#WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters Submission: You Won! (#Session7:D3)

The Challenge:

#WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters (#Session7:D3)

#WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters (#Session7:D3)

Liam’s feet ached from the weight of his heavy steel toe boots as he pushed open the door to his house. He wiped the sweat from his lip and pulled at the stubborn buttons of his green jacket, struggling to kick off his boots at the same time.

He thudded through the house causing the cup in the cupboard to clink against one another and plopped himself carelessly in his favorite chair. The chair was a ratty old mess with a torn arm from a kitten he once had, but it was his favorite chair and he could never bring himself to get rid of it. He threw his feet out wide in front of him and flung his arms over the sides of the chair and let out a loud sigh, letting the moment wash relief over him.

After brief seconds of silence, he reached out his foot, pointed his toes and pushed the flat light on his Xbox. It was the one device he couldn’t live without and sometimes it was the only thing keeping him sane. “Welcome Liam” displayed on the screen and he immediately felt at home. He picked up his controller, it’s supple curves fitting perfectly in his strong hands and turned on the same game he always played.

The engine of his blue supercar revved as the countdown to his first race began. When he was racing, he liked to listen to classical music and Bach was blaring. He clicked the right stick once and then twice – first-person is how he liked to drive. He wished he could be inside of that car, feeling it’s engine purr beneath him, shifting through the gears as he raced through the streets of Italy. He was fully immersed.

His toes tightened as he rounded the sharp corners and he swayed slightly as he drifted through the turns. His eyes flickered about the screen taking in the other cars, his speed, the drive line, the checkpoints, his positioning and he held his breath as he made his way from last place to first. He’d simply raise his hand high in the air as “You Won” flashed on the screen.

He lost all track of time behind the virtual wheel and could wind up spending hours in his favorite chair going from last to first in that blue supercar blaring Bach. He’d spread out on that chair and be lost to the world.

They had always agreed that he’d get exactly one hour. One hour of blissful, mind-numbing gaming. Emilia always enjoyed this time, this first hour home. She’d read the last chapter of some book and steal glances at the man entranced by electronics. She’d watch his tired muscles twitch from the rumbling controller and would grin as he smiled at that impeccable stunt he just pulled. He’d glimpse her way and she’d casually lower her eyes back to her reading and his chest would puff slightly at the brief exchange.

The hour had passed and the book was done. Emilia almost never told him his hour was up. He worked long hard hours and if he wanted to play for another hour, that was fine with her. As long as at the end of the night, he wrapped his arms securely around her, he could do as he pleased once he got home. And since his blue Bach blaring supercar pleased him, that’s what he did. Emilia watched him race.

She couldn’t help but feel pride with every race he won. Every time he passed the other players, she would silently cheer in her chair. She’d smile widely as he unlocked one achievement after the other. The sound of his virtual engine buzzed in her ear and she swore she could feel the vibrations of his controller through her seat.

She licked her lips as she watched his jaw tighten through a particularly difficult turn. He was always so calm and confident through these races and those tiny twitches said so much. His bicep flinched as a black truck rammed into him and Emilia was mesmerized by the way the curve of his arm gleaned in the glare of the game. She sat forward in her spot and reached out to touch him.

He looked at her for a second and then carried on with his race. She ran her finger over his shoulder, down his bicep and rested it in the fold of his elbow. He smiled at her and said, “First place again!” and a smile stretched across her face. She lowered herself to the floor and slowly crawled around his outstretched leg. He watched her gracefully pad her way to him, his beautiful blue car crashing into the same tree repeatedly. “Don’t watch me. Play your game!”, Emilia giggled and he laughed out loud.

Emilia undid the buckle of his belt, tugging the leather from the metal clasp. She slid the button of Liam’s pants out of the hole and slowly dragged his zipper open. His car revved through the clink of another checkpoint and Emilia began working his flaccid penis out of the boxers bunched between him and her.

She took him between her lips, letting her mouth relax over him. He gasped at the warmth of her and stiffened slightly beneath her. She let out a gentle moan and Liam pressed the pause button before putting his hand through her hair. “Play your game”, she mumbled into the soft hair tickling her nose and he reluctantly put his hand back on his controller. She ran her tongue up the length of him and swirled it around the tip of him then engulfed him, her breath hot against his hardened cock.

She teased him with her lips, she tickled him with her tongue and she taunted him with her teeth. He wanted to touch her, needed to feel her and he lowered his hands onto her back, the controller still securely between his fingers. The rumbling of the device felt good on her back and he moaned at the sensation he could feel.

The vibration seemed to course right through her. He took his supercar offroad, the only place he was sure to make it rumble, and drove as fast as he could. Her lips seemed to quiver and her cheeks fluttered against him as she pulled off him only to consume him again. She let out a moan and his whole body tightened at the stimulation. “You Won” flashed on the screen and the controller slipped from his hands.

#SundaySmut - #WritingChallenges for #EroticWriters

#SundaySmut Submission: Defining Curiosities

The Challenge:

“For this week’s #SundaySmut, we’d like to see a submission that features a F/M/F threesome (that’s Female/Male/Female, if you didn’t know). How you work that submission is up to you, but there should be three characters – 2 women, 1 man.”

Learn More…

Leanne had always been bi-curious and that was exactly her problem. She could not say she was definitively hetero nor could she say she was homo and she couldn’t even say that she was bi. Leanne hated being curious.

That desire to discover, to define, to know for absolutely sure was a heavy weight that Leanne carried with her always. The curious was killing her. She had been with men her entire life. Currently, she was with a man. It wasn’t that she went out of her way to be with any specific gender, it just always ended up being that way. She always resented the men in her life because they found her before any woman had.

Kody knew all about Leanne’s problems. He knew the way she felt and the burden she assumed. He knew that she didn’t mean to be angry towards him sometimes and he understood her tears over curiosities. The only thing he could think to ever do was hold her and apologize, even though he knew that it was never enough to make the answer a definitive hetero.

Kody had always been open to the idea of threesomes. Threesomes with girls, threesomes with boys, threesomes for everybody. He had never had one before, but was sure that it would be an “awesome” situation no matter what. He had seen more than his share of threesomes in porn to know what to expect, of this he was sure, and he thought it would be “cool”.

Leanne had always imagined that her first time alone with a woman would be like her first time alone with a man: ALONE! She had never imagined that it would happen with the googly eyes of her long-term lover staring at her awkward attempts at navigating the female sex. Never thought that it would be with another person’s fingers and feelings and phalluses touching everything. Never anticipated that it would include the panting breaths and beating hearts and pleasurable moans of a woman, a woman and a man…

Kody knew all the right things to say to sway Leanne’s doubts. “I won’t ogle you two. I’ll give you time to awkwardly explore. We could do it together!” and Leanne would blush at the thought. “I’ll keep my hands and thoughts and cock to myself, unless you tell me otherwise. I’ll just sit back and not stare and I won’t touch.” and Leanne would roll her eyes in disbelief. “I won’t make a sound, I won’t make a peep, I won’t even breathe if you really don’t want me too!”, he’d say with so much enthusiasm that the whole room grew brighter and brighter and Leanne would giggle and smile, her red cheeks melting Kody’s heart and his joy melting the chip on her shoulder.

Leanne knew the perfect woman to be the answer to her curious questioning. She had offered before, when Kody and Leanne had first begun seeing each other and even when Leanne had begun seeing her boyfriend before that, but Leanne wanted to give the relationship time to blossom and grow, as all serial monogamists do. Leanne had met her when she was in college, and they became fast friends, although often didn’t see eye-to-eye, since Leanne was into monogamy and Jenette wasn’t.

Jenette was a perky brunette with a serious thing for women but an even more serious thing for sex. If Jenette didn’t answer her phone, there was only one thing that she could possibly be doing: having sex… And probably with a woman!

Kody liked everything about Jenette, everything except the fact that she never wanted him. Jenette had never even checked him out, not once. Never flirted with him or showed off too much skin around him, never tried to kiss him or hook him up with her friends. Nothing, at all. When Jenette was around, no one but Jenette existed.

It was kind of the perfect setup!

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Mary’s Nails

Although this piece is not erotic in nature, it was inspired by one of The Erotic Writers Group #WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters. That prompt can be found here.

There weren’t many things that Mary was very particular about. She had preferences, of course, but not many things that she was very particular about. However, she could not, under any circumstances, go a day without perfectly manicured hands.

She was verging on obsessive and could often be found touching up barely chipped nail polish or moisturizing her hands. She spent an inordinate amount of time looking at her hands, inspecting them for “imperfections and impurities”, as she often put it. She had more tools for doing her nails than tools for doing her hair and she had four times more nail polish than make up or even clothes!

Eyeliner, mascara, blush, foundation – these things were the obsessions of vain girls. Nail polish though – well, that set the women apart from the girls. It was dignified, it was elegant, it was classy and to Mary, it was utterly beautiful.

Choosing how to paint her nails was always the hardest part of Mary’s day, and yes, she did it daily. It was highly unladylike to wear the same polish two days in a row and Mary never missed a day of changing the colors. Sometimes, she would paint her nails in one solid color and sometimes, when the mood struck her, she would decorate her nails elaborately with glitter or gems. You never knew what to expect on Mary’s nails, but you could be sure that it would be different.

Her routine was long and drawn out and watching her perform the ritual of caring for and embellishing her nails was mesmerizing in every way. It was more than just watching someone do their nails, because for Mary, it was more than just doing her nails. It was completing the whole package, the whole woman.

She would soak her nails, just a little longer than the tips of her fingers, in a dish filled with warm water. Every night she put different oils into the water to achieve different effects. Sometimes, it smelt like sterile lemon and others like gentle lavender and sometimes it smelt sweet like berries and other times woody like musk. She would gaze adoringly at her fingernails as they soaked up the oils, the water soothing her skin.

Softly, she’d dab her fingertips on a plush towel before coating them in a moisturizing cream that was almost devoid of any scent but felt like pure butter upon spreading. She worked the cream into the beds of her nails, along the lengths of her fingers, into her knuckles and around her wrists. She would watch her fingers and hands work around each other the entire time.

A flurry of tools were used at this point, although I’m afraid I have no comprehension as to what for. She would carefully select her tool. Skillfully, she would tend to the shape of her nails, dilligently adjusting each one to match the next. She would hold her hands close to her face and far away from her face, scrutinizing every swift movement the tool she was using made. Her nose would wrinkle ever so slightly if something was off, even just by a bit and a gentle blow on the nail would signal a job well done.

Next came the polish, which she chose with such consideration that it was almost painful to watch. It was never as simple as “Today, I’m going to wear blue nail polish”, it was an ehxhaustive internal debate about the proper shade of blue and the correct brand to use and whether or not to do one coat or two. She fussed over this part of the process and changed her mind often, spending much longer than one needed to on the choosing of the polish.

Finally, when she had picked the exact right shade made by the exact right company, she would turn on the radio, open the nail polish and set it out in front of her. Laying her hands flat out before her, she would take a moment to breathe very deeply, closing her eyes and visualizing her finished product – her soon to be masterpiece.

Confidently, she’d raise the brush from out of the lacquer and with her right hand begin to paint of the nails of the left. Starting with the thumb and working her way to the pinky, her strokes were delicate and steady, coating the nail in evenly distrubuted lines of color until the whole nail was the desired shade of her first coat.

Sometimes, she only needed one coat of nail polish. Sometimes, she needed two or three. It all depended on the shade and brand and she had spent so much time on her nail polish that she knew exactly how many coats she would need before she even began. She would still raise her nails for consideration after each and every nail was painted, the same critical eye scanning for any imperfection.

After she completed the nails of her left hand, she would raise her hand gracefully to her mouth and she would blow every so slightly on the wet lacquer. She’d hold her hand facing her and curl the fingers down to blow on the nails and then would stretch her hand out in front of her to inspect the color, the coating, the artistry. Then, she would move to her right hand.

Since she was right-handed, her right hand was always the hardest for her to paint. When she was a young girl she had struggled with this lack of dexterity and would cry to her mother that she would never be a real woman. Her mother would console her and finish her right hand and when Mary’s mother died, she had no choice but to learn to do it. She always thought of her mother with fond memories as she jutted her tongue between her lips to paint these nails.

And though her right hand shook as she made her strokes, the color came out just as flawlessly on this hand as her other and she often smiled to herself on the accomplishment.

When both hands were completed, she would shift them this way and that, ensuring every nail was done to perfection. She would look at her nails from every angle – upside down, right side up, from the side and in the reflection of the mirror. She would clean up any mistakes and when all was just right, she would lay both her hands flat on the table in front of her.

Exhaling heavily, Mary would feel a calm surround her. She would admire her hands until the polish had dried, feeling very proud of the work she’d done, creating the whole woman.

The #DailyChallenge on The Erotic Writers Group: Challenge Central

#DailyChallenge: The Office of Love

The Challenge:

Use one of the #WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters from this Pinterest board.

I picked this one:

#WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters: The office was empty...

#WritingPrompts for #EroticWriters: The office was empty…

James and I had been seeing each other for sometime, absolutely on the down low. He was well-known at his job and sleeping with another man was definitely not good for his career. I was openly gay and proudly wore the pride flag on my sleeve (literally!).

We had met at a gay bar, of course. He came in with his sister, who is the only person other than me that knows that he’s gay. His sister was determined to help him get out of the closet and while it worked it one sense, our relationship gets more serious everyday and he seems more in denial about it.

James had texted me from work one day.

“I need to see you…!”, he typed from his mahogany desk scattered with stacks of paperwork and files filled to the brim.

“You wanna meet for coffee later?”, I responded, as I did anytime he asked to see me.

“No, need to see you… NOW!”, he replied, almost as soon as I had responded.

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes… Are you ok?”, I asked, already grabbing my jacket and keys. As I walked out my front door, he texted saying, “Just get here NOW!”. I rushed…

When I arrived at his office, he quickly grabbed me at the reception area, his cheeks red and the first two buttons of his dress shirt undone. The receptionist was gone and no one filled the seats in the reception and as I allowed him to pull me down the hallway, I noticed most of the lights off and all the offices empty.

He lead me into his office and hastily closed the door behind him, slamming the lock into place. I began to take off my jacket when James rushed upon me, sliding his hands about me and helping me out of the sleeves of my coat. He threw it across the room and lifted my t-shirt above my head in one quick motion. I laughed as I began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, never having seen him quite like this.

He kissed my neck feverishly and fumbled to undo my pants, struggling to remove my leather belt from it’s loops and pawing at the button that held them up. I grabbed his hands and whispered, “Relax, I’ll help” and he looked slightly ashamed for a moment. I undid my zipper and pulled my hardened cock from my pants.

He gasped and dropped to his knees, hurriedly devouring the entire length of my shaft deep into his mouth. My head fell back and instinctively my hands found their way to the side of his face and I began thrusting hard into his face. He gagged slightly and I just continued on. His hands reached up behind me and grabbed hard at my ass, shoving my cock even deeper down his throat and I moaned loudly before lifting him off his knees.

I turned him around and roughly kissed his neck, pulling gently on the soft brown curls just covering the back of his neck. I reached around in front of him and undid the buckle of his belt. With a great amount of skill, I quickly undid his button and fly and pushed his pants down to his ankles as I dug my teeth into his naked, hot flesh.

As I returned to standing, my cock hitting against his upper thighs, I put my hand on his neck and began pushing him forward, his hands resting on the edge of his large desk. I ran my hand down his back and then grabbed his small hips with my strong hands. He stuck out his beautiful bottom and I was compelled to kneel down. First, I took both his balls into my mouth and sucked hard on them and his knees shivered furiously. Then, I licked across his perineum, my tongue pointed and hard before gently pulling his ass cheeks apart and allowing my tongue to explore his sweet taste. He moaned loudly as my tongue slid slightly into his dark hole and I moaned in response to him.

I stood and gently pushed my way into him, my hands exploring every inch of his exposed skin. I reached up his back and grabbed his shoulders, pushing myself deeper into him and he heaved against his will. I traced my fingers down his back, between his shoulder blades and over the ridge of his buttocks. He shivered and shook beneath me. I pulled him up off the desk and held him close to my body, my hands making their way to his begging, dripping, throbbing shaft.

As I wrapped my large hand around him and thrusted deep within him, he moaned and muttered words you could not understand. He shook his head and raised his hands repetitively. He reached behind me and pulled me closer still and I kissed whichever parts of him I could reach – his arms as they wrapped around me, his shoulders as he raised them up, his neck when his head would fall forward and his checks when he would throw his head back.

I nibbled on the lobe of his ear and he screamed out, “I love you!”, as he shuddered and shot cum all over the top of the paperwork strewn across his desk. I wrapped my arms around his chest and as I released my load into him, I kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you too!”.

#WordcountWednesday: The Handjob

The Challenge:

Write a piece with 3 synonyms for penis, without ever actually using the word “Penis”.

It had been a few days since they had last caressed each other’s skin and she was dying to feel his flesh next to hers, inside of her. He laid on his back as she rested her head on his chest, circling her fingers around his nipples and following the curls of hair down the flattened line of his stomach. He gently flicked his fingers across her shoulder and she laid tender kisses on the sides of his body.

The touch of his velvety skin beneath her fingers was enough to get her wet and the growing bulge beneath the blanket that covered the lower halves of their body proved he was enjoying her touch as well. She flattened her palm against his skin and slid her hand down under the blanket, letting her hands playfully roam into the soft curls of his pubic hair.

He pulled her in tighter to him as she pressed her finger along the length of his shaft, delighting in the quick pulse beneath her pointer. She laid her palm flat on the top of his member and wrapped the length of her fingers about his girth and he rocked his hips gently, without even being aware that he was doing it. She giggled quietly as she begin stroking his cock.

She lifted her head and raised her lips to his, and he moaned deeply as she gripped him harder. She moved her thumb to cover the tip of his head and continued to rub him, slow and hard and then fast and gentle. She twisted her wrist about and he moaned loudly, grabbing ever so slightly at her hair.

She knew she was “hitting the spot” when his pointer finger began repeatedly pacing back and forth on her neck. She continued to stroke his member, harder and faster, lifting her lips to his and pressing her body against him. His hips continued to rock, stronger and faster, until he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, filling her hand with all his sweet juices, each throbbing pulse felt between her finger and thumb.

She moaned and kissed him hard, “My turn now?”…

#SaturdaySerenade: Erotic Limericks

#SaturdaySerenade: Erotic Limericks – The Cane

The Challenge:

Write an erotic limerick.

There was an old man named Yoo
Who crafted canes of bamboo
They made the girls shriek
And weren’t for the meak
And if you’re lucky, you’ll get it too


There once lived a lady named Jane
Who couldn’t resist the cane
With every hard smack
She rubbed at her crack
And immensely enjoyed the pain

Her lover was gentle yet firm
As her bottom began to burn
She yelped and she cried
It filled him with pride
And then she began to squirm

He hit her hard from behind
She had no places to hide
He had had enough
Was done being tough
And laid down at her side

They wrapped up in each other
And she began to hover
In that mythical place
They call subspace
Protected by her lover

The #DailyChallenge on The Erotic Writers Group: Challenge Central

#DailyChallenge: Celebrate the First – It Started at Prom

The Challenge:

Write about a first experience reading or writing erotica.

My first time ever writing erotica (which was technically my first time reading it as well) felt like coming home at Christmas. It was a welcoming experience that filled me with a knowing that I had found my calling. Albeit, I’m not the most amazing storyteller that ever lived and I’ll never compare to the love stories of the ancients, but it’s where I find comfort and peace.

I never graduated or attended my own prom, but my older sister did. And I got to be her date. It was an amazing night. I couldn’t tell you for one second what she was doing all night, but I was enjoying the attention from all the boys at least two years older than me.

I had had a crush on this one boy for pretty much my entire pre-teenhood. By this time, I was a teenager and he was only a year away from legally being an adult. I couldn’t tell you why he was at my sisters prom, because he didn’t go to our school, but it was just another amazing thing to add to a night of greatness.

After hours upon hours of sweating it out on the dancefloor, he pulled me off to the side and we began to makeout, as only teenagers can. Then, hours afterwards, another boy whom I had just met, takes me out to his car and we begin making out. The only problem, they were both boys and what I really wanted was a girl…

That night, after having a wonderful time, we came home and I laid in my bed thinking about the two boys I had just kissed and fantasizing… The image of my fantasy, two girls and a guy, one of the girls being me, just wouldn’t leave my head. It kept replaying over and over and I started to get frustrated.

At this time, I was journaling rather heavily and decided to whip out my journal and hash out this now annoying fantasy. The only part I can still vividly remember, and which is still a fantasy that causes me more anguish than pleasure, is the other girl and the the guy having sex directly over my face as I lap hungrily at the taste of them combined.

Ever since, I’ve often used erotica to get pesky fantasies, the ones that leave you perpetually aroused, off my mind. True story.

The #DailyChallenge on The Erotic Writers Group: Challenge Central

#DailyChallenge Submission: Snap. Snap. Snap.

The Challenge:

Write an erotic piece using the following photo as inspiration.

Photo by Max Maslansky from the Hammer Museum at UCLA

Photo by Max Maslansky from the Hammer Museum at UCLA

The entire room bustled around them, but in that moment all he could comprehend was her. She sat atop his dressing table, her legs opened wide revealing a shapely mound of curly dark hair. He gazed at her admiringly as she spoke softly to him, “You must look your best out there and you must be graceful. And don’t forget to get some pictures of the crowd for me. You promise you’ll be good boy?”.

He nodded his head hazily staring deeply in her eyes. She wrapped her long, elegant fingers around his firm testicle and lovingly brushed powder on his growing shaft. The powder did little to conceal anything on his hardening member, but the sensation of the bristles drove him wild and in the moment he felt as though they were connecting on a deeper, more intimate level.

Her name was called over the speakers spread throughout the theater, and she hastily threw the brush on the dressing table beneath her. She grabbed his head and said, “You know what to do!” and he bent forward, nuzzled his face between her hairy slit and turned and walked out onto the stage.

The lights were hot and blinding and the shutters of cameras could be heard all about him. He slowly raised his own camera up and began snapping pictures of the crowd. Women were screaming and men were yelling out instructions, “To the left. Wooo! Lift your head!”. The more he followed their instructions, the more they cheered, the more they jeered, the more they hollered. Snap. Snap. Snap.

She walked out on stage and the entire crowd went silent. All the cameras stopped and the incessant flashing ceased. The lights dimmed and for a split moment all the faces in the crowd were visible to him. Then, as if the moment had never happened, all the cheering, the flashing, the instructions began again, this time at a deafening roar.

She came up behind him and reached her hands around his chest. She tore the red top that he wore right down the middle and the audience cooed. He was unaware of what might happened next and had stopped taking pictures. She pulled his hair hard and shouted into his ear, burning from the wailing crowd, “Where’s my pictures?!?”. He snapped into the pool of people.

She let her hands fall down around his neck, gripping at the skin along his chest and abdomen, then wrapped both her hands around his now stiff cock. The whole auditorium went up with epic noise, and the cameras snapped faster than you could imagine. Snap. Snap. Snap.

The adrenaline pumped through his veins as his one true fantasy was finally coming to life. Just thinking about being able to relive this moment through all these photos was enough to send him over the edge. As he came, the entire audience erupted into laughter and she laughed at the mess he had made, yelling at him, “Look at that pitiful, disgusting little mess you left there! It’s so gross!” and he fell to his knees, trying to hide himself from the exposure, the pending humiliation and shame.

She walked around him and yelled more mocking words at him as the crowd chanted along. Cameras still snapped and a group of girls, that he could not see no matter how hard he looked, cheered wildly. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face down to the stage floor. He pushed back against her hand and she pushed harder, and he licked up the small amount of cum beneath his nose, the crowd pushing in closer to the stage to get closer shots. Snap. Snap. Snap.

#WordcountWednesday: Gasps of Fear (243 Words)

The Challenge:

Write an erotic piece that is no more than 250 words in length.

His hand reached up and strong, leathery fingers wrapped firmly about her neck. She lifted her chin and looked deep into his eyes as he pressed into her smooth, fragile skin. She gasped, not because of the pressure, but because of the sudden onset of fear.

She trusted him with all her heart and yet, every time she felt the knuckles of his fingers press into the veins on the side of her long, thin neck, her heart raced and her desire to scream was only suppressed by her desire to please.

He smiled, the way he always does, as he entered her swiftly. She couldn’t restrain herself from digging her nails into his arms, as he pushed against her throat harder. They paused in the moment, her eyes filled with fears, his calm and controlled. As she closed her eyes, he released her throat and her hands frantically clung to him as he thrust upon her faster and harder, their chests heaving rhythmically.

He collapsed on her, his entire weight robbing her of her breath again. She was stricken with the same fear as before, this time feeling powerless to his size, not his strength. She gasped and he began gently rocking on her, moans gently escaping between her tightened lips.

He lifted himself off her and kissed her deeply as she shuttered beneath him, opening her lips to take in all the air she could manage, fear turning to enlightened euphoria.