Now my own vision of myself is cracking to the core, and I wonder what I could be with a woman like her by my side. What we could accomplish together.
Can mercy and power co-exist? Can love and domination?
Clare is naked in the bed, her soft, sensual body pressed up against mine. Her legs are wrapped around one of my trunk-like thighs, her bare pussy slotted against my skin.
While she dreams, she moans softly, her hips rocking ever so gently, her pussy grinding on my thigh.
I feel her nipples stiffening against my ribs.
This naughty little vixen… she’s never satisfied. No matter how roughly I treat her, how deeply I fuck her, she still craves more.
When I pull my thigh away from her sweet little cunt, she lets out a pitiful sigh, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheek, her fingertips reaching for me.
I push her onto her back.
Her knees fall open, her pussy opening like a flower to me.
I stroke my fingertips across the exposed nub of her clit, swollen and warm from pressing against me.
She groans, her legs trembling at my touch.
I’ve never felt such velvet softness. I’ve never met a woman so responsive. I dip one finger inside her, feeling her clench around it, watching her rock her hips again, begging for me to penetrate her deeper, to rub her harder.
I could spend hours touching her like this.
This pussy is uncharted land, my fingertips Magellan. I want to explore every last bit of her. I slide my fingers up and down her folds, cup her pussy in my palm, and then I use her wetness to touch her ass again, so tightly puckered that I can’t believe I fit my whole cock in there only an hour before.
My cock throbs at the memory.
There is no act more dominating than anal sex. It requires total submission from the woman. She has to be in a state of complete acceptance where her entire body relaxes, where she becomes soft and supple like warm taffy. What at first seems impossible and even painful turns into a deep and desperate pleasure so intense that by the end Clare begged me to take her harder, to explode inside her ass.
Clare is whimpering now, her legs spreading wider, her pussy aching to be filled.
Instead, I slide beneath the sheets, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of her skin all the way down to the delicate curve of her navel, over the ridge of her hip, down to my favorite place.
I push my tongue inside her.
Clare gasps, pressing her clit against my upper lip.
I fuck her with my tongue, rubbing the ball of my thumb over her clit.
Half asleep and half awake, she reaches down to run her fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp with her nails. Each point of friction sends delicious sparks of pleasure down my spine. Her scent fills my nose and mouth, rich and intoxicating. Her pussy is catnip and I’m fucking high.
She rolls her hips against me, my entire face wet and slippery. I want more, more, more.
I fuck her with two fingers, lapping my tongue against her clit. It’s never been so swollen. I suck it gently, fluttering with the flat of my tongue.
Clare begins to come, still without entirely waking. Her moans are deep and guttural, drunk with slumber.
She comes against my tongue, her thighs clenching my ears.
Before the last shocks have run through her, I mount her and plunge my cock inside that achingly sensitive cunt.
Now her eyes flutter open, and she gazes up at me as if I’ve entered her dream, instead of the other way around.
“Tell me I belong to you,” she moans.
“You’re mine,” I growl. “I’ll never let you go.”
“Tell me I’m your good girl…”
“You’re my princess, my queen. I’ll slaughter anyone who lays a finger on you. Only I touch you. Only I look at you. You’re mine and mine alone.”
She pulls me down on top of her, digging her nails into my back, holding me tight against her.
She’s already coming again, her pussy spasming around my cock.
As she does, she sighs in my ear, “Oh… Constantine…”
The sound of my name on her tongue makes me erupt inside her. The orgasm is so powerful, so all-encompassing, the dark room becomes a sea of blackness around me, and all consciousness fades away.
When I wake, Clare has left the bed.
This is the only time in my life that a woman has woken before me. Usually the slightest sound, the slightest movement will jerk me awake.
I slept too deeply.
My whole body feels heavy and warm, still drugged with pleasure.
Clare is sitting in the window seat, gazing out, dressed in my discarded shirt. It hangs down almost to her knees like a dress, her bare legs tucked beneath her. Her hair is tousled, her face adorably puffy with sleep.