“That’s my girl.”
I reached for another candle, and red wax met white, and turned pink, pink swirls and splashes on her tender *, and streaks on her gorgeous thighs, and her chest was heaving, head tipped back.
“Mr Roberts… please…”
“Good girl…” I teased the wax at her *, and the downy hairs of her pulled tight and made her squirm and wriggle. Then I let myself free as the muse called and demanded more. Swirls of red wax across her breasts, splashing her nipples with colour, and she was beautiful. I lit more candles, blue and purple and green, and I decorated her, my beautiful girl in splotches and swirls, colour on colour, blending and pooling on her skin. And then I touched her, I touched her pretty * until she bucked at my fingertips, until her eyes were glazed and her breath was short, and the patterns on her breasts rose and fell for me, a living canvas.
I pulled my tie loose as she watched, and she held her legs high as I cast aside my shirt. Her feet landed back on my bare chest, and the skin on skin burned me up. I loosened my belt, and pulled out my cock, working it just a little. I braced myself, hands against the back of the chair, my face in hers, as the head of my cock found her waiting.
“Yes…” she hissed. “Oh, God, fuck me, Mark… please fuck me…”
But I surprised her.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her to the floor with me, guiding her on top as I kicked off my trousers. She straddled me, her warm * pinning my cock to my belly, and she rocked back and forth so naturally, teasing me so gently that the pleasure was excruciating. She was a goddess above me, her hair shiny and soft in the candlelight, eyes twinkling as her fingers traced the wax swirls on her body.
“Pretty patterns,” she whispered.
“Pretty patterns on a beautiful girl,” I groaned. “You’re such a good girl, Helen. You were perfect.”
“I really wanted it,” she said, and her breath was raspy. “I loved it.” Her fingers explored me, fluttered down my chest to my belly and up again. Soft tickles around my nipples, and her eyes ate me up. “I can’t believe you’re really mine…”
“Take me,” I said. “Find what feels good for you.”
The hint of a blush on her cheeks made my cock twitch under her.
“You want me to ride you?”
“I want you to use my body to explore your own. Find what feels nice for you, Helen.”
She raised herself enough to take my cock in her hand, and guided it to her slit. I held my breath as she held hers, exhaling as the tightness of her inched its way down to consume me. It was torturously slow, and blissfully divine, and her expression of wonder was the most beautiful thing in creation.
“This feels so good…” she rasped. “It feels so nice…”
I groaned as she took me all the way inside, fighting back the urge to thrust and buck and plough her sweet little cunt. Her movements were fluid and feline, but shy, so shy at first. She circled her hips in gentle motions, adjusting to the swell of me inside her, and it was bliss.
“Your * is divine, Helen.”
“It feels nice like this…” she breathed. “I feel so full…”
I reached for her breasts, flicking my thumbs across her waxy nipples as she found her groove. Her movements became more urgent, more pronounced. She arched her back and pushed forward, and my cock pulsed inside her. She moaned and ground against me, and instinct took hold of her, she became needy in her rhythm, her lips parting in sweet sounds of lust.
“Oh, Mark… I feel you… I really feel you.”
“Take me, Helen, I’m all yours.”
She braced herself, back arched and her hands on my thighs, sliding up and down my cock so slowly that I had to grit my teeth. And then she shunted, just a little, and the angle changed everything. She circled her hips and whimpered and I knew she had the spot. My thumb brushed her clit and she cried out.
“That’s right, Helen… that’s it…”
“It feels… it feels… strange…”
“Go with it…”
“It feels… I feel…”
“Just go with it, Helen… that’s perfect…”
“Oh, Mark… it feels so nice… it feels so fucking nice…”
And then she was lost to me, a grinding, squirming, delicious bundle of pleasure. Her nerves disappeared, and she rode me, deep and frantically, consumed by the promise of orgasm until her hands were frantic, too, her nails digging into my skin as she attempted to pull me into her. I followed her lead, and bucked my hips, and she squealed.
“Oh fuck! Yes!”
“Find that spot, Helen…”
I thrust again and the noise from her was feral. “Fuck…” she whimpered. “Oh, fuck, yes! Fuck me!”
My hands took her hips and they held her there. And then I fucked her, thrusting into her as she bounced on me, and she was a whimpering, squirmy mess, and it was perfect.
“I need to pee…” she said, and her eyes were wide and mortified.
I smiled. “You don’t.”