Delirium Wild

Rated: M

Es tut mir leid. Deutsch ist nicht meine Muttersprache. Oh well. I started and then I couldn’t stop.
Viel Spaß.


Gebranntes Kind scheut das Feuer nicht.
(The burnt child does not fear the fire.)
//
once bitten, never shy

He’d felt the desire to bite her, to mark her. Somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as he could see it. He’d wanted to nip her bottom lip so it bled and then gently, lovingly lick away the blood, simply because he’d known she would allow him to do this; because he’d known it would undoubtedly make her more wet; because it would cause the muscles of her vagina to hug him even tighter; … because he kind of liked the taste of her.

She would have known what he was doing. He knew she was no fool. It wouldn’t have  been the first time he had used his teeth on her when their love-making turned overly intense. The first time it occurred had been a shock to the both of them and he’d been quick to apologize. Physical violence simply wasn’t a natural instinct within his person and sometimes it felt odd.

But then he’d seen her face: the peculiar way her jaw was relaxing; her mouth opening in that same manner as when he teased her by temporarily denying her his manhood, only giving her his fingers–her begging, him hardening; her pupils dilating the way they always did when she slowly sank to her knees before him, her capable fingers wrapping around his throbbing shaft as she slightly pushed her tongue out to cover her teeth so she could zealously take his cock into her mouth.

He had calmly slipped two fingers into her, and placed his mouth next to her ear. “Do you like it when I bite you?” he’d asked her with heavy, heated breath.

“Ja,” she’d said faintly, nodding weakly. She’d sounded surprised.

“Zeige mir,” he’d said, his fingers resting still inside her. “I want to feel it inside you; in deinem Sex.
(Show me.)/(… in your sex.)

And she’d listened, as she always did because one of the greatest pleasures within her life was sexually pleasing him. Because she knew she had the ability to. Because she was always well aware that she did have power over him during these moments: when his fascination with her flesh had morphed into an irritating craving and then into caustic greed; and he was seeing her with less and less clothing each time she walked into the room, and hearing her labored breathing ceaselessly echo in his ears until he finally managed to stop the trembling in his hands.

When he realized he could play the gentleman no longer.

She’d listened because she knew she made his blood hot and his penis hard. She knew what he liked. She knew he liked her, and she knew well that he loved it when she showed him her euphoria. So she had.

She had first dug her heels into the mattress and had raised her hips, driving his fingers deeper inside her, trying to force contact between the palm of his hand and her eager clitoris. But he’d refused her, and had actually removed his fingers from her entirely; and he’d heard her gasp, somewhere near horror, as her hips had fallen back down onto the mattress in defeat.

He’d pushed himself up on one arm so he was able to look down at her, and had placed his other hand on the inside of her thigh: close enough to her vagina to be tantalizing, but far enough away to be frustrating. He’d become a little distracted by the feeling of her velvet fluids coating his fingers and he’d wanted to stick them in his mouth.

“I know what you’re doing,” he’d said in a quiet voice. “And I know you know that isn’t what I want.”

Without delay she had grabbed his hand and had slid his fingers back inside her. She had keenly brought his mouth to hers. “Bite me, Adolf,” she’d said in fast, breathless words against his lips. “Let me show you.”

He’d begun delivering long, slow kisses up and down her neck, exploring her collarbone with his tongue as he’d teased her by occasionally grazing her skin with only whispers of his teeth. Her hips had been hesitantly grinding against his hand, afraid of forcing him away again but unable to keep herself from seeking satisfaction knowing it had been him next to her urging her to orgasm. She’d started to quietly whine as he’d continued to envelope her neck and just above her breasts with kisses, drawing it out, forcing her to beg with increasing frequency for what he’d wanted. Yes, she’d wanted to cum; but she was going to cum the way he’d wanted her to, and when he’d wanted her to.

Until to his severe surprise he’d felt her hand around his tumescent cock. Earnestly, fervently, confidently stroking him with expertise.

He’d bitten her. Hard. Less out of intention than out of reaction.

She’d given a short cry. Her knees had snapped together, and she’d gripped and pulled brutally at the bedsheets. He’d felt the muscles of her vagina desperately grip onto his fingers, constricting with persistence, her hips bucking against his hand. The entire experience–her vagina uncontrollably clenching onto him as her body had literally trembled from waves of acute, unadulterated pleasure from the sensation of his teeth sinking into her flesh–he’d felt it threatening to pull him across his own line. He’d been getting terribly close.

Swiftly he had sat up, relishing the sight of her in such a state. This is what he’d been after when he’d seen her reaction to that initial accidental bite. He couldn’t have hoped for better.

He’d grabbed her knees and had thrown them apart; then he’d positioned himself between them. Her chest had still been dramatically rising and falling with her heaving brought on by the orgasm. A mark on her neck had already begun to deeply crimson. Her gaze had been misted with endorphins but he’d been able to see her already surfacing primal desire to feel his penis inside her instead of only his fingers.

He’d moved to situate himself atop of her, placing his forearms on either side of her shoulders; but he’d surprised her by slightly propping himself up above her, keeping a few inches between their bodies. He’d kissed her softly as one of her hands had tenderly traveled through his hair, and the other drifted to his face. “Show me what you want, Evchen,” he’d whispered delicately against the corner of her mouth.

Her hand had descended at once. She’d placed him at the entrance to her vagina and had lifted her hips in an attempt to force him into her, biting into her lip and audibly sighing much to his amusement when it hadn’t succeed in the way she’d hoped. But he hadn’t had any intention of dragging it out that time. He simply couldn’t have for his own sake.

He’d given her a wet, tender kiss on the lips and had gently placed his fingers over her mouth. And with a deliberately slow but single thrust of his hips he’d finally entered her completely. She’d fiercely gripped onto his body with her legs and whined with acute bliss into his fingers, and he’d known he’d been right to cover her mouth. Though sometimes he simply preferred it this way because she tended to be almost completely silent when her mouth was free for fear she would accidentally make too loud a sound at some point during the act; but when he was the one doing the work of “silence” for her, she didn’t worry about doing it herself which left room for her to make faint noises here and there.

And sometimes he liked hearing exactly what he was creating within her.

She’d devotedly and lustfully embraced him, and had pulled his body as close to her as she could: the heated skin of his chest had been flush against her breasts, and her hands had been gripping his back with such delirious passion that he’d been able to count every single one of her fingers by the nails that were biting his skin. He’d become a little concerned about his own volume control.

If need be, he’d have simply bitten her more. Sie hatte keine Angst vor seinem Feuer.
(She had no fear of his fire.)

This thought, coupled with the view that had been before him–her mouth covered by his hand, an expression of utter sensual intoxication in her eyes–immediately had him fucking her with ferocity and a reckless urgency that had him panting through painfully clenched teeth. Being the recipient of his vigorous thrusting, she’d mirrored the rhythm of his panting with short, muffled high-pitched yelps as her nails had dug deeper into his back.

His own nails had bitten into his palm after he’d clenched his other hand into a fist. He’d been absolutely determined to remain numb to stimulation. His goal had been to force another orgasm out of her. It had been awhile since he’d watched her face from beginning to conclusion as she helplessly came from the feeling of his swollen cock filling and thrilling the walls of her vagina. From his tenacious efforts to drive her into blind euphoria.

So he’d continued to go. And go. And go. And go. Spurred on by the sound of her voice gradually rising in pitch as he’d pushed her closer and closer back to that line again; spurred on by the feeling of her hips fucking him back with mounting excitement and desperation; spurred on by the feeling of her nails marking him all over because she hadn’t been able to find the best place to grip to get that ultimate, dizzying friction. And she’d simply had too much running through her to remain still.

She’d then been desperately begging him with her eyes and her muffled cries not to stop until he had driven her to another one; and while gritting his teeth with nothing less than conviction in his eyes, he’d continued to promise with a steadfast gaze he was going to do just that. He’d deliberately awoken that particular type of madness within her–half for her sake, half for his–and it would’ve been mightily cruel of him not to have done everything within his power to free her from it. He hadn’t intended to stop until she was shuddering and writhing so violently that the intensity of her pleasure had turned against her.

He liked that: pleasuring her to the point where synapses became overloaded and confused, and a special type of pain began to bleed in. God knew he’d been a victim to the sensation as well. This girl did strange things to him, things he kept discovering he wanted to further explore. It had been unsettling at first, then confusing. Now it was intriguing, bewitching, remarkably exciting. He didn’t cautiously step back anymore; rather, he heartily embraced everything she threw at him.

Her own person especially.

Once the doors had been locked things changed. Barriers perished, pretenses turned into ghosts and for once the term “friend” didn’t incessantly poke at the side and desire a wince. Friend and lover were synonymous and this was in a state of constant acknowledgement because this was what matrimony was. This was where husband and wife resided. He’d made it thoroughly crystal-clear to her that she was his wife; that this was the role she possessed within his life.

Vergiss Ringe. Vergiss Heiratsurkunden. Vergiss die übliche Vorgehensweise. Es war ihm egal. Es war nicht wichtig.
(Forget rings. Forget marriage certificates. Forget the customary procedure. He didn’t care. It wasn’t important.)

No more validity was required for this union, and certainly not external. The rest was only pomp and circumstance. And he was often more than willing to prove this the case, particularly beneath the sheets of her bed. Or on top. Sometimes the need was too great and self-control too small.

And now this was where he found himself again as he often did. As they often did. She had traded in one symbol for another: a ring for Knutschflecke (“love-bites”). And he saw benefits to this. Rings were solid and inflexible. Once made that was more or less the shape they would maintain forever. Rings were metallic and cold, and often they held stones that were void of blood and life. And she would only have one to wear. On the same finger, day after day, never changing.

Knutschflecke were different. These were not cold nor lifeless symbols of affection, blood was required for their existence. But they had short lifespans–often only a few days, a week if they were lucky. And this gave him the opportunity to continue to give her new ones over and over, of different sizes, shapes and colors; and if he didn’t feel like putting them on her neck then he could put them on her breasts or her hips, or on her wrists or her thighs. Her entire body was an available canvas for these markings and he took great advantage of this. He liked having the ability to move them and create new ones as the old faded and disappeared. He liked having the opportunity to accept and receive his own markings when her old ones had once again retreated from sight.

They were a profoundly intimate symbol of a living, breathing, continuously evolving love between two individuals, a powerful symbol that was physically felt each and every time it was given to an extent that a ring never would be. Anyone could slip a ring onto a finger; but Knutschflecke were an art that required precise observation from their presenter and the complete trust from their acceptor.

She trusted him fully and unconditionally, she trusted him without pause. So when she felt him pushing her hair back from her neck, she never stilled or pulled away. Always did she throw her head back and thrust herself further into his hold, eagerly presenting herself to him in the way she knew he most desired. Sometimes it was their first night together again and she would be utterly unblemished; other times it was the third round, or the third night into his return home and the skin of her neck and shoulders would unabashedly narrate this truth.

Sometimes he tasted champagne and chocolate on her lips.

He had tonight. Sweet bubbles and slightly bitter sugar had been on her tongue moments before his. It was a sensation that always had him nibbling at her lips and her jaw and her earlobes. It always had him pulling at her hair with one hand as his other yanked up her silk nightgown, gathering the hem around her waist before he urged her up onto the desk within his study. It always had him gripping her behind her bare knees and forcefully pulling her toward him until her groin was up against his. It always had him tugging the straps to her garment down over her shoulders in earnest so he could in turn pull down the top of her gown and expose her breasts. It always had him placing his fingertips between her breasts, gently pushing her back; and as she dutifully fell back onto the desk, without hesitation he slipped her panties down her legs before climbing on top of her.

Then he asked in a low voice “Do you want me to mark you?” and she nodded without offering a word.

He nipped at her bottom lip, bit her neck and sucked on her breasts until she was patterned with red spots of every size and fashion, and he could create constellations across her skin with his tongue. One at a time she took his hands and covered the insides of his wrists and above with kisses, beginning soft, using only her lips until he felt her pinching his own delicate skin with her teeth. He’d always liked her audacity to bite back; and she was always careful to bite him in places that would later be concealed by clothing.

He didn’t have to worry about this so much. This was where he found his silver-lining in her wearing make-up.

But his wrists were one of his favorite places to imprinted. It was so easy for him to slide his sleeve up and reveal her mark to his gaze at any old whim. In his office, on the train, in the car, these symbols were so efficient at triggering intense, sense-laden memories and fantasies, occasionally edging on hallucinations, that he had regularly used them when they hadn’t been living together and he hadn’t been able to sleep because his mind had been fixed on her even though they had just recently fucked; and he had pushed up his left sleeve to lasciviously admire her markings as his right hand went to his still restless cock and he’d masturbated to the waves of sensational images from that recent intimate scene between them.

Her Knutschflecke possessed the potency of pornography against him. And there was something exquisite in knowing he could show his wrists, his pornography, to anyone and they wouldn’t see anything in it at all. It was his, and only his. Even out in the open it was still hidden from everyone but him.

He reached down with his free hand and effortlessly drew two fingers up between the lips of her vagina, moving against absolutely no resistance whatsoever. She let out a heavy sigh, her eyes closing as her legs opened even wider in an subconscious, instinctual response to his action. He put his mouth to her ear. “I adore how wet you get for me,” he said, his voice on that very thin line between a whisper and a groan.

“I cannot help it,” she said, her own words more air than sound. “Du machst mich verrückt.
(You make me crazy.)

His response was to simply grab her hand and press it to the eager erection that was currently still being restrained by his trousers. He didn’t need to tell her she drove him crazy. She knew well enough. And his body plainly and sufficiently demonstrated this.

Then he was looking down at her again, at this young, sexually excitable woman who only ever became even more restless at the thought of getting him off. He gently introduced two fingers into her vagina and she quietly moaned, not taking her own eyes off him. She began to hastily untuck his shirt and unfasten the buttons of his trousers. But he gripped her wrist and halted her before she made much progress.

“Not yet,” he said softly. He removed his fingers from within her and stuck them in his mouth. He had to restrain his eyes from rolling back into his head because she distinctly tasted of home; and maybe he was a little bit crazy himself because things were so heady, but he would swear she had started to taste just a little like him. That same trace of flavor he tasted on her lips right after her mouth had been around his cock and she had delightfully and hungrily swallowed his cum, every single time he savored her silky fluids he thought he tasted a very faint suggestion of it–of himself. It made him feel exultant, dominant, triumphant. This territory was his. No other man had ever been here and no other man ever would; and even if the latter somehow didn’t prove to be true, he would still always be here within her. But it would prove to be true, this he knew; and it made him remarkably hard to know her wetness was made by him, for him and only he would ever taste it. “There isn’t anywhere you don’t taste sweet,” he said after he’d sucked her fluids off his fingers.

Dropping light kisses down her abdomen, he stepped down off the desk and placed his hands onto her thighs. He kissed her hip bones and then his lips slowly made their way down the meeting between her thighs and her groin. He pressed his fingers into her flesh, both to further open her to him and to anchor her hips to the desk. He planted a long, wet kiss just above her clitoris, and her fingers and toes curled from the feeling of his hot breath caressing her engorged, bright red genitals; from the painfully acute awareness that he was so close to the part of her that was screaming to be licked–or even simply touched, she didn’t really care. She just wanted him to indulge and spoil her. She wanted both to feel his mouth on her and to feel him inside her. She didn’t know which she wanted more. She wanted to cum at the mercy of both techniques.

He continued to deliver a ring of kisses all around her vagina, observing good caution to avoid making any sort of contact with her sensitive inner folds. He could hear her breathing turning more labored and desperate as she moved one hand up into her hair and clenched it in fervor, her other hand going to her mouth so she could bite into her index finger. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He loved her when she’d fallen completely subordinate to his physical, sexual authority. It was a sight that provoked the genuine desire to throw away the ritual in favor of immediately possessing her.

But that’s precisely what she wanted. And he enjoyed denying her at first. He liked to watch her squirm and he liked to hear her quietly beg. Not just to get off but for him to get her off. It was always him. His name was always within those soft whimpers that slipped from between her lips and that’s what he really liked.

He liked knowing she could only find her orgasms in him.

He looked up at her face, her teeth sinking into the skin of her finger and eyes pinched shut, and decided to make his move early. Because she wouldn’t be expecting it. She was expecting him to continue drawing it out. In one long, firm stroke he moved his tongue over her anxious clitoris while simultaneously slipping three fingers into her.

“Hah~!” she gasped, the air abruptly getting stuck in her throat as her eyes shot open and she arched her back off the desk, her vagina gripping onto his fingers tight.

But at the sound of footsteps they froze: gazes locked, chests unmoving, heartbeats running but trapped within their ears. The steps were falling far lighter than they normally would for it was clear to him their owner was trying their damndest to maintain some pretense of silence. The individual in the hall wasn’t so much walking as they were sneaking past the room in which the two of them were, to an extremely dangerous degree, in a rather compromising position.

He was certain he had locked the door. She was silently asking him with nervous eyes if that was indeed the case and he was silently telling her that he was absolutely–all right, perhaps it had dropped to about ninety percent–sure the door behind him was locked. He always, always, always locked it…. Always. Because of moments like this.

Uncertainty had never been a friend to him and that certainly wasn’t about to change tonight. It made him feel this odd combination of anger alongside a little bit of nausea. And fuck all that drama, he didn’t need that going on within himself.

But he didn’t dare go over to lock it now if that wasn’t the case. Not while someone was out there. Because then they would know; and he couldn’t stand the thought of someone knowing what was going on in here. His imagination went wild as he envisioned how their imagination would surely run wild. Had they heard her? For exactly long had they been out there? Had they heard him?

That was a particularly unpleasant thought.

Then the sound of the footsteps finally receded into the distance until they disappeared all together; and he suddenly realized his nails were actually cutting into the skin of her splayed open thighs. He released his hold, examining the numerous little lines now deeply imprinted into the supple, white flesh. For a moment, he’d forgotten what they’d been doing, where they’d been headed. He was distracted by the gradually waning fear of being discovered and the tiny marks on her legs. He briefly wondered how long those would last. Would they be there in the morning? He set a mental reminder to check. He wanted to know.

“Adi?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

He glanced up at her. “Hm? Oh. Entschuldigung. I hadn’t intended to grip you that hard,” he murmured, his mind a bit distant.

She sat up on her elbows and looked down to her still wide open legs. “Oh. I guess I didn’t even notice, to be honest” she said with a small smile. He straightened himself and offered her his hand, helping pull her into a sitting position as she pushed herself up off her elbows. But she didn’t surrender his hand once she was sitting back up. She continued to pull him further into her, forcing him to bend at the waist a little as her other hand took a solid hold of his shirt collar.

She brought his mouth back to hers and kissed him ardently. “I’m not going to let you forget what we were doing,” she said. She could see he was about to give some sort of a rebuttal but she quickly reached down and reminded him of the erection he still very much had concealed within his trousers. “Not while you still have this.”

She also could have reminded him that everyone within this house knew they engaged in sex so whether or not they continued on would change literally nothing; but that actually would’ve worked against her. He didn’t like thinking about that. And she very well knew if she tried using that argument, that’s all his mind would be focused on for the rest of the night: people knowing he had sex instead of actually having the sex people knew he had. If people knew he had it, then why not just have it?

Sometimes it was a real trial being his lover. She often had to get creative with her arguments when he was stuck in his head.

But he wasn’t stuck in his head yet. She simply had to keep that from happening at this point. He’d already been well on his way to bedding her until whoever had interrupted them and had caused those thoughts to start materializing in his head again. She only had to halt the thoughts. Still kissing him, she grabbed both his hands and pressed them to her breasts as her legs moved to wrap around his waist.

He allowed this for a moment before he broke their kiss and observed her with an indiscernible expression. “Come,” he then said quietly, taking a hold of her wrist as he began to walk toward the door that lead into his bedroom. She had to quickly hop off the desk to maintain pace, and immediately her entire nightgown fell around her feet in a ring of shiny satin.

“Wait!” she whispered, hastily stepping over the garment as he pulled her along. “My nightie fell off!”

He continued walking. “Do you truly foresee yourself needing it?” He didn’t even bother looking back at her as he spoke, his voice flat and indicating total disinterest. He wasn’t expecting an answer from her, didn’t care for one. So she wasn’t planning on wearing it, but it still felt a little strange to be herded utterly naked through his study…. And he wasn’t even looking at her. What good was her nakedness at the moment.

He was guiding her through his bedroom toward the door on the other side that opened to the small passage that lead into her bedroom when he casually glanced over at his bed as they walked by; and then abruptly he stopped. So sudden was this movement that she couldn’t help but awkwardly bump into him.

Just as she was about to ask why he had stopped, he turned to face her, his hands gently taking a hold of her bare shoulders. His eyes were radiant in the darkness, bright with renewed excitement, illuminated from the side by a touch of unfiltered moonlight that bestowed onto them a pale, silvery-blue hue. He’d apparently decided he was going to listen to his hormones and this made her happy. “Get onto the bed,” he said, nodding to the bed at her right.

Her brow creased with confusion. “In here?” she asked. They never had sex in his bed. That was one of the main purposes of her bed. That’s why it was so big and had a nice, fluffy down comforter and was surrounded by an atmosphere of–

“On the bed,” was his only response.

“Okay,” she said, walking over and crawling onto the mattress, severely aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a single thread of clothing as he watched her with vivid, highly interested eyes. “I just… well, why not my room?” she asked as she maneuvered herself until she was sitting on her knees, her back straightened in such a way that subtly made her breasts look as if they were begging to be held and fondled. This did not slip past his attention.

But he simply shook his head and crossed his arms. “No, lie down. On your back.”

Perplexed as she was, she couldn’t ignore the sudden extra weight of her heartbeat then, accompanied by the return of a swelling ache between her legs and the familiar feeling of being empty–and of wanting to be full again. Full of him.

She did as directed, moving her knees out from underneath her, then gracefully falling onto her back. “You still haven’t answered my question,” she said, her voice weaker, more breathless, as her arms fell to rest up near her head. She recognized in his dilating eyes a growing hunger she was on highly intimate terms with.

“Spread your legs.” Evidently, she wasn’t going to receive an answer to her question. She did as she was told regardless, planting her feet on the bed about shoulder’s width apart; and she responded in the same manner when he told her “More.” She had to take a deep breath and grip the blankets beneath her. His piercing stare, having been exotically bleached by the moonlight was making her brain feel heavy, her throat and chest feel warm, and her limbs feel weak like she was slowly succumbing to drunkenness. She wanted him to quit staring in the way that he was, where she could clearly see he was planning and fantasizing about his next moves; she just wanted him to make them. Thanks to earlier, she had absolutely no more patience left to employ. She wanted his tongue in her mouth, her nipples between his fingers and his rigid cock in her vagina.

Her skin was humming like crazy, and she was sure if she slid her hand down between her thighs she would feel she was dripping wet. She was immensely tempted to do exactly that simply for the stimulation.

But she didn’t need to. He finally stepped up to the bed and climbed on so he was straddling her body on all fours, looking down at her with a lock of hair–appearing raven black amongst the contrast of pearly moonlight and opaque shadows of the room–falling over his forehead in the shape of a crescent. His bed wasn’t nearly as large and spacious as hers as it had never intended to be used for this activity, and this forced him to place his knees flush against her hips on the mattress. Without delay, she suddenly felt him effortlessly insert two fingers into her, then a third. Her back arched and she slightly lifted her hips up off the mattress, instinctively driving them toward his fingers which had begun to expertly and mercilessly attack her G-spot.

She was panting strenuously, and he smiled down at her. “Is this where you like it? Right here?” he asked softly with false innocence, the motion of his fingers forcing her to defer to his mercy. She didn’t answer. He knew damn well that’s precisely where the little bundle of nerve endings was because it never took him more than three seconds to find it. He knew her body far too well for him to be asking such a stupid question.

She knew she was only thinking in such a crass manner due to her heightened state of arousal. In truth, she cherished this ability of his. But she simply closed her eyes and gave a restrained moan, her hips moving eagerly with his hand; and realized she genuinely did not care how she came as long as she finally got across that line. It wouldn’t take her long to refresh, she could focus on getting his penis inside of her later. Right now she simply had to orgasm. That’s all she wanted.

More than anything in this world.

“Don’t cum,” he said. Her eyes instantly opened again; her lips parted slightly; and his fingers didn’t miss a beat. They continued to force her up the mountain at a stable, continuous pace. The mixture of concern and rapidly surfacing frustration on her face was unmistakable even in the darkness. And it made his erection throb hard with delight. Had he not the level of self-discipline he did he was certain he would’ve impulsively thrown this idea away in favor of just burying himself inside her already. But he had something else he wanted to explore with her first. “I know my Tschapperl can show restraint for me.”

“Adi,” she whined, her voice unduly shaky, feeble and truly desperate, “I really don’t think I can.” She’d stopped moving her hips. She was absolutely frozen, one hand clutching the wrist to his hand that was placed above her shoulder, the other back at her mouth so she could bite into her finger again. Her toes were curled from the strain. She was still climbing and she couldn’t stop. Because he wasn’t stopping. He wouldn’t stop pushing her up and up and up and up toward the peak. The peak he didn’t want her falling over. How was she ever supposed to stop once she reached it? The more she put on the breaks, the harder he pushed.

“Don’t cum,” he repeated, his tone firmer.

“That’s not helping,” she whispered somewhat harshly–in a higher octave than usual–through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut again. His burning gaze wasn’t helping either. The disheveled appearance of his hair wasn’t helping either. The top two buttons of his shirt having been undone wasn’t helping either. His distinctive scent wasn’t helping either. The presence of him wasn’t helping, plain and simple. The image, the very concept of him was too exciting, too sexual, she had to imagine something else.

“No, keep your eyes open,” he said, his words hurried, his own breathing a bit heavier, a bit quicker. He wanted to see everything reflected in those exquisite, ashen blue eyes of hers. He desired to see the struggle she was enduring on his behalf, for his pleasure. He loved seeing the precise moment when that struggle for his pleasure turned into her bliss. And he knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold out. He’d already determined he wasn’t going to cease fingering her until, despite having not yet received his permission, she would be unable to keep herself from orgasming; because he wanted to watch her desperately attempt to hang onto her self-control for his stimulation until she finally fell to his manipulations.

He reveled in seeing how much she would do for him. He relished how much that simple action did for her own arousal.

After a moment of hesitation, she finally obeyed, her pupils darting back and forth between his.

And after a moment of charged eye-contact, he unexpectedly and bitterly realized the desire to be inside her was too immense; his own desire to just cum inside her already was too powerful, quickly turning all-consuming and it was well on its way to taking the reigns. Fuck, it already had. The vision, the memory of how ethereal and sublime it felt to have her tightly wrapped around his cock, had without warning broken through into his awareness and it was now the one and only thing he could focus on. And he couldn’t wait, shit he didn’t want to wait.

He wanted her now.

And here she was.

In his bed.

So why should he have to wait. He shouldn’t. He had the right to be selfish and greedy. Didn’t he?

Gottverdammt,” he whispered sharply; and swiftly moved his knees from the outside of her hips to between her legs, gripping her thighs behind her knees and roughly pushing them further apart as he repositioned himself in his haste rather ungracefully. He bent down and gave her a hard kiss on the mouth, his teeth meeting hers. “Release me,” he all but growled against her lips

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her hands promptly went to the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers had no trouble finding and unfastening the buttons, then lowering the zipper. Her fingers expertly navigated the succeeding barrier of fabric which had become somewhat damp due to the persistent yielding of precum over the last three quarters of the hour to at last free his hot, slick, pulsating member. At the moment of contact between her soft fingers and his overly hypersensitive head he enthusiastically thrusted his tongue between her teeth, moving against hers like smooth satin amidst the saliva, their lips saturated and sliding against each other without resistance.

He immediately lowered his body to hers while supporting most of his weight on his forearms and aligned his hips with hers; and with a single, hard and fierce drive forward had concealed his entire unrelenting length within her. And after four subsequent thrusts, he could already feel the warm, moist muscles around his cock madly clenching and squeezing at him with a regular, pulsing rhythm as her hips bucked to meet his with vigorous urgency, the motion motivated solely by her need. A need he had been elevating and elevating and elevating all night long as he continued to refuse her the ultimate release

He pushed her hair back, and whispered into her ear with a thick, fiery voice “That’s it, cum for me; cum real hard for me, just like that,” as her heavy, coarse gasping became more and more wonderfully laborious with her voice seized and silenced by the sheer extent of her ecstasy; and her fingers–which now found themselves buried in his hair–pulled uncontrollably at his locks. Not that he necessarily minded. He liked it to a considerable degree.

Then he securely gripped her hip with one hand so he could drive himself into her with greater ferocity at a faster, stronger pace. The sensation brought on by the amount of friction he was continuing to deliver to the quivering, now tender walls of her vagina was threatening to push her into unconsciousness. She could feel it tingling in the back of her skull and on the edges of her eye sockets. Her mind was becoming featherlight and her vision was starting fuzz and blur. The blackness around her was beginning to sparkle with layers of small, silvery orbs, and circular, white colored fireflies had started darting in and out of view leaving smokey trails of light in their wake as they flew past. The entire room felt as though it was tipping on its side. She held onto him tighter with both her arms and legs, afraid she was going to slide right out from beneath him and off the bed, onto the floor. She burrowed her face into his neck which had become drenched in sweat and whispered his name over and over with every thrust he gave to her, her lips tasting slightly of salt.

And then she felt it. So soon–too soon. It came from nowhere, sprang upon her from the shadows, shocking her.

A short, pained cry slipped from her throat before she turned her head and viciously sank her teeth into the fabric covering his shoulder, instead surrendering her whines into the cotton. She couldn’t help but tremble from the second orgasm that was ruthlessly and savagely blossoming from her loins and coursing through the rest of her body, overwhelming every nerve and synapse to the point where it was edging on torture. Delightful, blissful torture.

Again.

The moment her smarting teeth latched onto him he couldn’t help but let escape from his chest a terse cry himself. Then he clenched his jaw shut, his teeth bared as he hissed. Her teeth had sent a powerful spark from his right shoulder straight to his steel-like cock; and it broke him. He couldn’t hold back anymore, nor had he any intention to. He could feel her vagina zealously, fervently constricting around him again, the pulsations moving through her walls much more powerful than a few moments ago when she’d had her first. There was no point in trying to restrain himself further. She was cumming again and he was going to cum with her.

His nails bit into the tender skin of her left hip as he finally ejaculated, emptying himself inside her and filling her with his semen. He mirrored her movement from before and tucked his face into her neck, his hot breath tickling her immensely sensitive, goosebumped skin as he heaved from exertion, his hips still thrusting hard against her as he waited for the euphoria that had overpowered and conquered him to relinquish control again. For the thrilling and tingling endorphins to slowly dissipate, to finally vanish from his groin. For his mind to come back down. Because right now it had no weight. Sensibility had floated away; and it was strange but his lips were tingling slightly. Perhaps it stemmed from the awareness that he knew she always received something extra from the feeling of him ejaculating inside her; because he could feel her hips marginally grinding against his and he could hear her moaning into his shoulder and he’d felt her grip on his hair tighten to a small degree.

He smiled into her neck and kissed her highly receptive skin. She hugged him closer, nuzzling her own face into his neck. But he pulled back so he could kiss her on the mouth; then he chuckled, and she looked up at him curiously. “That wasn’t quite what I had intended,” he explained, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

“Oh?” she asked, tenderly pushing his hair back from his face. But it didn’t want to be where she’d moved it and instantly tumbled in front of his forehead again.

“I had intended to torment you just a bit more,” he confessed as he finally began to soften inside her, the last of the remaining tremors from his orgasm rapidly darting through his cock which he could feel becoming extraordinarily more sensitive by the minute.

“That’s mean,” she said, giggling quietly. Then she looked to his shoulder, to the unmistakable craters and lines now imprinted into the fabric by her teeth, and pronounced evidence of guilt settled across her features. “How badly did I hurt you?” she asked, anxiously biting her lip. Honestly, she’d been the mean one in this scenario.

He simply gazed at her with wide, manifestly inebriated eyes. And then smirked. “A tiny thing such as yourself could never hurt me,” he teased. “But your fear of the like is remarkably cute. Utterly superfluous; but becoming, nonetheless.”

Her mouth popped open a little and she scrunched her eyebrows. “I’m not tiny,” she said with clear conviction. “Besides, I’m far stronger than you are. That’s just what happens when you strictly live by a stupid diet of only vegetables.”

His eyes instantly lit up. His fingers wrapped firmly around each of her wrists and he pinned them to the mattress on either side of her head. “Zeige mir,” he dared, his grin taunting her. “So confident is the carnivore that she can get out from beneath me.”

She laid there for a moment before saying “I would but I’m sincerely afraid of what it would do to your self-esteem.”

He quickly ducked his face into her neck again to stifle the sound of his laughter. Then he kissed her cheek before sitting up again. “You’re often too much.”

She pushed herself up off the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck to help keep her up. “Maybe; but you know you still love me,” she countered, tilting her head to the side.

His expression softened, and he opened his mouth to deliver his response. But then he closed it; and glanced to the side. He brought one of her hands to his mouth, affectionately kissed the center of her palm, looked back to her and sighed heavily. “Effie, I’m exhausted; and to be frank, I miss your bed,” he said, his lips moving against the inside of her wrist.

She wasn’t mistaken. Those words of hers were accurate. She knew it. He knew it. But he often hesitated in declaring it in spoken terms. Because something within him had him convinced she might be better off if she didn’t frequently hear this admission from him. If he told her this everyday, wouldn’t it make his absences–the days he would never be able to say those words regardless of contact–even more trying? Or God forbid she were to be informed one day that he would never be returning from his most recent leave. It would shatter and drop her into an even worse state of brokenness if he’d constantly been speaking those words to her; if she went from hearing them often to hearing them never again. And what if she finally came to her senses one of these days and decided to leave? He knew she never would if he was constantly telling her she’d come to entirely and unconditionally own his heart. As much as he truly wanted to permanently seal that escape door shut and keep her locked inside with him forever, he’d come to the hard realization he shouldn’t. He often faltered, but that door was still there.

He just… hadn’t told her about it yet. He hadn’t reached that step. But she seemed rather happy with him so he felt he should be in no hurry to inform her at this point. She was happy with him, he was happy with her, ruining the happiness would merely be foolish.

She gave him a tired smile. “I’m exhausted too,” she said. He knew she’d seen it mirrored in his eyes. But this didn’t bother him. She was entitled to that much, at least. And he’d always cared less about keeping up the facade with her–he’d actually become astonishingly transparent during their time alone together over the years. It was a little strange. But he didn’t necessarily unwelcome it. He liked having someone he could be natural with, someone who didn’t automatically see him as der Führer first and instead saw him as simply Adolf. He cherished the change of pace.

He was well aware of how much she respected his position and how proud she was of everything he’d accomplished; but he was also well aware of how much she would truthfully have taken a life with Adolf Hitler the man over Adolf Hitler der Führer. And this was something that made him feel significantly good inside. It made him feel safe with her.

She maneuvered out from beneath him and climbed off the bed. “And if you miss my bed so much, why are we in here?!” she asked as she began walking rather unsteadily toward the door on the other side of the room that opened to the small passage that lead into her bedroom. He rolled his eyes and ran his hand back through his hair.

Her legs felt a lot like jelly. Her head was whirling. And the wall was suddenly approaching her awfully fast.

“Eva!” he whispered sharply. He jumped up off the bed and extended one hand out to steady her while the other shot to the waistband of his trousers to prevent them from falling. He’d forgotten the buttons were still unfastened and the zipper still down. He caught her by her upper-arm and gently propped her up against the wall before he quickly began zipping up and refastening his trousers.

But she slowly slid to the floor. “I’m okay. I’m just a bit dizzy,” she mumbled, her eyes closing.

He knelt down on one knee in front of her. “Head between your knees, breathe deeply,” he directed and she did as he’d ordered. Something within the room was making an extremely high pitched ringing. Or perhaps she had abruptly developed tinnitus within the last ten seconds. Either way, it was unpleasant. And the carpet beneath her felt unusually prickly. Had it always been like this? They needed new carpeting. She didn’t like the way this one felt.

But then the ringing started to fade until it was only a muddy droning sound, and then had disappeared altogether. And she realized the carpeting beneath her buttocks wasn’t that bothersome. It had gotten a little softer. Her head felt like it was anchored and facing one direction again.

“I think I’m okay,” she said, raising her head from between her knees.

He provided her his hand and helped her to her feet. “You know I hate it when you make me nervous,” he said as he steadied her. The sooner he got her into her bed the better. For the both of them, really. He didn’t need her passing out naked on the floor of his bedroom. There would be no explaining that one away if he was forced to go for help….

He’d have to move. Into a cave, or something.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. And it was your fault, anyway.”

“Pardon me?” His fault?

“Yes,” she said meekly as they finally entered her bedroom. He guided her to the bed and gently sat her down. “You love too hard. You messed my circulatory system up.”

“I worry you may possess a faulty understanding of the human body, my dear.”

“I worry you may possess a faulty understanding of me,” she said as she fell back onto the mattress.

He trained his eyes directly on hers. “Do you now?”

But she smiled up at him and shook her head as she pulled the fat, feathery comforter up to her chin, enveloping herself in the fluffy cloth. “No… no, I don’t.” Then she whispered rather drunkenly “You’re a very good lover, Adi.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” he said, grateful for the darkness within the room because he had no idea how to tell her he’d liked the sensation of her teeth so much; and he was reasonably certain his cheeks had just turned a bit pink.


© 2017 Elizabeth Klarke

Happy New Year, everyone. Let’s all celebrate with 16 pages of porn.

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