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From: AnneArbor@hotmail.com
Subject: {ASS/M} "Hold Me" by Anne Arbor (MF) <*>
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Hold Me
      by Anne Arbor

   The first few times we had sex, we made love.  It was sweet, it
was romantic.  I'd showered late in the afternoon, or taken a long
bubble bath.  Put on my frilliest underthings.  Carefully dabbed on
the lightest of makeup, with the most subtle come-hither red lipstick
and swoosh of Clinique body power.  Picked out the most feminine of
silk blouses and not-too-tight not-too-short skirts, with matching
medium heels.

   And after dinner and a movie, or that party at Gerry and Joan's,
or the evening in the City at the symphony, we'd find ourselves at
his place or at mine.  Standing at the foot of the bed, he'd slowly
unbutton and unsnap me, and I him.  Nervous hands, sometimes almost
trembling, and wet open-mouthed kisses of anticipation.

   I'd be on my back for the longest time, holding my lips apart
like a butterfly's wings while his mouth played in my honeyed folds,
his tongue and lips making close friends with my clitoris and my
fragrant mysteries.  I let my pubic hair grow wild and untamed
in those days for some lovers.  I wanted them to unwrap me that
first time, to get past the frilly feminine trappings and discover
the animal within.  When they got into my pants they were always
surprised.

   Or he would lie back and I would explore him, from the tiny
pebbles of his hard nipples to his flat, furry belly, and eventually
to his velvet-skinned stiffness, always insistent, always leaking.
My tongue would lick him from base to tip, in long straight paths,
marveling at how he would quiver and throb as I passed over each
bump and ridge on my way to that distinctive mushroom head with
its dark rim.

   And when I would finally take him into my mouth, at first just
the barest inch of promise, then soon thereafter a plunging
engulfing of his entire shaft, he would gasp and squirm in my
wet grasp and leak even more.

   He was a slow and patient lover.  He entered me gently, almost
hesitantly, making sure that every gradual step was met by a
willing and slippery welcome.  When he was finally and completely
inside me, he would just soak there for a time, while I relished
the stretching hardness of him.  He was alive in my vagina, and I
was alive snugly enveloping him.

   And then he would move.  Tiny little circles at first, then
larger circles, then long smooth strokes that teasingly ricocheted
off one side then the other.  My legs would wrap around his strong
back and I would open myself up to him, feeling creamy slick and
yielding.  My fingers would play on his back or in his hair, and
he would kiss my red lips as I nibbled on him and sucked in his
tongue the way my red-lipped cunt was sucking in his cock.

   Gentle touches.  Soft sighs.  "Are you ready?" he would whisper,
and when I replied "Yes" he would quicken his movements.  We built
together, matching my upthrusting hips to his downthrusting curving
tool.  I was inflamed and panting, my juices melting from the
heat of my loins to lubricate his thick, stabbing erection.  And
when he whispered "Now!" and throbbed and spurted inside me, the
raw excitement of his climax and the warm fluid flow of his semen
would trigger my own polite quivering orgasm.

   We would slip apart, still kissing and touching, showering
together only when my nipples lost their hardness and his penis
shrank back into the stickiness of his bushy pubic hair.  He would
dress and leave me after feathery parting kisses, or we would both
dress and he would drive me home.

   "What would you like me to do tonight?" he finally asked me one
evening, his face smeared with my pussy nectar, his rigid pole
poised and ready to engage.

   "Hold me," I told him.  "Hold me tight."  He wrapped his arms
around me.

   "No," I said.  "Hold me down."  I curled my arms above my head,
and his hands followed.  "Take me.  Hard."

   His hands gripped my wrists, not roughly, but not gently either.
"That's it," I whispered.  His legs straddled outside mine.  His
cock prodded and fumbled to find my opening.  I rocked my hips
from side to side, half helping, half not.  With a grunt he was
in, thrusting firmly until it was fully seated, the friction
dragging my labia and pulling on my clit and making me shiver.
Now his legs constrained mine from the outside, pushing my knees
together.  His cock felt huge.  "That's it," I repeated.  "Now
fuck me."

   He fucked me.  Fucked me with short halfstrokes that bottomed
out with a straining bending push.  My clit twitched endlessly
as he fucked me with that huge cock of his.  My body squirmed
hopelessly under him, pinned down, my arms unable to move.

   My whimpers turned into moans, and then into gasping, almost
screeching animal noises.  "Fuck me," I growled at him, "fuck my
cunt.  Do it."  He worked his prick in me, stretched me in broad,
twisting motions that felt as if he was tearing me deliciously
apart.  "Fuck me!"

   He fucked me.  My body shuddered with his every pounding thrust,
his back arched, my breasts wobbling freely beneath his chest,
his fists tight around my wrists.  I fought to release my hands,
and when my right hand slipped away from his sweaty grasp I raked
red fingernails across his back.  He growled and snatched it,
returning the escaped hand to join the other.  "Hold me tight,"
I grunted at him, and now he knew why.

   I came in a blind rush, that first one, arriving so fast it
surprised me.  He kept fucking me, relentlessly, as my body
stiffened and my cunt spasmed around his hardness.  Now wetter
and more inflamed, he kept me on the edge, allowing me no relief.
I came a second time, almost as hard as the first, then a minute
later a third, blessedly weaker.

   I was frenzied, fighting against his strength with all my
might.  "Oh fuck fuck fuck," I gasped.  He groaned.  My legs
struggled to get free.  "Let me," I pleaded, "around you."  He
raised one leg, then the other, and I wrapped my legs around his
hips.  Now he was impossibly deeper.  I felt him all the way up
inside me.

   "Now fuck me," I demanded, "fuck me like a slut."  He pummeled
into me, and I squealed with the pleasure of it.  He slammed his
hips against me, filling my slick cunt with his cock that wanted
all of me, as fast as he could.  "Harder," I pleaded, "faster,"
and he tried.  I held myself open to him and his belly slapped
against mine, liquid smacking sounds, the clickety-clack of
lubrication as he pistoned in and out, always in and out.

   His wail was almost imperceptible at first, then grew over a
the span of a dozen strokes until it hit him, a grunting groaning
impaling thrust that buried him seemingly into the pit of my
stomach.  I never felt his spasms that time.  Mine were so
overwhelming.  I felt my entire vagina clamp down on his steel-
hard flesh, one long drawn out almost muscle cramp of a clench,
with something everything pulsing inside me and everywhere
around him.

   We locked together, a lewd tableau of two bodies connected at
a fulcrum point of twitching, throbbing slippery heat.  And when
the tension melted, this time we were both breathing too hard
for gentle kisses.  His body, then my body, then his again would
shudder.  Two horses past the finish line, straining for air.

   Almost as an afterthought his hands relaxed their grip on my
wrists.  Only then did I feel the throbbing and the blood flowing
back into my cramped fists.  I opened them, flexing the creaking
muscles.  His cock, now softer and more flexible, was still
meaty in my tender grip.  He remained socketed inside me.  "I
hope I didn't surprise you," I whispered.

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