My reality

"I like to make you mine - make you know that you're mine."

His hand is pressing on my face as he says that; his eyes gazing into mine, burning into my soul. He presses harder, making my mouth open in an involuntary gasp.

His fingertips drag along my skin just so. How does he make it feel like magic? It's just a touch. The first time he ever touched me like that we'd only been physically together for a matter of hours, and yet I melted. I'd never been so wet in response to anything, ever. I was already his before he ever touched me at all. And now, now his fingers are gently trailing across the top of my breast, circling my nipple, closing around it. My night shirt doesn't provide a barrier to him - he just goes under it.

He squeezes my nipple, a slight tug, barely noticeable. He doesn't let go, though. He's increasing the pressure slowly, slowly, slowly, until my mouth opens and a little cry of pain comes from me. He stops at my whimper, but I moan, arching my breast to his hand. I want him to hurt me more. I need him to hurt me more.

He doesn't disappoint.

Later, his fingers are between my legs, stroking my wetness over my clit. I am moaning. He feels so very, very good; he's so incredibly sexy, and he plays my body and my mind like an instrument he has built himself. "I'm going to fuck you, fuck hole," he whispers into my ear - a harsh rasp that is heated with his desire. I tremble and a little cry escapes me. I can't process the heat of it. He hasn't removed my shirt and my own heat is trapped against my skin.

"You want me on top of you, girl?" he asks.

"Oh, yes," I agree. I don't know if he knows but when he's got me that worked up I will agree to whatever he says.

He rolls atop me and his cock is sliding between my folds. Oh, that's been a while. I moan as he presses into me, very aware of the size of him. "Like that, girl?" he asks. "It's been a while, huh?" he says. I am just enjoying him, making noises of pleasure at finally feeling him inside me again. This is what life is about - everything else is just to support this.

He fucks me, gently, as I have been in quite a bit of pain in that area lately. He feels incredible. I am rising up to meet him and.... oh. His earlier manipulations of my clit had left me open in such a way that when I rise up, his pubic bone grinds into my clit. That is very fucking nice. I am fucking him now, from underneath, and he is saying something but I only grasp it at the moment and later it's gone. My clit grinds against him and then I am screaming, pulsing, coming. La petite mort, indeed.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing me as I recover, his hips making slow circles against me. He fucks me in earnest then, until he too is panting, gasping. "Oh fuck," he moans as he fills me, as I pull him as far into me as I can. His skin is so hot as he rests atop me, as I kiss him.

I am hot. I am on fire. I am burning, composed of molten lava. I will suffocate. "Too hot, too hot," I moan, working my nightshirt over and behind my head. My arms are still trapped inside it though. He rolls off of me so I can get the dread garment away from my skin, and the blessed coolness of the air in our room strokes me, soothes me. He pulls me close but doesn't cover me up.

He is my reality.