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So I shook myself free of pre-conceived notions. Sure, there are all these books, essays and lectures about feminine empowerment and I believed them, I really did. But what all the studies left out was how good it felt to be in love with a man, a real man, a powerful, dominant one, one that left my insides quivering, body on alert, attuned to his every command. Because underlying it all was trust, trust that Mr. Martin would never hurt me, that he’d only take me as far as I was ready, that I was safe with him, secure, that my best life would be lived with him.
So I surrendered then, completely, all of me, emotionally and physically, my mind, body, and heart under his sway.
“Yes, Mr. Martin,” I breathed. “Yes.” And with trembling fingers, slowly I undid my dress, pulling the soft material apart so that I wore nothing but a tiny demi-bra and panties.
His eyes were blazing now, a massive tent at his crotch.
“Off. All of it,” he commanded and without a protest, I acquiesced. Slowly, I rolled the stockings from my legs, sensuously slipping them down, and then reached in back to undo the clasp of my bra. It fell away, revealing my huge girls and I shook them a bit at him, the luscious flesh rolling and jiggling.
“You like, lover?” I husked, the contact between our eyes electric. “You like?”
And Rob let out a half-groan, half-growl then, popping open his fly and letting out that massive pole, stroking it with his hand. As I watched a bead of pre-cum formed at the tip and trickled down that huge shaft, smearing wetly on the hot rod as he stroked himself.
“You know I love it,” he ground out, eyes blazing a hot trail on my body. “I fuckin’ love it.”
And I laughed throatily then.
“Then you’ll like what’s next,” I purred because I sat back and lifted my legs straight at the ceiling, pointing my toes up. It was hard to balance but I’m young and flexible, I managed. And slowly oh so slowly, I inched my panties over my hips, stopping once they were over my ass and drawing them upwards, up over my thighs and calves, finally off. My legs were still pointed towards the ceiling, squeezed together, but I knew he could see my pussy lips from in back, the pink flesh moist and glistening, swollen with desire.
“Do you like it, Mr. Martin?” I whispered naughtily, looking at him from around my legs. “Like what you see?”
And the blue eyes were riveted on my puss, his hand going fast on his pole, but the big man stood rock solid and immobile.
“Spread,” was his only command, and with a sigh, I did his bidding. Slowly, I pulled my legs apart, lowering each one gently until I was almost doing the air splits, my thighs wide and welcoming, my vee open, each toe pointed at a different corner of the room. My cleft steamed soft and wet, all for him.
“Come and get it, Mr. Martin,” I murmured, looking at him coyly. “Come and get what’s yours.”
But the big man shook his head, still fisting his pole. Holy shit, there was so much cum now that it was practically a river running off the tip, dripping madly onto the floor. But he remained rooted to where he was, dark streaks across his cheekbones, abs and pecs tight, dick hard.
“Spread,” was his command again, and this time my cheeks flushed. Because he wanted it all, wanted to see everything that belonged to him and parting my legs wasn’t enough. He wanted to see deeply, intimately inside of me.
So reaching a small hand between my legs, I did as I was told. Slowly, my fingers pulled my labia apart until my inner channel was exposed, the hot pink on display, glistening and gleaming moistly, clit hard and engorged, ready to be tasted.
“Yes, Mr. Martin,” I panted. “Yes, yes, yes.”
And in half a second the big man was on me, all over me, licking my nipples, suckling and pulling off the tips as his hand massaged my cunt, pinching my clit, lightly rubbing the bottom of it.
“Fuck,” he ground out against my flesh. “Fuck, little girl, you’re so beautiful, exactly what I want.”
And I mewled against him, everything available for him, everything offered to him, like I’d been made for him.
“Yes,” I panted again as his hand slipped through my wet folds again, testing the swollen, engorged flesh. “Yes, yes.” Because he was checking to make sure I was ready, to make sure I could fit his dick, and there was no better time. I was more than ready, I was dying for it.
“Put it in,” I begged, eyes pleading, boobs heaving with need and want. “Put it in me, now.”
And finally, Mr. Martin did what I’d been dying for these last three days. He lined his dickhead up with my hole, testing the opening, running his glans around my wetness, probing gently.
