You Feel Like a Dream (18+)

Wickedly Deep

  I put on some music in my dark and elegant boudoir, and I head out to the terrace to have a puff or two. He glides smoothly into the chaise lounge in the back of me " You're devious, you know that love, you really really are....You are so deliciously devious." He says as his so familiar yet rough hands running up and down my backside. Pulling the back of my panties, so the front is digging into my slit, hurting yet feeling so good. He knows just how taut to pull and how much to let go, that I exhale with such moans. " Aye, love, I wanna this again." He says, rubbing my backside, in circles with his thick palms. " I so desperately need this beautiful backside of yours again. I want to feel your tightness, your moistness. I don't know how I am going to live without all you, now that I've had a taste. I haven't even begun to touch the surface yet." Is he fucking for real? I mean, there's more? How much more incredible can this get? I think to myself. He's been inside me every which way. I don't possibly know how there could be any more? If there isn't, then what? If there is what in the bloody fuck could it be? I am almost about to think out loud. I got lost in my head; he brought me back to the moment. " Harlow? Are you still with me? " He says now, grabbing both my backside cheeks and pressing them together. Grabbing on to each side tightly into his moistened, worked, and inked hands. He felt so good on me, he felt so good playing with me, making me want him, to take all of him in again and again. His cologne, although worn off, mixed with his pheromones, was driving me mad with insane desire. I could smell his natural scent mixed, as the breeze blew around us every so often. " AYE My love, my darling, are you gonna let me be bad and filthy? Bloody fucking off the charts naughty, how you like turned up a notch or 2 give that soaking wet cunt and sensational arse a treat since it's all mine, all of it! It's all bloody fuckin mine." He shouts as he makes my ass billow once again from slapping it nice and hard. He leans in and bites my left ass cheek, sliding his wet tongue over to the other cheek, and he nibbles my skin with his teeth, oh how I endearingly love those crooked bottom teeth of his. They can grab my sensitive skin, glistening with his teeth marks. I could feel the indents with my hands as I rubbed my backside, which made me damper than I was a few seconds ago. I could feel my slit swelling and the wetness starting to seep through my panties, deviously lifting my skirt in front of him, "MMMM, ehell yeah baby! " He moaned, groaned, and growled feverishly watching me grazing my hands all over my backside.  I teasingly stopping him and pushing his hands and face away every time he tried to touch any part of me. I love teasing him; I love making him squirm. It turns me on more than any other lover I have had. But I do also love it when he teases me. He does it so naturally, make me wonder about all the woman he's pleasured as he has done for me. There I go racing thoughts in my head. Still, that one stinging question what if he doesn't? What if he isn't? Is this just a fling? I am just imagining all of these emotions and feelings I am having. Once again, he brings me back to the moment as he grips my backside so hard, pressing his face into the skin of my left backside cheek. I hesitated not to stop him, but I did, which only made him growl louder as if he was getting mad, even frustrated. I could hear him lean back, but the clinking of his neck chain.

" Why did you stop?" I ask him, purring, " Cause you're teasing me, and you're in for it now, my darling. Keep it up." He clears his throat, " FUCKING Aye, why do you have to be so Goddam sexy." He moans, rolling his head back and forth.

  Peeking over my shoulder and I could see him stroking himself through his plaid cashmere wool pants. They felt so delightful on my hands when I would grab him have we walked down city streets, before this moment taking place. We were just Tom and Harlow. Now in our own space together all alone, we become one. He lights a smoke and takes a swig of a bottle of red we removed from the cellar earlier. He's engorging through those perfectly fitted pants. His scarf still on around his neck, almost like an ascot. His dress shirt collar up around his neck under his sweater makes him look so fucking cool. Such a rebel, such a bad guy, but sooooo amazingly good and really, all joking aside complete truth, he's perfect for me. Let's see how he handles these next few hours.