He is more beautiful than any man has the right to be. As he stood by the window, you could see the flex of his muscles as he used the back of his hand to move the sheer to the side to offer a clearer view, the pale grey light of an overcast and drizzly day put him into glorious silhouette, as the room was slightly darker. His shoulders are wide with tightly bulging muscles. My eyes traced their line from the broad width of his bare neck and trapezius, which corded as he slightly turned his head, over the rounded musculature of his deltoids. He brought male anatomy to life as a warm and vibrant body.
Even filtered, I could see the shaded areas where the long length of them tapered down his arm and to the bend and where the slight furing on his forearms became more visible. His arm was crooked and slightly above his bald head, so that his wide, masterful hand rested at an artistic Michelangelo angle, not far from his forehead, making you think that it looked empty as if it should be holding a violent weapon to match the appearance of the man. You could see the long triangle of muscles which made up the map of his powerful back.
He has small delicate ears behind high cheek bones. Even without the lighting and with his full beard, you can see the hollow beneath them. The shape of his profile was masculine and fierce. He could be a viking or highlander, with a different background in front of him. The wide triangle of his heavily tattooed back rippled with lateral shifting of muscles, of the as it tapered down to a long waist. Two identical dimples on either side of his spine, which would have been hidden beneath the band of his jeans, had he been wearing them, marked the start of the curvature of his taunt buttocks.
My breath quickened as my eyes followed their round firmness. As he was standing at an angle, you can see the delicious cleft separating them, pairing the perfection and bringing me stirring memories of my hands running over them, grasping and pulling him into me. Recent memories of his powerful thighs pushing mine apart flooded my mind. I must have made a noise as he turned his face from the window, looking over his shoulder and smiled at me, so that his eyes crinkled at the corners.
I was laying naked and splayed on his bed, the bed sheets crumpled and tangled at my feet, my long hair fanned in a riotous mess across bunched pillows which had been used in unseemly manners shortly before. His eyes seared my flesh as they left my face, skimming over my naked and still damp body. I looked as if I had been thrown upon his bed in a disheveled mess and left there, unable to garner any strength to move. In reality, that’s almost what had occurred and I could see the stirrings of his arousal and the self satisfied smirk of male pride reach his lips as he took the first few steps, back towards me.
I couldn’t even raise my arms in welcome. The man had spent hours rendering me incoherent. What had started out as making love; quiet, calm, tender and gentle, had turned into the fiercest hunger and demands that were asked and answered without knowing who began or responded. I smelled like him, like our lust, and as he lowered himself over my prostate and sensitive body once again, I felt his lips graze mine and could hear him inhale our mingled scents and it sent a shiver of response along my spine, which immediately arched, so that my tightening nipples grazed the hair on his firm chest.
As I gasped against his lips, I felt them stretch into a smile. He ran his hands from the underside of my upper arms, pushing them above my head as they ran down their length, until he was gripping my delicate wrists in his broad and rough hands. As I moaned into his mouth, he pressed harder to capture the sound and vibration. He shifted his hands, holding both wrists in one of his and used the other to run back down my arms, brushing the hair back from my face and off my forehead. I felt his knuckles drag across my cheek and along my jawline, having closed my eyes with the advent of his kiss.
From my chin, his fingers dipped so that they tracked the racing pulse along my neck, splaying them wide, so that his palm was gently pressing until his entire hand was across my throat; at the same moment he started to slowly and firmly impale me, with his impossibly hard cock. My eyes flew open as I cried out, body involuntarily tightening, pushing forward and into him, and the motion put pressure across my throat by the gentle hand he had completely held in place, so I had to make a conscious effort to keep my head back, so I could breathe.
He raised himself off my succulent body, so he was almost vertically positioned on his knees between my thighs, one hand still held firmly across my throat with the other still holding my wrists pinned so my arms were stretched over my head, and continued to thrust in powerful and meaningful measure. I couldn’t take it. I don’t even know how he could be hard again and the last truth which flashed through my brain, was how grateful I was for it.
My hips were desperately fighting to writhe beneath him, pinned beneath the weight of him, pressed against my pelvis. My whimpering and gasps of pleasure, caught in my throat as my body fought for deeper contact. He growled “tell me” and my eyes flew open to see his face inches from my own “TELL ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” His eyes were intense, slit’s of angry domination. Through a strangled voice, I whispered “cum” “Say it!” he demanded. ‘Do you want to cum?” He had not changed his pace or rhythm. “yes”
“I need to cum.” The words barely crossed my lips before his were on mine, grinding hard against my teeth, as he released my throat and wrists. His cock pummelled hard and deep until he bruised my swollen cervix and in seconds I was crying against his chest, my arms wrapped around his perfectly hard body, with his wrapped around my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. Through a haze of whirling pleasure, I heard him coo the words “Good girl” before the spasms of my powerful orgasm started to milk his flesh and I heard him grind the words through gritted teeth, sounding harsh and angry, “I’m going to cum inside of you. Is that what you want?”
“YES!” Barely able to speak at all, I cried “Yes!” Broken voice, pleading with him “Please! … god…yes!”. And with a roar, he raised himself over me, eyes wide open so that he could watch every emotion on my face as he released himself inside of me, throbbing incessantly so that I felt the searing heat of his ejaculate and his intense searing stare at the same time. And then I was wrapped in his arms, coming back into awareness with his hands stroking my back and side as he gathered me to him and was held and comforted, until I stopped trembling. A deep sigh of contentment left me as I snuggled into him and he softly kissed the top of my head.
This man. This perfectly broken and damaged man, is the glory of my body and I’ve never wanted anyone more, never wanted to please anyone as I do him. I trust him to not hurt my body as he pushes me to places I never knew I was capable of going to and yet would never trust him with the wholeness of a heart he would simply toss aside on his quest to prove he does not need anyone. I may be one of many, but I don’t ask because it really doesn’t matter. I do not respond to anyone, like I do with him. He is fire flashing over me, leaving the ash of destruction in his wake. Like a sudden forest burn, I know the devastation he will leave behind, will eventually become fertile grounds for something tenacious and beautiful, to grow in.
For now, I have the image of this beautiful man, standing naked in silhouette, seared into the long term memory of a mind that will never forget him and a body that longs for him, the moment he slips from my body, leaving the scent of his presence on my thighs, which I wear with the pride of an engagement ring, knowing I am still his, until the moment I wash him from my satiated body.