, we're not."

 
The endearment rolled off his tongue to slither into her confused mind, raising innumerable questions: Did he appreciate what he'd said? Was it unintentional? Intentional?

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  If he was aware of what he'd uttered, what had been his true purpose?

  Thrown off balance, she hardly regrouped before he was hauling her up into his arms. He was smiling at her, the blaze of it so stupendous that she was glad she was lying down when it fell upon her.

  He covered her with his body, his weight pressing her into the mattress, and having him on top of her was a thoroughly primal experience. He was so welcome, and he fit so perfectly—flat where she was rounded, rough where she was soft—and she couldn't prevent herself from enveloping him, her limbs spreading so that she could lovingly cuddle him. Cautiously, almost gratefully, he settled himself between her thighs, his cock heavy and wedged against her leg.

  He hovered over her, his fingers at the hem of her chemise, and with no hesitation, he tugged it up her hips, disposed to remove it.

  At seeing her rapid panic, he explained, "I'm terribly aroused; I'm going to come against your stomach."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "Only me"—he chortled over matters she didn't comprehend—"and only in a good way."

  "My breasts will be bared to you."

  "Again."

  "Yes, and I'm nervous that—"

  "They're so magnificent."

  Through the fabric, he caressed her erect nipple and, like a puppet on a string, she immediately acquiesced, hoisting her lower torso, then her shoulders, so he could yank her chemise up and over her head.

  How was it that he so easily routed her ingrained propriety? He but complimented her, and she jumped to do his bidding. Was she so starved for affection? So greedy for flattery and adulation? Apparently, the answer was yes.

  By spewing a few laudatory words, he could prevail upon her to commit any depraved act—even those that were completely foreign to her character. Yet, she yearned

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  to make him happy, to prompt that rare smile.