by Penny Wylder
Chris is waiting on the stairs ahead of me, leaning on the wall and looking down at me. I’d taken off my shoes for this climb and I’m taking a minute to catch my breath. I’m also taking a minute to appreciate the view. It hasn’t just been a long time since I’ve been fucked, it’s been ages since I’ve been properly fucked, and by a guy this fucking sexy…Well, I’m going to appreciate the anticipation for a moment or two.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Chris asks.
“Why not?” I counter and start climbing the last flight of stairs. He follows me down the hallway to my room. Every nerve in my body is on fire and aware of his body behind me, just inches away.
We step inside and I flip on a lamp. It casts a golden glow over everything. I’m relieved I left the place tidy before I left for Kate’s party. That’s a small miracle. I slip off Chris’s jacket and drape it over the arm of the couch.
“Would you like the grand tour?” I kid, sweeping my hands around the room.
“I like it,” he says. “Très parisien.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Just twenty minutes before we had our tongues in each other’s mouths and I felt his dick pressing against me. But now, in the intimacy of this small room, I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel so bold anymore.
“Let me get you a glass of water,” I say to fill the silence. I slip past him and into the tiny bathroom, turning on the tap and letting it run for a minute before I fill up the glass. I’ve been assured that the water is safe to drink, but I figure in a building like this, with pipes over a century old, you can’t be too safe. I’m also gathering my courage to make a move. I want this, and I want him to know I want this. Badly. I place the glass under the faucet, fill it to the top, and turn off the water. When I turn around, Chris is directly behind me.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the glass from my hand. He drinks the water in a single draught, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Even though I’m not drinking, I swallow too. Hard. He reaches around me and places the glass on the edge of the sink. I hold my breath. He takes his hand to my shoulder, and without much effort, pushes the shoulder of my top down to my elbow. He traces a single finger down my arm and back up before pushing the other shoulder down and exposing my bra beneath. I pull my arms out of the sleeves, leaving the jumpsuit’s top hanging around my waist. Without any subtlety, he stares at my tits, barely covered by my white lace bra. He trails that finger slowly back up my arm, tracing my collarbone and then running it between my breasts, over my cleavage. With his palm, he ghosts across my nipple, and I grab onto the sink behind me, trying to remain on my feet.
“You know,” he whispers, leaning in closer, his hot breath on my cheek and his palm rubbing against me, “you were giving me little peeks of these all night. You’ve kept me so fucking hard.”
The friction of the fabric on my nipple is electric, and I feel it hardening under his touch. He isn’t in a rush, and he keeps rubbing, slowly and sensually. My chest is rising and falling, and my eyes are fixated on his face. On his eyes that haven’t left my tits, on his mouth, the tip of his tongue licking his lips. I can feel myself getting wet, and as much as I want to touch him, to see what’s underneath his suit, I want this moment to last forever, with him building me up and holding me right there on the edge.
After what seems like an agonizing eternity, he leans down and kisses my neck. A feather light kiss where my shoulder meets my neck. He trails these kisses up to my ear, into my hair, and I can feel his tongue, tracing a white-hot line on my skin. His hand switches to my other breast, but this time, he roughly pulls the fabric aside, tweaking my nipple between his thumb and finger, quickly bringing it too a peak and causing me to slump backward onto the sink’s ledge. Chris grabs my hair, tilting back my head, biting and kissing his way down the other side of my neck, growing hungrier by the second. He leads me like this out of the bathroom and pushes me against the short ladder leading up to the bed. Finally, finally, he dips his head low and I feel the white-hot pleasure of his mouth on my breast, sucking and lathing my nipple. A moan escapes my lips, and that seems to undo him.
“How do I get this fucking thing off you?” he asks, tugging at my jumpsuit. I love his urgency, but I am not about to let him tear my outfit. I may be horny, but I’m not impractical.
I duck around him and spin him around, pressing him against the ladder just like he’d had me, seconds before. I slowly unbutton the three buttons holding my jumpsuit in place at the waist, and then let it slide down my body into a puddle on the floor. From his quick intake of breath, I can tell Chris likes what he sees. He immediately reaches out to grab my waist, but I step aside and shake a finger at him. “No, no, no. Not your turn.”
I move closer to him, loosening the knot of his tie. I leave the tie hanging around his neck while I undo the buttons of his dress shirt, and then I push the shirt over his shoulders and off him. His chest is bronze with a smattering of fine hair. His pecs are well defined, and his nipples are tight, rising and falling with his shallow breaths. I drag my fingernail over his nipple and Chris hisses at the contact. He’s being cooperative, but I know I can’t count on his cooperation for much longer. I take his wrists in my hand, and with my other, I pull the tie off of his neck. This is my night in Paris and I’m going to take what I want.
Chris smirks as I start wrapping the tie around his wrists. I’m glad he’s being a good sport, but I also want him to know I mean business, so when I tie the knot, I make sure to pull extra hard, letting him know those hands only get to touch when I say so.
I rub my hand down his stomach until I feel the hard steel of him under his pants. I smile, appreciating how big he feels under my fingers, and the way he instantly juts out his hips, seeking greater pressure. I deftly unbutton and unzip his pants, giving them a push down his muscular thighs. He’s wearing tight boxer briefs, and I don’t hesitate to drag these down as well. With his bound hands he reaches out toward me, trying to touch my panties. I step back, just out of his reach.
“Weaver, come on. What are you up to?” he asks, barely holding back the pleading in his voice.
“Chris, it’s my turn to play,” I say, taking his shaft in my hand and squeezing it firmly. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”
His answer comes out in a groan, and I interpret that as an enthusiastic yes.
I run my hand up and down his cock, enjoying the feeling of him getting harder, watching him watch my hand under hooded eyes. I run my thumb over the sensitive underside, and he jumps. I do it again, gathering a drop of precum that has pooled on the tip. It seems like he’s stopped breathing. I think it’s time to really get to work.
I drop down and grab the back of his knees, not waiting at all before I dive onto his cock, popping the head between my lips and swirling my tongue around it. The salty tang on my tongue sends a shiver through me, and I bob my head on the tip, enjoying the taste and the feeling of his fingers, flexing in my hair. I reach between his legs and play with his balls, taking his cock deeper into my mouth and increasing the suction. I keep up a steady rhythm like that, completely aware that he wants me to speed up, but it’s time for him to play by my rules, and I’m determined to make this last.
“Fuuuck,” he says, “let me touch you.” The last of his patience is coming to an end.
I ignore him. I mean, he hasn’t even said please.
I let his cock fall out of my mouth. It’s drenched with my saliva and I stroke it a few times, making sure to tug on his balls, hard, as I do.
“What do you want to touch, Chris?” I ask, holding eye contact with him as I pump him.
He has a glint in his eye, and I have the feeling that it’s about to be his turn.
“I want to touch your pussy,” he says, his words halting as my finger strokes the spongy tip of his cock. “I know you’re fucking wet. I know you want me touch you, to slide a finger inside you. To taste your clit with my tongue.”
I keep stroking, and his abs ar
e trembling, his words are straining, and if I keep up the pace, he’s going to come. I slow down my strokes, alternating between long and slow, and quick pumps at the top. His jaw is tense, and his fingers are flexing despite his binds, itching to touch me freely. I love having control over him but he’s right, I want his hands on me, I want him inside me, badly.
I lick him again from top to bottom, then take one of his balls inside my mouth and suck on it gently. I look up as he throws his head back and lets out another moan.
“Fuck it,” he says roughly, bringing his wrists to his mouth. In seconds he has the tie off his wrists, loosening it with his teeth. He throws it aside and steps out of the pants and boxers gathered at his ankles. Roughly, he lifts me to my feet and spins me around, pressing my body against the loft bed’s ladder. He grabs at my panties and yanks them down in a single motion. I’m completely exposed to him, but I don’t care. I’m his and willing to let him do whatever he wants for this one night. He grabs my breasts, pushing them together and licking both nipples. I feel the rasp of his five o’clock shadow against my breasts, and it makes him seem even more dominant. He kisses my mouth hard and I can see the war of impulses between kissing my tits and kissing my face. He buries his face into my neck, licking and sucking.
“You’re incredible,” he says, his voice heavy with wonder and lust. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He slides his hand down my thigh, stops at my knee and hikes it up so my foot rests on the second ladder wrung. “Do you know how hard you made me?” he asks. “Do you know how badly I want to bury my cock deep inside you? Do you want that Weaver?”
His words make me flush, not from embarrassment but from arousal. I stare dumbly at him, having lost the ability to form words.
The hand that had been stroking my thigh drifts toward me pussy. I’m so turned on I wouldn’t be surprised if he can feel the heat coming off of me. He rubs his fingers softly over my mound and makes a sound low in his throat. “I said,” he repeats, “do you want my cock inside you?” He punctuates the question by dragging a finger down my slit and inserting it into my dripping cunt. He hums his satisfaction.
“You’re so wet,” he says, dragging his finger back up and circling over my clit. He’s applying barely any pressure, just the subtlest touch, but I can feel my clit throbbing and growing swollen under his attention.
“Do you like this, Weaver?” he asks. “Do you like what I can do with my hands?”
It’s maddening. He plays with my clit, building up a little pressure, and then disappears back into my pussy, pulsing, skimming my g-spot, and then starts his ministrations again. I’ve never had such a slow build up before, and I can feel my orgasm growing, so slowly, so steadily. I must close my eyes because Chris says sternly, “Look at me.”
I see him. His brown eyes bear into mine with such a look of want and concentration that I could burst into flames. He kisses me, his tongue darting in my mouth, but I can’t kiss back, I’m barreling toward the exquisite end, so close to coming if he’d just stay in that spot. He must see my hunger because he growls, “Like this?” and earnestly starts working my clit, rubbing in tight circles and lessening the pressure on my hip so I can meet his rhythm. His lip quirks up in a smile, and I know he’s enjoying watching me. It’s odd how comfortable I feel, how freely I moan, allow my lips to part and throw myself completely into the pleasure he’s giving me.
“Come for me, Weaver,” he urges, his finger sliding over my clit and two others pulsing inside me. “I want to watch you. I want to feel you come on my hand. Then I’m going to fuck you and feel you come on cock. Come Weaver.”
His words, his touch, his lips brushing mine as he says those dirty things to me, it all comes spiraling into sharp focus, the wave building in my toes, my fingers, and hurtling me into space as I break apart into a million pieces, bright white light flashing in front of my eyes, until every nerve and cell seem to come back together, guided under his deft fingers. I sling my arm over his shoulder and feel him holding my weight, as wave after wave crashes over me.
I lose track of time as I ride out my orgasm, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He wipes my hair away from my damp forehead and lays his lips against mine. I can feel him smiling.
“You seem pretty satisfied with yourself, you know that?” I say, smiling back against his mouth.
“I could say the same about you,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him walk into the small bathroom. The moonlight and the soft glow of the lamp accentuate his muscular back and his taut ass. That ridiculous grin breaks across my face again and I can’t believe my luck. I hear the faucet run and quickly climb up the ladder into my bed. The door opens and I watch Chris walk out and duck under the loft to the couch and his clothes. For a minute I’m afraid he’s going to get dressed, and awful disappointment washes over me, but then I hear the ladder creak and see the top of his head as he climbs up to the bed. Up to me.
“I thought you may be thirsty,” he says, handing me a glass of water and setting a condom aside on the bed.
“Thanks.” I drink the entire glass and he takes it back from me, placing it on the window ledge beside us.
“Down,” he says, and pushes me back onto the pillows. He’s on his knees, looking down over me, and my eyes go straight to his cock, semi-hard between his legs. He starts stroking himself, long twisting strokes from the base to the tip. I see the muscles in his pecs jump as he focuses on the head with quick, short strokes. He’s completely hard then, his cock jutting out at me, and my hands twitch on the sheets underneath me, wanting to touch. As if reading my mind, he leans over, supporting himself with a hand next to my shoulder. He takes his cock and presses the tip to my pussy, resting it against me but not entering me, not yet. He coats himself in the moisture gathered there and drags himself up my seam. He rubs around my clit, still so sensitive from my orgasm, stroking it slowly up one side and down the other. His face is masked in pure lust, and I wonder if he can feel my clit throbbing against him. He repeats this path again, and the head is now glistening with my juices. It’s torturous having him so close, wondering what he’ll feel like inside me.
He must read my mind, because as he traces his cock down my pussy again, resting the head at my entrance, he slips inside me, just the tip, and pumps ever so slightly, just enough to know he’s there. He licks his fingers and reaches down to tweak my nipples, creating a circuit of pure pleasure. My chest is rising off the bed, and his self-control surprises me. He stays like that, with his cock just an inch inside me while he strums my clit. I can feel my pussy contracting, wanting more of him inside me, and a gush of new moisture is pooling between my legs. I could come like this. My shoulders lift from the mattress and I pull his head down to me, kissing him deeply, letting him know that I’m ready. I’m more than ready for him to deliver on his promise.
“Fuck me,” I whisper in his ear.
Chris pulls back, reaching to the end of the bed and retrieving the condom. For all his teasing, for all his self-control, his hands shake as he tears the foil and quickly covers himself. He settles between my legs and I can feel his cock at my entrance. A single thrust and he’ll be buried inside me. He kisses my neck and my face, grabs at my breasts and sucks my nipples, grazing them with his teeth.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, breathlessly. “Because once I start, I’m not going to be able to stop.”
I answer him by lifting my hips, and with that movement, I give him permission. He plunges into me and it’s searing and hot and I have never felt so full. He moans in my ear. “Fuck, Weaver, you’re so tight,” he says, and then he withdraws, almost entirely, before thrusting in again. I’m so sensitive that every inch of his cock leaves a trail of exquisite sensation. His rhythm is perfect. Dragging in and out, hitting every nerve, fucking me slowly. I’m in a daze; I’m staring up at his perfect face, his searing eyes looking down on me. Beyond him I can see the lights around the Seine, and it feels like a dream.
“Fuck me harder,” I say. “I want you to take what you want.” As I continue talking to him, telling him how good he feels and all the ways I want him, his strokes speed up, his breathing becomes more erratic. His forehead rests on my shoulder now, and his grunts of exertion turn me on even more. With every word, every suggestion of just how I want him to fuck me, he lets go, losing control.
“Fuck it,” he says abruptly. He leans back off me leaving me feeling empty. But not for long. His arms reach down and pull me up, turning me around so I’m facing the wall. The loft leaves just enough room for me to kneel on the bed, and I brace with my hands against the wall. Chris enters me swiftly from behind, one hand on my hip and the other grabs my hair. While he was slow and deliberate before, now he’s furious, pumping in quick, hard strokes. My hips match his strokes one for one.
“You want this, Weaver?” he asks, punctuating the words with thrusts into me. “You want me to fuck you hard? You like my cock inside you?”
If I could answer, it would be yes,yes, yes, but the hand which had been on my hip is now on my pussy, and he’s stroking my clit. I feel my arms start to quiver, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold myself up.
