Chapter 6: A Dream Of White Horses, Part 6, On Your Knees

He's looking down on me now, supporting himself on strong arms as he plunges inside me, ram-rodding home. Sweat running down his forehead, he smells of musk and sex. His dark eyes squeezing shut, he bites his lip, then, with a gasp, withdraws.

Hovering over me again, "I'm going to face-fuck you now. Do I straddle you, I wonder? Feed myself to you here on the bed? Or do I get you on your knees?"

He drops to take a nipple into his mouth, pulling it with his teeth, nipping, hard enough to make me yelp and buck.

"On your knees, Kirstie."

He stands and I kneel in front of him. Seizing my hair, he pushes his cock, glistening with my juices, against my lips. "Lick me clean," he mutters. "From head to balls. Lick me clean."

Compliantly, I glide my lips and mouth the length of his shaft, tonguing away the slick juices. But he is flowing now; a steady trickle of pre-cum that draws into sticky threads, glutinous over my lips and mouth. I wipe over the rim and the silky skin of the head, sucking gently at the slit.

Drawing a shuddering breath, he says "Open up."

Parting my lips, he pushes in, still streaming, salty-sweet. He's close now; too close. With a judder and a hoarse bark, he spurts, splashing inside my mouth, over the back of my throat. His hands gripping the back of my head, he holds me there as he spills.

Extending the moment for him as long as I am able, I circle him with the tip of my tongue, but he jerks away.

"Stop, Kirstie. That's enough." With a gasp, he falls backwards onto the bed, panting.

*****

We lie together quietly, he beside me, hands behind his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling "Wow! That was quite a ride, Kirstie. Thank you."

"Thank you. I enjoyed it too."

"When you asked me to manhandle you, I didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I did."

"You've not done that before?"

"No, I haven't. I'm more accustomed to women who want flowers and romantic dinners." He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "You're a bit of a contradiction you know."

"How do you mean?"

"You tell me that you want control of your life, that you want to be in charge, but in the bedroom, you enjoy being... I don't think mauled is too strong a word."

Heat blushes up my face and he rolls his eyes. "Don't be embarrassed. If that's what gives you your kicks, I'm happy to help..." He hesitates. "Is that why some of your previous... partners... didn't work out? They weren't comfortable delivering what works for you?"

"Some of them, certainly, yes."

"You want to meet up again?"

"I'd love to."

"Good." He looks pleased, really pleased. "I'm leaving in the morning for this trip, but I'll be back in the area next weekend if you'd like..."

"Suits me."

"Great. I'll see you in a few days then. And next time, I'll know what to expect. I'll come prepared."

*****

The day is much darker than on my last visit to the beach, overcast and with the breeze gusting cold. Rain threatens, and I decide not to walk too far from shelter.

Parking up near a beach bar, I open up the car to let my gang bound out in a melee of joyous, barking enthusiasm, racing off ahead of me to go chase waves and threaten seagulls.

The surf is much stronger today, the sea roiling, forbidding under the threatening sky. I walk briskly, warming myself against the chill.

As the first raindrops splat fatly onto the sand, I realise that I have walked much further from the bar than I intended. Turning, I see rain sheeting down over the sea a mile or so out, a grey haze that obliterates the view. The downpour is heading my way fast. If I don't get to shelter quickly, I'm going to be soaked.

On the flat expanse of the beach, the only shelter is the cafe bar I left behind me. Calling the dogs in, I sprint back up the beach, racing for cover. The dogs, in a spirit of co-operation, weave themselves around my legs, forcing me to break stride, slowing me down.

I don't make it. A few hundred yards short of the cafe, I hear the splatter of raindrops behind me, and a second or so later, the whoosh of water hammering on to the sand, before it catches up with me, battering through my thin tee-shirt and jeans.

Within moments I am drenched, and the wind picking up, the chill bites through me. Dashing for the warmth of the beach bar, I recoil at the 'No Dogs' sign on the door, heading instead for the car where, as I lift the hatch, as one, the gang jumps inside, shaking rain, slobber and hair over the interior.

Great. The car's going to be wet and stinking for the drive back home.

Shivering violently now, I sprint once more to the beguiling warmth of the bar, fling open the door and then stand dripping on the threshold.

It seems only manners to remove my boots before I go any further, and I unlace them, my numb fingers struggling with the knots. But nothing stops the steady drip of water from my sodden clothing.

"Coffee?" says a familiar voice. "Or hot chocolate perhaps?" It's Ben, sitting at the bar, himself nursing a steaming mug.

"Coffee, please," I say to the waitress.

"Allow me," says Ben, dropping a few coins on the bar.

"Thanks." I wrap my hands around the cup, warming my fingers, but still shivering. My clothes are clammy with cold, clinging wetly to me.

"The rain caught you, then? It almost got me too, but I must run faster than you." He looks at me, brow furrowed. "Hey, are you okay? You really are drenched, aren't you? Don't you have any other clothes with you?"