Anatomy of a Close Encounter

She is late, again. The untimeliness is mildly irritating but as nothing to his flash of annoyance as the door flies open to admit a bombshell of woman, shopping bags and chattering noise from which he discerns I'm sorry I'm sorry it's the trains again and we dithered over whether Pamela should get the red or the umber, a better colour for her skin she is so dusky she can carry it off. He stops listening and contemplates her as she busies herself around the room. She is exactly what he wants: small, full-bodied, a blend of dark hair and creamy skin, delicate freckles hidden under layers of clothing. He knows about those freckles and makes a decision that he will have her as soon as possible.

He holds out his arms. Come here and for heaven's sake be quiet, we can relax and put the day behind us. She looks up at him and smiles readily, understanding the tone. A moment, please, she says quietly, and leaves the room. He gazes out of the window at the damp gloom of late afternoon as it gives way to the expensive orange glow of streetlamps. He turns as he hears her padding across the room, glimpsing her body as the robe flutters open. She is naked, as he prefers her to be. She must now do the work of getting him into the same state. Her hands reach up to his collar.

He recalls the first encounters. Hot and urgent affairs that ended too quickly, reminscent of teenage clumsiness. He has made it his business to know her body, to understand how she behaves sexually, and to shape that energetic lust into something that fits in perfectly with his own. She is greedy, almost masculine in her desire to reach a climax as quickly as possible, rest a while and then do it all again. He knows how to channel those urges in ways that have come to guarantee him her absolute attention to his needs. She has become, without knowing it, a perfect sexual plaything for him. Part of him loves her for it with a tenderness he does not often feel any more.

His shirt is pulled from his shoulders. She pushes herself against his chest and he feels the full warmth of her breasts insistent upon him. Already he rises, it feels good and he catches the mix of scents from her hair, her skin, her sex. She pulls and tugs at his belt not altogether gracefully, but that is her way. He lets her do battle with it, anything to slow her down. Soon he is naked and she is on her knees before him, her mouth warm, active, moving wetly along the length of him, the sucking motion pulling him gentle onwards and the suggestion of teeth keeping his attention focused entirely on her. Her hands wrap around his hips; she could not get closer to him if she tried. To remind her that he is in control and to keep himself from giving in to the intense sensations of her mouth-he wants more of her tonight-he takes hold of a handful of hair and pulls it just hard enough to keep her head still for a moment. She stops moving instantly, waiting for his signal. He notes with satisfaction that she now obeys without hesitation his unspoken commands, perhaps she even welcomes them now that she knows her pleasure is so much the greater for a little patience and concentration.

On a whim, he pulls hard and upwards. She has to scramble awkwardly to her feet, yelping and struggling, a curse and don't DO that! He keeps his hold, pulling her head back enough to take her off balance. Say thank you, he says softly into her ear. He feels her resist, battling with instinctive anger and a momentary fear. If it were possible, his erection hardens yet more against her hip. Say thank you. For a few moments the battle rages between them, and then he feels it, the moment of surrender. Her shoulders drop a little, thin for a woman of her build. Her eyes drop and she relaxes, arms reaching around him for balance and safety. Thank you, she murmurs, thank you.

Lie on the bed in the way I like it. She falls back in considered abandon, thighs falling open to reveal the tender skin close to her cunt already glistening. She is always, always ready, he smiles to himself. Always greedy for more. He looks down at her, marvelling again at how she can look so womanly and yet so vulnerable. He wants her badly, wants his own satisfaction, but it is better to stretch it out until she judders with need, gets nervy and desperate through her own desires. He touches her slowly and she writhes in anticipation, pushing up on to his fingers and whispering just there, more, just where you are now. She even reaches to guide him to exactly where she wants him. Put your arms back by your side, lie back and shut up. Keep your hips still. Of course she obeys, but she is full of urgency and cannot hide it now.

He brings himself down on top of her and feels her body brace, sighing against his weight. Her nipples are dark and inviting. She gasps as he takes first one and then the other into his mouth, a moment of tenderness and a moment on the very edge of pain. His mouth, exquisitely sensitive to her breasts, feels the different sensations moving through her. He runs his hand along the smooth curve from hip to breast, a perfect arc traced in flesh. No longer does she obey the order to keep her hips still, and the small movements beneath him are sensuous and pleasant. She remains within the boundaries of the behaviour he requires of her. Her arms reach around to guide him into her, hips rising, taking every opportunity she can to rub herself against him until she comes in a long, breathless gasp.

He fucks her hard, as she likes it. They slide together unthinking, her moans and his quick breathing have become one song. When he feels her shudder and shy away from him a little because he knows he is hurting her, he cannot hold back any longer and releases into her the hot rush that arches his back. The sensation teeters on the brink of pain as he feels her grasping him firmly inside her, unwilling to let go. Her legs curl up high around him, she is lithe and moves easily now. See how good it can be if only you behave, he asks her gently. She looks at him with pleasure and gratitude. Thank you, sir.