No Words 23


“Yes,” and her voice was a moan and a plea and a thank you and I’m yours. “Yes.”

He rewarded her with his hand on her clit, making the very circles she needed, while his other hand pressed into her back and his cock still fucked her and fucked her.

She came with piercing cries that echoed around them, and he fucked her steadily until the very last of the pulsing waves had receded and her knees gave in to exhaustion. She laid herself on her belly and breathed like she’d sprinted a mile, and she heard him breathing too.

“Oh god Mick,” she said, her face in a pillow.

“I know,” he panted. He left the bed, and Fran barely had time to wonder where he was going now and when he would come in her when she felt his weight shift the mattress under her. He turned her over to her back and straddled her, his knees at her waist, his still-hard cock above her. Fran’s mouth opened reflexively, anticipating the sensation of him in her mouth. Yes please. Now please.

But instead he reached out to each of her wrists, brought them together over her head, and began to tie them with the stocking he had retrieved from her top drawer.

“Um?” she said.

He stopped and looked at her, hard. “Is it quiet?” he asked again.

And Fran knew that as long as he kept her mind quiet, he could do anything he wanted to her. Anything. So she let him tie her wrists together, tie them to the brass bedstead above her head. And she let him fuck her mouth. At first he only brushed the head of his cock against her open lips, and she let her tongue slip out to explore the warm, curving bulb of him. When he dipped into her mouth, the first time, she raised her head to meet him, to take him deeply, but he withdrew.

Her head fell back on the pillow and she waited for him impatiently. He dipped into her again, and she raised her head again, hungry for him, but he withdrew again.

The third time, she kept her head on the pillow and let him go as far as he wanted. Apparently she was to be a passive recipient of his cock. Well, as passive as she could be. She constrained herself, closed her eyes and fought to relax into the pillow while he moved into her mouth and pulled back again. Her tongue took what it could and she sucked, keeping as much of him in her as she could. The more she allowed herself to receive, the deeper he fucked, and she wanted all of him. But he was so gentle, so tender. She opened her eyes and found that he was looking at her with a gaze almost frightening in its intensity. The burn of his wanting penetrated to her heart. She blinked slowly and held his gaze, while she opened her mouth wide and let him in. She didn’t suck. She held her tongue still in her mouth. She just opened to him, wide, deep, ready.

His arms, stretched above her with his hands gripping the bedstead, went taut, trembled, and his mouth dropped open with hers. Still he watched her, even as he thrust ever deeper into her mouth, took her wholly as his. The tension in all his muscles vibrated from him, and finally he put one hand on her face, brushed her hair from her forehead, put his thumb on her chin and spread his fingertips across the flushed, soft ridge of her cheek, and whispered, “Frannie. Oh.”

With a desperate cry, his brow wrinkled and his eyes still trained on hers, Mick came in her mouth, thrusting and fighting, and she kept her mouth soft and open for him as she felt his fluid rush over her tongue and lips. “Frannie,” he whispered again, and he played the softening, wet head of his cock over her still open mouth. Her heart was hammering against her breast. More, more.

Mick came down to her and kissed her, licked his come from her lips and her tongue.  He kissed along her throat, bit and licked and kissed and sucked his way downward to her darkened nipples. The sun had risen as they fucked, and Fran could see how his shoulders bunched over her and his hands stroked and caressed her, her skin still gilt with oil.

By the time his lips found their way to her pussy, she was roiling again, and when his tongue met her clit and his finger slid inside her, she arched off the bed, drawing him deeper, closer, more. He responded by coaxing another finger into her ass, fucking her doubly while his tongue stayed soft and tantalizing. He made it  build slowly in her. When she pushed for more, want, now, he pulled back, and when she eased, held still, waited, he gave her everything he had, everything she could take. He extended her arousal, drawing it from her like spider silk, extending it across screeching, grunting minutes of blissful torture.

And then with a groan that sounded next to despair, he lifted himself between her thighs and thrust inside her. He kissed her and fucked her and tangled his fingers in her hair, still kissing her, kissing her, his cock moving hard and fast inside her.

It seemed that all the time with him she had been waiting for precisely this: his body over her, inside her, moving with her, taking her as she opened herself and allowed him fully in. She had learned – he had taught her – and now she softened into him, deliquescent under his caresses, and let her body be his.

“Frannie,” he said, moving his lips to her throat, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

She came then, and she split wide open. All the fireworks, all the stars, all the  galaxies were nothing to it. She disappeared, her atoms spread themselves through the room, through Mick’s body, out and out, across the world, into space. She was the universe. She was light, and Mick alone was with her, inside infinity.

It took a long, long time for her atoms to find their way back home and reassemble themselves, and when they did, she found that she was something quite new. Her mouth sought Mick’s and he kissed her as though she were his air.

“How will I get enough of you?” he sighed into her throat.



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