The Cherry Recliner in Apt 317

I felt the penetrating tear of flesh the minute she sunk her fingernails into my back - mutilating my skin, as she climbed up and down my lap, like the cute little puppy dog she was. The intensity was raw but intense.

*What a perfect way to spend a Friday night!* I thought.

The stitching illuminated BEAUTIFULLY under the living room light. I bought it for this particular evening. It was going to be used for special occasions and TONIGHT is going to be that night. "I am a success with women" confidently thinking, zoned out in a state of euphoria. The warmth of her seductive caramel skin - clutched against mine, slowly satiates my entire body with her intimate warmth.

I feel the grip of her molars bite into my neck; breaking the blood vessels underneath turning my neck purple. (Almost as if being bitten by a bloodthirsty vampire and I am her victim.)

I run my hand alongside the armrest: the vanilla stitching perched up right alongside the armrest. A beautiful burgundy cherry recliner with vibrant stitching. Before I had a chance to move my hand: I felt the sensual movement of her hips sway (from side to side) as her sexy legs conjoined together, meeting at the end of her inner thighs - fully resting them on my lap; back fully arched.

I Look down at my hands: the nerves still course through my veins from earlier tonight. From the anxiety and hesitation of the approach to the banter. From the compliments and flirtation to the anxiety of physically escalating - it was all there: the anxiety built up.

I felt it.

I felt it from the minute we began to worship and ravishing at the chance to perform carnal fascination, and strangulate each other's flesh from the neck down. *The adrenaline increasingly turned my anxiety into excitement.*

She's got a hell of a tongue.

I felt her teeth clenching on my lady dagger - bobbing up and down, taking every inch with patience and precision until she was completely deep. The base completely rested against the roof of her mouth.

At that moment, I TOOK CONTROL.

I let out a deep groan.

Followed by an OVERBEARING moan.

I take an aggressive hold of her laced down, luscious brunette hair (clutching with both hands), directing her bobbing motion with my hands to sync with my desired tempo and intensity.

*I clutch my hands even harder* (still taking a hold of her hair).

"I want MORE I Yearn for MORE!!" thinking, as I redirect her sensual motions and head movements at a faster speed. Seeing as she's an obedient good girl: she synchronizes her head movements with my loud and intense moans - intensifying and turning up the volume.

*she squeezes her teeth even harder*

My eyes roll past my FUCKING skull.

I let out another collection of LOUD and INTENSE groans (as I continue gripping the back of her petite head).

*I moan in excitement*

"DON'T YOU FUCKING STOP! YOU'RE SUCH A NAUGHTY LITTLE WHORE! I LOVE HOW YOU TAKE IT SO FUCKING DEEP!!

*moans increase*

"I'M GONNA CUM!"

All the while, hitting her gag reflex as she goes into it deeper and deeper. *A beautiful allegory of the pleasures and pain of the orgasmic experience. Of a time, when man dreamt of escaping the abyss and entering a blissful, sexual nirvana.*

I sat there in a moment of sexual bliss, leaned backward (pushing back against the cherry leather).

I wondered...

Staring up into her beautiful and hypnotizing hazel eyes: How did we get to *room 317?

It was A MAN of courage who brought her here. One who goes after what he wants. *A weak man couldn't pull this off*, thinking back of all the schmucks in the club from earlier tonight who were standing around - lost - holding their drinks DESPERATE for a woman's touch, for her vulnerability; for a piece of connection.

Tonight: I WAS THAT MAN

A MAN who is able to push past his barriers/his fears. Who isn't afraid to take action.

*It's the lifestyle that's attractive to her.*

It's HIS purpose in this world that engages her to ENTRUST her vulnerability; to pick at her curiosity at what follows beyond the bars - the alcohol - the nightclubs -- right to the door of room 317.

A MAN who can engage a women's greatest insecurities; make her feel special; engage her innermost desires, and can allow herself to be explored by him. Be taken by A MAN who is on a quest and wants her by his side - *That's how.*

Whatever follows beyond that door is up to you princess.

*It's the lifestyle that's magnifying.*

*Her sweet hands tug against my chest*

*The escalation begins*

As if the intensity hasn't been turned up enough.

*As if she hasn't been begging me to FUCK her brains out for the past half hour.* It's at this moment, that I feel like a FUCKING animal. I can't resist the temptation. *I want to FUCK her BRAINS out.* Thinking of fucking her like the little princess whore that she is.

I'm leaned further back (about a 60-degree angle) scratching and clawing away at the vanilla stitching on the cherry recliner, as she rests her beautiful pussy on my hard cock.

I sit back and recollect my thoughts.

Jessica, (from about a year ago) comes to mind, "I only invest my time with women that are worth it." Jessica was a beautiful reminder of that statement. Her stunning image burned on the forefront of my mind, as the final words of that statement are repeated. "Oh, how beautiful and sexy Jessica was..." You know the type: *playful, adventurous, fun and sexy.*

*Is that what makes them attractive? Is that what does it for me?*

Then, Janine came to mind.

She was my personal playmate.

She loved blues but had a nasty habit of attracting men with a bad temperament. She could play at the heart of any man. Existing in nostalgia: I leaned back further, reminiscing of Janine.

Then, at that moment - I felt it.

*That third glass hit really hard.*

My thoughts engulfed in a state of vertigo, become fuzzier as the night proceeds.

We finish the bottle of French Rosé my new playmate brought. — (Man, do I love a woman who is cultured and passionate). She really is passionate: especially after that second indulging bite on the neck, along with the collection of tongue from all the french kissing. *grin*

I'm caught off guard and jump in surprise, as I feel her hands against the inside of my thighs again.

Her hands move closer.

She builds a great amount of pressure: adding more and more - stroking it up and down with every moan I release. My hands line up against the delicious curvature of her caramel curvaceousness beautiful ass.

*What do I inspire in women that make them so vulnerable?*

I look down.

The reflection of the light bounces off her caramel curvaceousness, revealing a skin mark exposing where her undergarment used to be. (Victorias Secret!)

When did she take them off?

I try to be civil.

The testosterone enrages my sanity; surging throughout my skin at the sight of her panty mark like a psycho maniac. I try to control myself. The only thoughts flooding my mind: *gripping the back of her hair as the other is placed with pressure on the back of her neck, begging me to POUND the living existence out of her. Begging me to fuck her as hard as I can.*

I grip her neck a little harder.

The moans get a little louder.

The neighbors complain.

*I add pressure.*

The complaints get louder; the moaning louder; the police get called.

I add more pressure. She couldn't breathe anymore, right until her last moan reverberated. I'm in such a euphoric state: I completely forget *I'm choking the life out of her.* She can't breathe anymore, yet - *she begs and moans for more.*

I grip hard and harder.

I grip until she can't breathe anymore.

My eyes roll to the back: feeling the pressure building up inside my cock.

The neighbors come in. The police come in. Like a geyser - *I blast the steaming pile of jizz built up from my cock onto her bareback,* from the ORGASMIC penetrations of her sweet vagina.

I open my eyes. My mind slowly brings me back to the present moment. Leaning as far back as possible (on the recliner). Her hands are on my thighs; my hands are on her curves.

I smile, she smiles.

I take a quick glance at the door: her stilettos firmly placed on the side of the 'welcome' mat.

I look to my left: her black and pink Victoria's Secret panties, draped across the armrest of my burgundy recliner, fully drenched and soaked: with my fingerprint marks FIRMLY imprinted across them.

I looked down: the vanilla stitching was all torn up from both our fingernails.

I think it's going to be a good night in Room 317.

I'm glad I bought this brand new recliner.