Going Down

My body arched on the table. Overwhelmed.

I covered my eyes with the back of my wrist, moaning aloud at his blatant statement. He was going to have me on his dining table, right now.

“Unbutton your shirt.” He stared at my stocking tops and his eyes flickered mischievously as if they were giving him ideas.

As I undid the buttons with trembling hands, he stripped off his own shirt and I had my first look at his body. I already knew from the way he’d lifted me so easily that he was strong, but his muscles were hard and defined, solid. He stared down at my groin and shook his head. “This must be done.”

As soon as I got my shirt open, he bent to kiss me in the dip of my cleavage. My head rolled against the hard surface of the table. The way he took control made my pulse race and the damp heat between my thighs became sweltering. He tugged at the cups of my bra, pushing my breasts free of the fabric. He tongued one nipple, then the other, and the stiff points stung, making my hips squirm.

Armand lifted his head, put his hand between my thighs and cupped my pussy through my lace panties. Direct and demanding, it triggered a heightened need for release. The firm squeeze he gave me there at my pussy made me gasp aloud.

He trailed his fingers over my bare abdomen, which made me shiver. When I glanced down I saw a damp smudge on the front of the fabric. Pressing my lips together tightly, I moaned softly. Meanwhile Armand’s eyebrows lowered, and his expression was brooding.

When I glanced lower—and I couldn’t help myself—I saw the bulge of his erection beneath the zipper on his jeans and my eyes flashed closed.

He ran his fingers beneath the band of my panties then tugged at them, pulling them down. I wriggled my bottom and lifted it to assist. When I was entirely naked, I squeezed my thighs together, suddenly aware that he had only removed his shirt. I felt so exposed.

“Open your legs,” he instructed.

The way he said it made something hot coil and flex deep in my womb.

“Show me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom packet and put it on the table.

I wanted to see him rip it open and roll it on. I wanted his hard cock ready to be inside me. It was the urgent sense of need that made me braver. I parted my thighs a couple of inches, exposing myself to him.

It was enough, Armand acted on it. First he inserted his fingers between my thighs and stroked them up and down over the soft, sensitive skin there. I began to pant, my hips rolling against the hard surface of the table. Still he stroked me. When the muscles in my thighs began to relax, he lifted my stockinged feet and put them flat to the table, forcing me to plant them wide apart, exposing my pussy fully. The sound of my blood rushing thundered in my ears. For several long moments that and the music were the only sounds in the room. Armand stood between my open legs in silence, apparently admiring me while I was so thoroughly debauched and displayed.

“Beautiful.” He stroked his fingers up and down my damp folds.

I cried out, the tantalizing touch like torture when he made contact with my swollen clit. My hips rocked again. I wanted to rub myself against his hand, desperate for release.

“Easy.” He arrested my jaw in one strong hand, making me meet his gaze. “I’m going to prepare you now,” he whispered, “then I will fuck you, and I will need to do it hard.”

The statement left me speechless, but I didn’t need to respond because he ducked down and dipped his tongue into the damp groove of my pussy, rolling it back and forth over my swollen clit. The rush, the relief, the pleasure—for a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. Then the lap of his tongue forced me to pant aloud. He had his hands planted either side of my hips on the table, his shoulders gleaming while his mouth engulfed my swollen clit—eating me from his dining table as if I was a delicious meal and he was a starving man.

His cologne and the scent of his body danced through my senses, making me want him even more. His hands were now wrapped around my buttocks as he lifted me to his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders rippled. All the while his words repeated in my mind, his promise to fuck me hard making me wilder still. My breasts ached, the nipples needling with sensation. My clit felt unbearably tight and hot, but his rapid tongue movements were pushing me ever closer. Then he grazed my tender flesh with his teeth and the release barreled through me. He pushed his tongue inside me, collecting my copious juices.

I was still gasping for breath when I heard him rip open the condom packet. I glanced down in time to see him rolling it the length of his erection, which arched up from his hips. My sex, still in spasm, clutched in anticipation. A moment later he hauled my hips closer to the edge the table, moving me bodily across the surface so that I was positioned right at the edge and my legs dangled free. Never had I been so thoroughly manhandled, and never had I felt so deliriously high on something that I might consider base and primal if I was asked to think about it for too long.

When I felt the blunt head of his cock pushing at my slippery opening, my fingers curled into my palms. I remembered his warning. I wasn’t ready. I felt too vulnerable—too exposed and sensitive, with my sex awash and swollen. But Armand had warned me, and he moved into position quickly, thrusting the hard length of his cock into me in one swift maneuver, stretching me, filling me and possessing me to the core.

“Armand!”

The pressure of his crown against my center sent an aftershock through my entire body. My torso lifted from the table, my hands latching on his shoulders.

He scarcely gave me a moment before he had me flat to the table again, my legs over his shoulders while he worked his length in and out of my sensitized sex, his hands on the table for purchase while he drove himself into me, relentlessly.

I was back at the precipice in moments, my groin alive with sensation.

The table was strong but shifted under us as he banged into me. His forehead gleamed, the depth and rhythm he maintained pushing us both closer. I could hear the slick pull of my wet pussy as he worked his cock in and out. My sex was sensitive to the point of being in pain, and yet it felt glorious. I was so close to coming again that my back arched and my fingernails bit into my palms.

Armand leaned closer still, bending my legs under him, his weight against my pussy. Again I flooded. The release was so great that I felt dizzy even though I was flat on my back, but the hard rod of his cock inside and the pressure of his body against my clit kept me there.

The muscles in his shoulders and neck stood out, his eyes closing.

His cock stiffened, stilled and jerked repeatedly. Another wave hit, my thighs shuddering as my every nerve ending was strung out with the raw pleasure of multiple orgasms brought o

n by this man.