Save Me, SEAL

by Sylvia Fox

  “Yes! Yes! I’ll do anything to please you. Anything. Make me do it, I’ll be your whore, I’ll do anything.”

  I was rambling, ranting, I sounded drunk. In a way, I was. I was lust-drunk. Every molecule of my body, every atom, craved him. Wanted him. Needed him.

  As I lewdly writhed there, his touch disappeared. I heard movement behind me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of his shoes get kicked away, followed by his pants.

  I realized I was sweating. Even though I was in a climate controlled room, standing still, beads of sweat covered my forehead. The hoodie was stifling.

  “May I please be naked for you?”

  At this, he chuckled softly. “Leave your panties on. Take everything else off. And resume your position. Ass as high in the air as you can get it for me.”

  I fairly ripped the hoodie over my head and tossed it to the side of his bed, followed by my bra. I exhaled through puffed cheeks and took hold of the footboard, back arched the way he wanted it.

  “You almost have me convinced that you want to get fucked, Ambrose. You’re very wet. Let’s see if you’re really ready.”

  I couldn’t imagine what else I could do to make him believe and understand how badly I needed him. I didn’t have long to wait.

  I felt a pressure right on my pussy, something rubbing against my swollen labia through my panties. Something hard.

  It took a moment for my brain to register the fact that his cock was right there. His hard, throbbing cock, separated from my starving pussy by the thin, lacy material of my panties. He rubbed it slowly along the length of my opening, sliding it back and forth, then pulling it down and letting it spring back up, crashing against my tender clit.

  My head hung low again, rolling from side to side, mouth hanging open. I was drooling. And not just from my pussy.

  “Lower your panties when you’re ready, Ambrose. Show me that it’s what you want.”

  I immediately reached back and peeled them away from my body. As soon as they were past the cheeks of my ass, he took hold of my wrist. “That’s far enough. Leave them right where they are.”

  I didn’t understand, but I was in no place to question him.

  A moment later, I felt him enter me, my labia spreading to receive his girth. I braced myself for it, for the pain I knew was inevitable. I’d never had anything larger than a tampon inside me, and I knew he was much larger than that. I’d never seen it, but I’d felt it and I knew he was all man.

  But just as the pressure began, it ceased. It didn’t stop, but it didn’t increase. He was inside me, but just barely. I was confused. And more desperate than ever.

  “Take my cock, Ambrose. Fuck it. Use your body to please me.”

  He wanted me to do it. To ride him.

  The panties kept my thighs tight together, which only served to make me tighter and make him feel larger. But as wet as I was, it wasn’t difficult to take him. At first.

  I slid myself back against him, inch by searing inch. And it felt so fucking good. He pulsed as he filled and stretched my wetness, and I wanted to scream at the waves of pleasure emanating from my core. But then I went too far, just a fraction of an inch, and everything changed.

  The pleasure twisted into pain, the stretching of my inside became too intense, and I struggled to open my legs wider, to give the rope some slack, anything to relieve the ache. It didn’t occur to me that all I needed to do was inch forward and out him back in the pleasure zone.

  My body needed him too badly.

  I forged ahead, gritting my teeth with the supreme effort my body was putting forth.

  “Good girl. Take your time. You’re so fucking tight, Ambrose. I’ve never felt anything so tight.”

  His voice was strained. I imagined how badly he wanted to grab my hips and slam into me, but we were partners in this dance, this slow, sweaty grind that had started in my backyard in Little River when our bodies first confessed how we felt about each other.

  I rolled my hips in small circles, trying to find a way to adjust to his thickness, but it was no use. All I could do was bear down and take it. Like getting into a cold swimming pool, the best thing to do it just jump in and submerge. The inch by inch approach is miserable.

  So, I did it. I pushed back off the footboard and took the remaining inches of his considerable length inside me until I felt his flat stomach against my ass.

  I yelped and squirmed, tears in my eyes, but I’d conquered it. Conquered him. I was woman enough to accept all of Sledge’s manhood and I was still standing. I ground against him, the pain and pleasure struggling for dominance in my mind. In my soul.

  My breath came in gasps, tears stinging the corners of my eyes as I adjusted to the fullness. I didn’t dare move, I was hanging from the ledge of sanity by my fingertips – by my fingernails. I could feel him throbbing all the way up into my throat. Even my heart was confused, trying to sync itself to the deep, constant throb of his cock.

  Just when I thought I had a handle on things, that maybe I could slide forward a fraction of an inch and relieve the pressure, the delicious fucking pressure he was putting on my insides, his hand came crashing down.

  The palm of his left hand, reaching across and slapping down hard on the right cheek of my upturned ass.

  The spank sent a jolt up my spine, and instinctively my body sought to evade further punishment. By removing itself from the fucking telephone pole I felt like I was impaled on.

  I slid off him, inch by excruciating inch, until I was nearly free. Until his strong hands took hold of hips and pulled me right back down.

  And his right hand crossed the small of my back and spanked the left side of my ass. Harder than before.

  The pain burned a hole right through my ass and wrapped itself around his cock in a deep, clenching spasm.

  “That’s it. Let me feel it,” he commanded, and the spanking continued.

  He was thrusting now, his hand alternating holding my hips and spanking my ass. I was overwhelmed and could no longer hold onto the footboard and maintain any sort of posture. I collapsed my chest across the rounded edge of the footboard and he had his way with me, his cock finding all the places inside me that I never knew existed.

  If not for his cock and guiding hand, my body would have slid like liquid down the back of the footboard to the floor in a great puddle. My pussy was a soaking, sopping mess. The sweat that began as beads on my forehead now drenched my hair. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  The tears were a product of my body having absolutely no point of reference, no idea how to cope with being filled, stretched, owned, and fucked so deeply and thoroughly.

  My sex life, solo as it was up until now, was active and healthy; fulfilling and pleasurable. But this wasn’t that. When I did it to myself, I had complete control. I knew where and when to apply pressure and pace to bring about optimal results. I could make it happen as quickly or as slowly as I wanted it to, and as intensely.

  This wasn’t learning to swim by wearing floaties or starting in waist deep water, this was being dropped out of a helicopter into the middle of the ocean and being left there.

  I was terrified.

  My soul was being buffeted by crashing waves of pain, and the circling sharks were closing in as I swallowed seawater and screamed for help.

  Without warning, it arrived.

  The battering Sledge was giving me, burying himself to the hilt, withdrawing for merely the blink of an eye and then plunging back inside as if his life depended on the ferocity of his thrusts, became my salvation.

  Those thrusts became my lifeblood. Each time he met resistance deep in my core, it sent me closer to an ecstasy such as I had never known.

  Each time he bottomed out in me was jarring. Bone-rattling. He was merciless, my virginity rent asunder, my body being conditioned to forevermore crave the touch of only one man, to be satisfied by only one cock.

  The spanking continued, and my entire body felt the heat that radiated from my ass. I detached emotiona
lly, and Ambrose Tupelo Wellington ceased to exist. I submitted completely to Shane Hammer. I was his. Just a thing. A hole. For him to use. To fuck. When, where, and how he wanted to.

  The climax was shocking. As those thoughts passed through what was left of my mind, an orgasmic freight train pulverized me.

  I clutched at the sheets on his impeccably made bed, desperately clutching for a handhold. My body shook violently and I screamed my way through lightning bolts of ecstasy rocking my world.

  As I started to come down, his hands explored my back and sides gently, caressing and massaging the flushed, sweaty flesh.

  He withdrew and lifted me, effortlessly, into his arms. I nuzzled into his chest, biting my lip to keep from embarrassing myself by telling him how much I loved him. I was such a dork.

  He lay me down in the middle of his bed and brushed a few stray hairs out of my face. He moved up next to me and smiled down at me.

  “You’ve always been beautiful, but never more beautiful than this very second,” he said. I could feel his cock laying across my thigh, pulsing angrily.

  I reached for his arm, my fingertips exploring the diamond-cut muscle of his biceps and triceps. I tried to return his gaze, but I was suddenly bashful and aware of my nakedness. I turned my face into him, inhaling pure masculinity.

  His hand on my chin guided my face back to looking directly at him. “I’ve never in my life seen or felt anything like you, Ambrose,” he whispered. “I regret every other woman I’ve ever even kissed. And that’s before I’ve tasted your sweet mouth.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, full on the mouth, a kiss like I’d never received. This wasn’t clumsy high school making out or a slick frat boy trying to get into my pants. This was a kiss filled with passion and power, claiming any and every bit of my essence he may have missed, like sopping up the last splash of a great sauce with garlic bread.

  He consumed me.

  As we kissed, he rolled across and entered me, an entirely different sensation flat on my back and below him than being taken from behind. The new angle was painful in a different way, and I whimpered as he began a slow, steady pace.

  The kissing never stopped, and his hands found my breasts, grazing and rolling my nipples in a way that made me shiver.

  I crossed my ankles behind him and pulled him in with my arms. I wanted to be one with him, to be closer, ever closer to him. I couldn’t get enough. His body coaxed a second and third orgasm from me, neither matching the first but both exponentially more powerful than any I’d ever given myself.

  My body gave up after the third, every muscle sore, none more so than the ones that squeezed and clung to his cock during my climaxes.

  He seemed to sense that I was spent and just as I heard fireworks outside signaling the first moments of 2017, he slowed his tempo and gave me a series of almost glacially slow thrusts, measured by fractions of inches, and he came.

  His kissing stopped and his face became the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, a vulnerability in his eyes and his mouth twisted into a silent scream as he pumped every drop of himself into me.

  I was complete. Any questions I’d ever had, anything that felt missing from my life, it was all forgotten. I now knew my purpose. As what felt like gallons of his cum entered me, I felt a contentment and warmth fill my heart that I’d never known was absent.

  I held him tight until he stopped twitching inside me, and he collapsed next to me on the bed, his hand in mine, only our fingers moving, dancing across each other’s’ palms as the finale of the midnight fireworks show shook the windows and illuminated his condo.

  We turned our heads and our eyes met as we exchanged goofy grins.

  He was the first to speak, his low voice rumbling from his chest.

  “I wanted to finish before midnight, because now I’ve set the bar for the new year so high that I fear everything else will be a disappointment.”

  “The rest of my life will be a disappointment compared to that,” I replied, as he rolled up onto his side and caressed my face.

  “No, it won’t. I’ll make sure of that. I promise you.”

  He kissed me again, softly, sweetly, and his hand wandered up and down my body possessively, taking inventory of what he knew he now owned.

  When his hand began to caress my inner thigh, and move toward the mess he’d made of my pussy, I had to beg for mercy.

  “I’m so sore, please don’t be upset. I’m just so sore, I can’t, please…”

  He smiled, a broad, wild grin.

  “Why don’t I draw you a bath? Just lay here a moment and I’ll get it ready for you.”

  He pulled the bedsheets around me and climbed off the bed. Watching his muscly body walk away, thighs flexing with each step, I almost reconsidered how sore I really was. I stared up at the ceiling and felt overwhelmed by bliss. Water began crashing down into his tub and when he walked back into the room he heard me giggling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I just feel silly. I’ve never been so happy.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled back the sheets and picked me up in his arms again, kissing the tip of my nose and my forehead as he carried me into the master bathroom. The tub was enormous, and bubbles covered the top of the water.

  “You have bubble bath?” I asked, in disbelief.

  “I can’t be Mr. Tough Guy SEAL all the time,” he joked, setting me down gently in the tub as I if I were a child.

  It was divine. The perfect temperature. Hot enough to nearly scald, then turned back just a few degrees. The aroma of lavender and vanilla wafted up to my nostrils.

  He stood there a moment, completely naked, and I drank him in. I hadn’t had a good look at the front of him this way, an assortment of scars decorating thick, heavy muscle.

  His cock hung between his legs, and I swallowed hard as I stared at it. It was huge, even in its relaxed state, and I marveled at it.

  “Keep that up and it isn’t going to care how sore you are,” he said, reaching down to give himself a tug, the muscles in his forearm popping as he squeezed himself.

  “Oh, it has a mind of its own, does it?” I asked, demurely.

  “When it comes to you, yes. It’s felt you and it wants more. It’s going to be a problem. I’m afraid I won’t have any control when it comes to you.” He gave me that smile again. That panty-flooding, weak-in-the-knees smile.

  He gave himself a few more pulls, and I watched him grow. My own fingers found my tender parts and softly stroked them.

  Just when I thought he might rip me from the tub and have me, he shook his head and laughed. He pulled a pile of towels from the closet and set them on the edge of the tub.

  “Take all the time you need. There’s a robe in there if you want it. It’s my size, so you’ll drown in it, but put it on if you want to. I’m famished. I’ll make some breakfast while you soak.”

  With that, he left the room and I reached to turn off the water before it spilled over the sides of the tub.

  Life as I knew it was over. Everything had changed. I left 2016 a girl and I now felt more womanly than I ever imagined I could. I closed my eyes and let the bath perform its magic on my exhausted body as I heard and smelled bacon sizzling in the kitchen.

  6

  After the bath, I dried off and snuck across the bedroom to Sledge’s closet. I found his suits hanging neatly, shoes lined up and polished, and a set of drawers that contained his socks, underwear, and more casual workout clothes. I selected a soft, well-worn, light green t-shirt and slipped it over my otherwise naked body. The shirt left little to the imagination, but was just long enough to cover my lady parts.

  I strolled out into the kitchen and sidled up to him. He’d put on a pair of pajama pants, but nothing else. He sat at the counter working his way through an omelet that looked big enough to feed me for a week.

  “Hey,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his. He was so rock solid that I doubted I could knock him off his stool with a running start.

&n
bsp; He slowly turned his head and appraised my outfit between bites of his late-night breakfast.

  “That looks good on you.”

  I playfully tugged at the bottom and shimmied my hips for him.

  “It’s so soft, you must have had it for a long time,” I remarked, reaching across him to the plate of bacon and pulling off two crispy strips.

  He took a long pull off a glass of orange juice and wiped his mouth. “It’s been around the world more than once. I don’t know how I’ve ever gotten it clean, to be honest. I probably shouldn’t mention it since you’re wearing the shirt, but that sucker’s seen its fair share of blood – mine and others.”

  “Eek!” I exclaimed, looking it up and down for evidence.

  “It’s almost too easy,” Sledge said, laughing. “I bought that shirt downstairs. Last week. Still can’t believe I paid that much for a damn t-shirt, but it’s all worth it now that I see how you fill it out.”

  I scrunched up my nose and punched his arm as he continued to laugh at me. The bacon he’d cooked was perfect, and I filled the empty glass he’d set out for me with juice from the pitcher to wash it down.

  “You’re awful,” I said.

  “I’m me,” he responded. “What you see is what you get. It seems to me you enjoyed what you got. Really your first time?”

  I suddenly felt young, naïve, and embarrassed. “Yes,” I said sheepishly.

  He nodded and picked up a piece of bacon for himself. “You took it like a champ. I’m impressed. But, then again, this body of yours was practically made for sin.”

  He reached down and gently encircled my right thigh in his hand, up high, near my ass. My knees wobbled at his touch and I placed a hand on his shoulder to steady myself.

  His hand moved up, beneath the shirt, to my ass, which he couldn’t seem to get enough of.

  “But seriously. How did I get so lucky to be your first?” he whispered, kissing my neck.

  And my last, I hope. But I didn’t say it. It was asking for too much.