Touch Me. Want Me.

I felt powerful. I felt desired. I felt every ounce and drop of his attention on me, as he watched me move.

Rolling my hips and pressing my hands into his chest. Feeling my body shake and shiver with each inch I took of him. Feeling myself start to rise and fall, subtle and slight at first but beginning to grow more and more.

It was a new beginning. It was me in charge now. And I was just feeling out the pace and deciding what that meant for me, what I wanted from it.

And right now what I wanted was to relish it.

The attention and the eyes and the desire washed over me like a wave and I felt it settle on my skin and melt into the heart of me. All those eyes, from him and from all the beings watching in the dark of the void around us, all wanting me with a fury that I could build from, that I could understand.

My body was still tingling from the aftermath of that almost climax I’d had. The feeling of being needed by them was turning that heat into something more, putting me center stage in a performance that I’d never asked for but absolutely wanted.

I remembered the girls at the check-in counter when I’d got my welcome packet. The one saying that I was a heartbreaker in the making, telling the other that I was going to turn heads and everyone was going to want me.

And then all the eyes on me when I’d taken that trust fall into the arms of the wrong man. When I’d been drenched by cold water and my outfit was clinging to me. When I’d danced and gotten close with a girl only to have men reach out for me and need me and crave me.

All those eyes. So similar to now. But now the faces and the bodies were formless, but their desire was nonetheless overwhelming.

Still I wanted it now. I wanted to be the center of attention. I wanted the spotlight turned on me so I could perform for them and so that I could dance, swaying with my hips as I rolled them on the man below me and shifting in my body as I shuddered like a wave cresting over, as I moved with all of myself and felt him throb with need.

“Touch me,” I begged him, “Want me.”

His hands played on my thighs and ran up to my hips. His touch was almost gentle, like I was a work of art he wanted to experience.

I could feel the contrast between the two of us, his rough calloused hands running along my so soft skin and tensing just before they gripped in to me, before they found some place to grasp and hold.

Biting my bottom lip I leaned over him a little and I took his hands in mine. I pulled them up and placed them on my breasts and I felt him squeeze me, his fingers tightening around my nipples as he gave me enough of a pinch that I shuddered and let out a little yelping moan.

“Touch me,” I told him again, “Want me.”

And I know that he did and I know that I wanted him. And I felt him throbbing, felt every inch of him inside of me once more before I rose up and kept on rising.

Taking my time. Taking it so slowly. Squeezing and relaxing the walls of my sex around his thick and throbbing member as I moved, all the way up to the tippy top of him.

Until only his thick head was inside of me. Until I could rock my hips back and forth just a little and almost feel him pop out of me. Until he could feel me and I could feel him and I could feel him pulse for me, throbbing and groaning as he ached to fill me once more.

And then I waited a moment longer, holding his hands on my breasts and holding the head of him in my sex. Waiting until I felt him shudder and nearly break. Waiting until he almost lost control.

And then I fell down onto him, taking him hard and taking him fast and god I didn’t stop.

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