“Over the Desk!”

“All right,” Amy nods, drawing me over to her desk and turning me toward it, “Lay your chest against the top, stretch out your arms across it, and trust me.” I've more-or-less always trusted Amy, and that's never bitten me in the ass, even once.

I bend forward, trusting Amy implicitly, since she wants to fuck me hard. I look over my shoulder as my chest presses onto the desktop. I stretch my arms upwards, past my head, draped across the desk, resting my cheekbone atop one upper arm.

“Like this?” I ask, and Amy nods as she retrieves the lubricant from her nightstand and returns. The fact she has prepared, that she was ready for this, tells me a lot. Of course, she probably only bought it last night, prepared doesn't mean months.

It doesn't even mean weeks. That's just Amy: totally ready could mean literally anything. It could mean last night, two days ago, four weeks ago, seven months ago, or five minutes after high school graduation. It didn't actually tell you anything.

I felt the oil as she poured it down the crease of my ass, and then felt her fingers, sliding down it. She'd bathed me rather thoroughly in the shower, which made this that much simpler for her. I arch my spine, as Amy's middle finger slides in.

Amy cups my ass with her free hand, resting her palm on my left cheek and splaying her fingers. She presses firmly and steadies me against her desk, sliding one finger to the root, then sliding it out. For ten strokes, her finger slides, alone.

Her forefinger joins, for ten more, readying me to accommodate her thickness. I can feel her shaft, slick and oiled, now, readied to take me. Her cock is easier to prepare than my ass, though, and a third finger joins the first two, inside of me.

For ten minutes, Amy works her fingers, preparing me thoroughly. I maintain eye contact the entire time, looking over one shoulder. When her fingers withdraw, and she dries them on a towel, I wait, arching as I feel her crown pressing in.

I moan soft, feeling her glide across my prostate, angling her hips to press against it all the way in. My fingers and hands stretch, flexing against only air, just as she commanded. I maintain eye contact, even as my eyes flutter, and I shudder.

“Amy! Oh ... !” Her lips curl into a sweet smile with a faint, smug edge to it, as her fingers clamp down around either hip. Her cock slides deep, as she drives herself to her hilt, until her balls touch my ass. Amy strokes gently down my thighs.

“That's right, that's a good little faggot,” Amy growls low, her voice a sweet, rapturous rumble, as her hands slide back upwards, returning to my hips. Her grip tightens, and she slides her cock out of me, and then slams forcefully back in.

Her eyes remain fixated on mine, searching, evaluating. When her thrust nets only a low, tremulous moan from me as her cock slams across my prostate, she grins. “There we go, slut. Now you're ready to take a pounding and enjoy it properly!”

“Evil!” I accuse, perfunctorily, any attempt to even feign seriousness ruined by the soft, quivering moan she drags from my lips by drawing back. She grins at me, slamming back in, and then spanking me hard, one cheek and then the other.

“Lying whore!” Amy scolds me mischievously, squeezing my ass, kneading the gluteal musculature, then spanking me, again. Her cock grinds backwards, and she slams herself in, starting to fuck me now, with a relentless, demanding pace.

Author's Note:
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