Press

14 July 1964

Paul's success came with plenty of women throwing themselves at him.

He was already beautiful, getting a fair bit of attention, but it seemed the fame made him much more irresistible. Being who he was, Paul was much obliged to indulge in it.

You certainly weren't naive to Paul's love for fucking women. They could be gorgeous or plain, innocent or experienced, Paul didn't mind. His passion for a good shag might even rival that of music.

Despite his cute face, he wasn't a beacon of purity. He loved their hands on him, a nice hot cunt to fuck.

It wasn't that you were a sentimentalist. You didn't really mind him sleeping around. He deserved it, reaping the fruits of his success. You liked the mental image of Paul with his silly grin, happily fucking various broads in rapid succession.

However, it rubbed you the wrong way whenever you heard news of his latest conquest, or saw physical evidence of it.

Perhaps it was possessiveness. You hated the thought of him getting pleasure from others, them hearing his sweet noises. You didn't like sharing your things.

Despite yourself, you found yourself being harder on him those nights where you found indications of his promiscuity.

You had his delicate wrists bound over his head, tied to the headboard, his fly undone. Paul's lips were wet and raw, pink from being kissed so harshly. He was already quite hard, straining whilst exposed, though not getting any attention.

You nipped at his neck, leaving little marks, and kept kissing him roughly, but all Paul did was raise his hips and whine. Such a needy thing. He needed to learn to wait for things.

He leaned into every touch, searching for your hands, begging for you to touch him closer. His voice was so sweet and hypnotic. You could nearly be swayed by his charms as everybody else was. All he got were "yes" and "of course" when it came to sex. Not tonight though.

You caressed his lower navel. A pleasant sensation, yet frustratingly close to where he needed it most. His pubic hair only but grazed your knuckles.

"Don't be a tease, sweet." Paul whined.

He was trying to implement his famous charm, yet unable to keep his voice steady.

You simply shushed him. You went to unbutton his shirt. Paul's tie was already loose, and you'd discarded his vest and suit jacket a while back.

You left his unbutton shirt hanging off him, and went to pull off his fitted trousers. Paul eagerly raised his hips, aiding you in hope for his reward.

You ran both your hands down one of his bare legs. He was always slender, yet he'd put on a slight amount of tone or fat, making his long legs shapelier if anything. It was heaven putting your hands on them, the soft hair.

You took your time on his fuzzy thighs, tracing the tone, caressing the sensitive inner areas where the softest hair was.

Paul's voice showed his enjoyment, but also his frustration. The entire night, you'd given his arousal virtually no attention. You hadn't even palmed him through his trousers. He couldn't even do much about it with his hands bound.

He moved his thighs, trying to get your hands closer. That only made you move your hands lower down his legs, massaging the bend of his knee. He whined loudly at that.

You began to spread his thighs, not needing to apply much pressure as he opened them swiftly himself. Eager.

You put your mouth to the inside of them, kissing and biting the soft skin. The scent of him here was intense and intoxicating, though it originated from his arousal higher up