Hope I free porn video

“Stop,” I commanded with an authority I'd never before exercised with her. She stopped and looked at me. I got up from the futon and walked past her to the door as she watched me, locking it when I got there. “Where do you think you're going?” Hope smiled bashfully at me, a smile I'd seen only once before, but would see frequently in the days that followed.

I first met Hope in my English 101 class. I was thirty-four years old when I decided to go to college, and thirty-five when classes started. I'd later learn that she was twenty-one at that time. I noticed her first because she didn't dress or act like a typical college-aged girl. She had class. She carried herself with a dignified demeanor, and when she spoke, which she only occasionally did, her words described thoughtful ideas. She was intelligent, and subtleties in her clothing indicated culture beyond Beyonce. She wasn't too cheerful. She wasn't a brooder, necessarily. Stoic would be accurate. Her face had an exotic appeal to it, and I couldn't quite place her heritage. Regardless, she was beautiful, roughly half a foot shorter than me, and appeared to be in quite good health, though her manner of dress was never so vain or shallow as to indicate her precise shape.

I coveted her from the first time she spoke in class, but only in a daydream fashion. I was approaching middle age, balding, and on the skinny side of heavy. She was so far out of my league I almost felt unworthy of fantasizing about her. Her intellect got the better of me a few times, and we did exchange words on several occasions about class subject matter, usually discussing things that were too complex for the other minds to contemplate. Twice, we pirated the entirety of class discussion, openly exchanging ideas halfway across the room, the instructor only sporadically chiming in. She was an absolute joy, for sixty seconds at a time, a few times.

The term ended, and that was that. I'd met someone, sort of, and the segment of life that included her was now ended. I'd remember her, though not obsessively. We didn't even offer each other good luck for our futures. After all, we barely knew each other.

Eleven months later, I was browsing an internet dating site. Page after page of tedious, mind-numbingly, shallow profiles for tedious, mind-numbingly, shallow girls. My standards were high, mind you. I'd “relationshipped” more than my fair share of hot, youthful women, thanks to my charisma, which far outweighed my mediocre looks. Now, as I was looking for companionship, I had the challenge of finding someone who could simultaneously stimulate my brain and my penis, and that was a tall order, to be sure.

Wait! I know her! I'd clicked on the next profile, and there she was. Hope appeared to me in an environment that did not include an Eastern Bloc, college architecture backdrop. I'd honestly not thought about her in several months, and before that only as many times as I could count on one hand.

It was a mild excitement, based solely on recognition. After all, she was still her, and I was still overweight, balding, and middle-aged. Her profile indicated that she had a boyfriend, and was “authorized” to be looking for playmates, primarily female playmates. I actually smiled to myself. Of course she was bisexual. I felt like such a dunce for not thinking of that, even though I'd had no reason to.

Without any expectations, other than summary dismissal, I messaged her. “Fancy meeting you here. How go things?” Thus began a sporadic exchange that lasted a couple of weeks, in which we got to know each other better. I was single, had been for a few years, and only recently was interested in dating again. She was in a non-monogamous relationship with her boyfriend, and was trying to enjoy the sexual freedom afforded her by her agreed-upon arrangement. Her description of herself and her life played out like it probably would have in my mind, had I bothered to contemplate such a thing. Again, she was so far out of reach that there would be no point. Then, the impossible happened.

“My beau is out of town. Do you want to come over?” It felt like every pint of blood in my veins had suddenly rushed into my head. I read and re-read her query, questioning every word to ensure that I could not be misunderstanding what I was reading. I couldn't comprehend. As much as I struggled, I was unable to accept what I was seeing. There must've been some kind of mistake. It simply was not possible for Hope to invite me to her home in her beau's absence, indeed because of her beau's absence. I was dizzy, and had become an imbecile. I was a dizzy imbecile.

“Well, I work until eleven, so...” Somehow, all of my nightmarish tribulations had occurred in half a second, and completely on autopilot, I had managed a completely normal response. She messaged me her address.

Jesus Christ, that's like three blocks from work! It kept repeating in my head. She was three blocks from where I sat at that desk at that very moment. I was a nervous fifteen year old, trying to keep my wits about me, trying to not explode in excitement all over the office floor. Somehow, I managed. “How does eleven fifteen sound?”

“Call me when you get here. I'll come down and let you in.”

I had a date. I had an impossible dream date. No dinner. No movie. No drinks. Pass go, collect two-hundred dollars.

That night, we talked about everything important and meaningless. Relationships at the start evolved into sexual desires into deep sociological discussions into musical expression into... Some time, several hours later, I finally had to excuse myself, as my old bones had tired to the point of collapse. Except they weren't old bones anymore. I was a man. I was important. I was relevant.

We touched each other not a single time that night.

We became the best of friends over the next several weeks. Best friends with benefits... Of sexual innuendo. We talked, and described, and joked about all that we craved in our sexual lives. Her boyfriend was all but utterly absent; his work took him away for weeks at a time, and he was absent more than present. In his absence, I became her go-to. We'd go to dinner (I joked to her, “So it's just you and your daughter this evening, Mister Murphy?”), go out to movies, stay in for movies. She became such a fixture in my life that I gave her a key to my house and bought her a pair of house shoes. She could come and go without knocking, whenever she liked.

We never consummated the arrangement. Not once.

She wanted to submit to me, and I wanted to dominate her. We talked ad-neuseam about fantasies, experiences, desires, desires for one another. I described, in detail, things I wanted to do to her. I wanted to chain her in my basement. I wanted to fondle her to orgasm in a restaurant. I wanted to expose her in public. I even remarked to her once, before we both egressed from my car, “We've established a level of trust. In fact, I'm relatively certain that I could do anything I wanted to you and you'd let me.” She smiled hopefully at me, and somehow I wasted the moment, again.

A week later, Hope and I were camped on my futon, she on one side, I on the other. She'd brought another Guy Ritchie movie over for me to be introduced. We were talking about something relatively meaningful in her life, prior to starting the movie. She had started making a statement, then paused, trying to find the right words. Her mind and my own were often synchronized, and I often finished her sentences. This time I tried, and failed.

She half-heartedly frowned at me. “That is not at all what I was going to say.” She then got up, and started to pass me before making her way to the door. She looked me in the eye, smiling, “You know, I'll put a lot of things in my mouth. Other people's words is not one of them.” Then she moved toward the door.

With that final suggestion, and all the stored sexual energy exchanged with her over the previous few months, I finally succumbed to the pressure.

“Stop,” I commanded with an authority I'd never before exercised with her. She stopped and looked at me. I got up from the futon and walked past her to the door as she watched me, locking it when I got there. Ever so calmly, “Where the fuck do you think you're going?” This was the moment.

She just stood there, half-smiling at me. I could see in her smile both hope and apprehension, but nothing less than excitement. Now that I'd spoken, she'd comply, and there was a relief expressed on her face. “It's getting late, and I'm going home,” never betraying her smile.

“Not yet, you're not.” I had emerged. I didn't think about why it had taken me so long. I didn't think about anything, really, except that I was going to get what I wanted now, and she would give it to me with gratitude.

“No,” she playfully questioned.

“No. And you should fucking know better.” I paused to gauge her reaction. I was in the clear. “Take of your shirt.”

She showed no sign of objection, smile still in place, and paused only briefly before she unbuttoned her blouse, then shrugged it off her shoulders. I was already rock hard before giving the command, and I ridiculously hoped that somehow she could not see my excitement. Once she had finished shedding the garment, she dropped it on the floor next to her.

“No,” I barked softly, but firmly. “Pick it up.” She began to kneel when I stopped her again. “No.” She stood upright to face me. “Turn to it, bend at the waist, and pick it up.” She smiled her understanding. Her skirt was mid-thigh, and as she bent, the hemline rose to the bottom of her bum. She moved slowly, understanding the purpose of the exercise, bending with astonishing grace as she reached for the cloth. She moved past it, her hands fully open, palms facing the floor. Her open hands pressed the cloth firmly to the floor before rising slightly and closing her fingers around the fabric. She wanted me to know how flexible she was, that she could go all the way down, and I observed, outwardly cool, and inwardly shaken.

Once she had slowly returned upright, her upper form was revealed to me for the first time. She was toned, but not muscular. Lean, but not malnourished. Her form was perfect. Her skin was uniformly fair, without scar, without blemish. I had only imagined, but she was all that I'd imagined she'd be.

After several moments, I commanded, “Fold it, and give it to me.” She handed it to me without a moment's hesitation. “Take off your house shoes and socks and skirt.” She didn't waste a single moment. Without displaying a sense of urgency, she calmly obeyed my instructions, removing the shoes and socks without spectacle. Then, she turned turned away from me, anticipating what I would want, and bent at the waist only as she slid the cloth of her skirt carefully all the way down to her heels before raising her feet to allow it clearance. I watched in awe as the rest of her body was revealed, her perfect form displayed before me, hands holding the recently removed garments. Her bra and panties matched, in black mesh and lace, and I wondered if she wore similar every time we were together, in hopes that I would see them. My knees were somehow motionless, but weakening by the moment.

I tried not to hesitate or stutter. “Put your socks inside your house shoes, and give them to me. Then fold your skirt and give it to me.” She was beginning to understand what I wanted, and how I wanted it, and needed no more correction. She handed me the shoes, then the skirt, then stood patiently awaiting my next words.

I wanted to stretch the moment as long as possible. “Turn around.” She swiftly, and with grace, obeyed. Now, with her back to me, “Take off your bra.” Her hands moved to the front of her chest, out of my view, and I wondered if she'd worn a front clasp just in case this was the night we'd both been waiting for. She moved her shoulders slightly behind herself, and she was rid of the garment.

“Cover your breasts with one arm, and hold your bra in that hand.” I wanted to confuse her, throw her off-balance by insisting on a false display of modesty. It appeared to work, because her body shifted ever so slightly, and she hesitated for several moments before shifting the bra to her right hand, then moving that arm to cover her breasts. She looked down, likely to ensure that her nipples were appropriately hidden. Once she'd settled, I continued. “Now, with your left hand, take off your panties.”

Watching her with this task was a treat. The beginning was easy enough. She moved her left hand from left to right and back again, legs barely more than slightly parted, inching the black lace fabric down her perfectly proportioned waist and hips. Once the band had cleared her hips, however, her actions became increasingly comical. She knew I wanted her to bend at the waist, and she did her best to oblige, but it was clear that the farther down she went, the more she had to focus to balance her weight as she shifted her one arm to and fro, left and right. She was good, though, and I admired her balance nearly as much as I admired her utterly perfect ass.

Once she'd stepped her feet out of the panties, she slowly, with obvious intent, rose upright again, panties in her left hand at her side, her breasts still covered by her right arm.

“Now cover your pussy with the panties you're holding in your hand, and turn toward me.” She turned, and her appearance in this state was simply mesmerizing. Here she stood before me, the final means of modesty held in the very hands that substituted in their absence. Her medium breasts were barely held in check by the one arm, while a neatly trimmed layer of nearly black pubic hair escaped the shadow of her opposing hand, and the minuscule sheer garment hanging from it. She was gorgeous.

I inhaled sharply and noticeably before composing myself and my expression, and spoke again. “Sinister, or dexter?” I knew she would not so easily be confused, as intelligent and knowledgeable as she was. I was mistaken.

“I don't understand.” Her voice was stronger than my psyche, at this point, but she hesitated, and I was in disbelief that I'd tripped her up.

“Pick a word,” I said. “Sinister or dexter?” Without context, her choice would be obvious.

“Sinister.” I couldn't help but smile.

“Reach out your left hand, and give me your panties.” Her smile expanded so as to expose some teeth, as she slowly pulled her left hand from in front of her legs to extend it to me, offering her panties. I stared her straight in the eye from the moment I issued the command, neither of us flinching. I was a thirty-six year old, fully clothed man, and standing before me was a fully naked and exposed twenty-three year old example of nubile perfection, offering the of the last vestiges of her fabric to me.

I stood there, motionless, for several seconds, as her hand stayed extended to me, leaving her sex fully exposed. I watched her for any sign of trepidation, though I knew I'd find none. She trusted me beyond expression. She would do anything I would say, because she knew I would not damage her. Her faith in me overcame me briefly, as a tender, loving smile escaped me only momentarily.

A second later, I took the panties from her, and was overjoyed that her hand stayed in place even after I'd withdrawn. I was unable to hide my pride in her now, and her smile stretched again. “You may withdraw your hand.” Her hand moved, though not to cover herself; it returned to her side.

As she had surrendered her modesty to me under no uncertain terms, I was no longer interested in toying with it. “You may keep your bra, or you may give it to me if you wish. It's your choice.” Before I'd even finished the words, the arm that had been hiding her breasts was stretched as far as it would reach, offering a final sacrifice to me. I accepted it.

“Move your hand to your side.” She was mine now. It was no longer necessary to test her. I knew she'd go anywhere, do anything, say anything I told her to. She was breathtakingly beautiful. For a few moments, I wished I could keep her. I didn't let that idea nestle, and decided to proceed.

“Now stand behind the futon, facing it, raise your hands straight above your head, and bend at the waist to put your outstretched hands on the back. And spread your legs by about two feet.” I watched her move to execute the orders before continuing. “I'll be right back.” With that, I took the folded stack of clothes in my hands, and exited the house. I wanted there to be no doubt now; she belonged to me until I decided otherwise.

I had no earthly idea where I was going with her clothes. I eventually settled on my car. There was a particular satisfaction in depositing my nubile goddess' clothes into the boot of a classic Jaguar, though the middle-age fantasy aspect of that particular activity did not escape me before I'd returned to the house.

Upon entering, I saw her exactly the way I'd told her to be, and she was glorious. Her body had only one angle to it, at her waist. Everything else was straight as an arrow. It was several seconds of me standing at the half-open door with my mouth hanging slightly open before I realized that I was in the middle of something, and I closed the door.

“Well, aren't you something,” I chimed as I moved slowly around her, never taking my eyes off her. She appeared to be staring at the floor. Once I'd settled behind her, although I knew perfectly well, that she'd followed my instructions to the letter, I offered, “Spread them a couple more inches.” Her legs shifted slightly, though there was no improvement to be made to my view.

She was on full display for me. Anything I wanted to do with her, or to her, was all possible. It was like a dream, and I felt sick.

She was ready for me, and I could literally smell it. “Jesus, Sweetie. You're soaking wet already, aren't you?” She didn't respond, so I helped her out a bit. “Reach between your legs and feel yourself. Show me how wet you are.”

She moved her right hand off the futon to her sex, partially inserting two fingers. I heard her gasp lightly, and as she pulled the fingers from her, she moved her soiled hand behind her back to present the fingers to me. The tips were sticky and shiny, and I was so fucking proud in that moment. I did this. It was me.

“Very nice. Now clean your fingers.” She instantly brought the hand to her mouth and began licking and sucking her fingers clean. I began to move around the front of the futon, and once I was satisfied, I informed her, “Okay, you can put your hand back on my futon now.” She complied.

Once I reached the front of the futon, I decided it was time to get to business. “Spread your legs wider. Keep them straight. Straighten up your back a bit, and look at me.” Her feet shuffled aside as her head tilted back. “Bring your torso up a bit. Lower your arms; I want to see your breasts.” Once she'd positioned herself accordingly, I looked her in the eyes, and began.

“What do you think is going to happen now?” I wanted to know the first thing that was on her mind. I wanted to know what she was anticipating. I was confident I knew what the answer was, but I wanted to hear her say it, and I wanted to be certain, so I could deny her.

She looked down and away from my eyes before speaking in a near whisper. “I don't know.” She surprised me. I had thought she would be less bashful about her expectations, and her timidness amused me.

I laughed loudly before I spoke. “Oh, come on! I know you better than that. You know I do. You're intelligent, imaginative, creative. Driven by an unquenched thirst.” I paused briefly to watch her reaction to my words. I bent down a wee bit to force her to look at me. “I know there are a million thoughts spinning like a tornado through your brain, and I want to know the one you pick out to be the most likely to happen. You only have to pick one.”

She was looking at me, and I could tell that she was ready to speak, though it was becoming more difficult for her. “You're going to fuck me,” she whispered. The first beads of sweat were materializing on her forehead.

Disco. She said it. She believed it. She wanted it. She simply needed it. With those words, she had given herself to me as a thing to use. She began to shift almost unnoticeably, and she was beautiful as a bead of sweat escaped from behind her left ear to begin a long trek down her clavicle to her chest. Christ, she was beautiful.

But that wasn't what I wanted.

“Okay,” I rewarded her. I didn't want her to become irritated. “That's good, Hope. That's real good.” Now, she was ready to continue. “But, I know you can do better.” The pride that had momentarily taken her face disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. “Oh, don't be like that,” I encouraged. “I just want a little bit more. I expect more from you.” Her posture solidified, and she was ready to give me anything I asked for. She wanted so desperately to please me, which was good, because what was to come next would be devastating. I began to circle her.

“Hope, Sweetie, tell me how I'm going to fuck you. Tell me, from beginning to end, exactly how you envision me fucking you, how I take you, and be as descriptive as possible.” Her mouth opened only enough to allow air to pass, but her eyes betrayed volumes. She was absolutely lost. She had been prepared to ask to be fucked, even to beg for it. But this... She had apparently missed this scenario entirely, and I was in awe, as she was lost. “Don't leave anything out, Sweetie, or I will know, and you will be punished.”

As I moved around her, I saw that she was fighting back tears, but she was also beginning to literally drip sex. It was escaping her, a rivulet just forming on her left labia. I'd yet to touch her, and she was becoming a fountain of lust before me. I chuckled inwardly at how grateful I was that I had hardwood floors.

I took position behind her. I knew that not looking at me would make her task easier, and I really wanted her to complete her task. Also, the river erupting from Hope's sex was absolutely captivating. I'd talked a few women to orgasm before, but I was beginning to think that she would talk herself to her own. I was so tempted to push a few fingers into her, but I held back. I had a purpose.

“You can begin any time now, Darling.” I was becoming joyfully irritated, but then she spoke.

To my surprise, she began with how I would begin. She left out only insignificant details, but was flawless in her description of how I would take her, how it would feel to her. She omitted nothing.

Her voice almost broke under the stress a few times at the beginning, but the more she told, the easier it became for her. I watched her river flow as she spoke. As her voice relaxed, her muscles seemed to somehow grow more taught. Her pussy gripped at nothing as she described her orgasm, and her legs locked when she talked of my coming into her. Even as she dripped onto my floor, I could tell she hadn't reached a climax, and that pleased me.

When she had finally finished, I rewarded her. “That was fantastic, Dear. That was just fantastic. Perfect.” I walked around to the front of the futon to face her, and she started shaking. As soon as I came into her view, her eyes locked on mine, and didn't let go. Once I centered myself in front of her, only then did I speak. “You're ready for me now, aren't you?”

“Yes, please. Yes. Yes, please. I'm ready, please. Please. Just... Please.” She was barely coherent as she begged me to take her.

“Can you feel the fountain erupting from you,” I calmly asked.

“Jesus, yes Ryan. Just... Yes.” She was adorable.

“You do realize, Hope, that I haven't touched you? At all?”

She paused to reflect, but only briefly. “Jesus, yes. But... Please...” She stammered.

“'Please' what?”

Her eyes went wide open in panic. “Please fuck me, Ryan. Oh my God, I need you to fuck me now. Please fuck me. Please fuck me.”

“Okay, Hope,” I offered. Her eyes had been holding so much tension that they hadn't closed in who knew how long. Finally, she relaxed enough to blink, and a tear escaped each eye when she did. She was covered in her own sweat, and her weight shifted to and fro between her legs, as she waited for me to impale her. “I'll fuck you.” Had she not been so utterly in shambles, she would have smiled. I could see it in her eyes. “But not tonight.”

She gasped, and her body appeared to want to give up. She uttered only a high pitched, “Uhhh,” as her spirit was crushed. She appeared to be about to rise up.

Calmly, and with a loving smile, I ordered, “Don't you dare get up until I tell you to.” I continued, “We're not done, yet.” Then I bowed down to look in her now drooping eyes. “We've only just started, Sweetie, and there is so much more to come. So much more.” I waited until her eyes met mine. “I promise.” She looked unconvinced. “I promise you, Hope, there is so much more to come.” I paused before continuing. “You know there is. There is so much I want to do for you. You know that.” I waited.

She seemed to stare her disappointment into me for an eternity before she loosened up again. I watched the moment of decision, and she relaxed again almost imperceptibly. She closed her eyes and began softly nodding.

“Tell me you understand,” I asked.

She spoke weakly, “I understand.”

“Tell me you believe me.”

A little stronger, “I believe you.”

I wasn't yet satisfied. “Look at me and tell me you believe me.”

She looked deeper into me perhaps than she ever had before. “I believe you, Ryan.”

It was difficult for me to not weep at all she had given me, and I had to stare blankly back at her to maintain my face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, “Good. That's good, Hope.” I stood slowly upright before speaking again. “Can you raise yourself up, or do you need help?

Without answering, she slowly, yet deliberately and gracefully, raised herself upright, seemingly without any difficulty at all, her eyes keeping mine the entire way. I heard myself gasp in disbelief at her apparent durability. She heard me, and a small, devious smile appeared on her lips as she finished righting herself. She had moved without permission, but as she had surpassed my expectations, I let it slide. This time.

She moved to put her hand between her legs. “Don't,” I said forcefully. She was jarred by the harshest tone I'd yet used. “Don't disturb what I've done. Let it be. Let it find its own way.” I knew that the moment she put her legs together, she'd gush even more, and the entirety of her inner thighs would be utterly coated in her juices, and that pleased me to no end. Realizing what I wanted, she smiled again, and brought her legs together, shifting them back and forth, spreading her released sex evenly. She had released so much, in fact, that her movements were audible, and we watched each other's smiles grow at the discovery.

I had an idea. “Stop,” I said with a sense of urgency, and she did. I retrieved my camera from the cabinet in my desk.

Hope watched me, and when she saw me withdraw the device, she spoke, but only barely. “Um...”

I had anticipated her objection, and was ready. “Do you trust me, Hope?”

She paused for several moments, as did I until I confirmed what I knew would be her response. “Yes.” I continued to position myself behind her, and she neither objected, nor moved to avoid me.

“Resume the first position I had you assume.”

Hope raised her arms upright, and bent at her waist to bring her hands to rest on my futon once again, at the same time, spreading her legs. While there were no longer any visible drips from her fountain, the entirely of her inner legs was soaked with her juices. I repositioned a nearby table lamp to the floor without its shade, and the desired effect was achieved. I snapped several photos from several angles of her shiny inner thighs, and the liquid strings that swayed between them, and then a few more of her entire glorious shape. I almost came on myself.

When I had finished, “Okay, I'm done. You may move freely. I'll send you copies of everything.”

She righted herself again. I was behind her, and she turned to me. She gently crossed the three paces between us, took the camera from my hands to place it on the desk next to us, then wrapped her arms around me tightly, planting firmly her cheek into my chest. I hesitated for a few moments, then pulled my arms from within her grasp and returned her embrace. I could feel my erection pressing into her, and she pulled her head from my chest to look up at me, questioning. I knew that she wanted to know if I wanted her to do something about it, but I just smiled back at her, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

I withdrew from her. “Would you like some water, Darling?” I knew she had to be more dehydrated than I, and I was parched.

“Yes, please.” Her tone was beginning to return to its norm, and I smiled in relief. It had briefly occurred to me that this might go the wrong way, damage our friendship, but it genuinely felt like everything was alright. Perfect, in fact. I retrieved two bottles of water from the kitchen, and was momentarily shaken by her beauty once again. I wondered if I'd ever get used to her. I hoped not.

I handed her a bottle of water, and she spoke as she removed the cap. “May I have my clothes, now?”

I replied, my face without expression. “What clothes?”

She put her hand on her hip and shifted into the disbelief pose. “You know, my clothes?”

The game wasn't over just yet. “Oh, do you mean my clothes? The clothes you gave to me when I asked you to? Those clothes?” I still held back any expression.

Her pose because slightly exaggerated. “I did not give you my clothes.”

“Oh, but you most certainly did,” I began. “I said, 'Take off your clothes and give them to me,' and that's exactly what you did.” I let slip a smile; I couldn't help it.

She stared disbelievingly at me for a moment. “Yeah, but I didn't think you meant for me to actually give them to you, to keep.”

Still smiling, and this time a little more playfully, “Did I stutter, Dear?”

Her mouth opened, and she let out a breath of shock. “Well, what am I supposed to wear? I can't exactly drive home naked.”

My smile was growing, and I didn't care. “Well, of course you can, Love. I wouldn't necessarily advise it, per se, but you could do it.”

She just stared at me in astonishment. I watched the gears in her mind work for several seconds before she asked, “Can I buy them from you?”

“Actually, I'm good right now,” I answered. “But thanks for the offer.”

“But...” She was beginning to shift quite a bit now, trying to find a solution to her problem. She maintained her shifting, eyes darting about, for nearly a full minute as I watched her and casually sipped from my water bottle. Finally she stopped, smiled, then returned my gaze. “Is there something I could... Do for you?”

It took a great deal of effort to maintain what I hoped was a cool exterior, though inside I was a giddy schoolboy. “Perhaps. What did you have in mind?”

“May I suck you for them,” She asked.

I pretended to contemplate for a few moments before answering. “Well, that's quite an offer. How about I make you a counteroffer? If you suck me off, I'll give you your socks and your shoes.” I paused to gauge her reaction. She puffed in disbelief again. “Or, I'll give you your socks and your shoes, and all your other clothing if you follow my instructions completely.”

Neither of us spoke for several moments before she impatiently asked, “Okay?”

“I want you to suck me off. I'm pretty worked up, so it shouldn't take too long.” She smiled. “When I come, you don't swallow, and you don't spill a drop. You keep it all in your mouth, and you don't remove your mouth until I tell you. Are you with me so far?”

She swallowed through her smile. “Okay. I mean, yes.”

I continued. “When I tell you, you spit it all into your hands, and show it to me. Then, when I tell you, you'll spread it all over your body, as far as it will spread. You belong to me now, and I want my scent on you.” Her smile spread so wide it occupied her entire face, her teeth exposed. “Don't shower until the morning. I want you to sleep coated in my sex. Do you agree?”

She was nearly hopping in glee. “Uh-huh. I mean, yes.”

“Okay.” With that, I unzipped my fly, and freed my utterly erect manhood. As she moved swiftly to my feet, I added, “Use only your mouth, and keep your hands behind your back.

“Yes Sir,” she breathed. “I mean...”

I interrupted her. “No, that's fine. Sir is fine.”

She smiled up at me cheerfully before slowly and easily engulfing the entirety of my prick, her chin resting against me. I gasped involuntarily at the sudden and overpowering stimulation. After several seconds, she slowly backed off, until only the head remained behind her lips.

She started shifting on her knees. I knew that the hardwood was already taking a toll on her, and I asked, “Don't take me out of your mouth, but would you like a pillow for your knees?”

She looked up at me, my manhood still in her mouth, and released a muffled, “M-hm.”

She paused, continuing to watch my eyes as I spoke. “It will cost you one piece of clothing.”

Hope maintained my gaze for a few seconds before repeating her previous muffled affirmation.

“Okay, let me go,” I instructed. She briefly buried me in her throat again before releasing me with a soft smack of her lips, and a soft moan escaped me. I handed her a throw pillow from the futon and handed it to her. It took only a few moments for her to become comfortable before she returned her hands behind her back and resumed her work.

She was fantastic. She moved fluidly, her sense of balance beyond impressive. Not once did she even move to shift her arms from behind her back, nor did she once gag on me, relying on me to keep her upright. She just seemed to inhale and exhale me. She let me slip from her mouth, and began bathing me with her tongue, and kissing every side of my manhood she could reach before engulfing me again.

It soon became difficult for me to watch her, and though I was trying to last as long as I could, I knew I wouldn't last long. Her skill and desire to please were too great, and I was nearly ready even as she had started. As I'd predicted, I didn't last long, and before even five minutes had passed she'd conquered me.

“Here I come, Hope,” I alerted her as calmly as I could manage. She started bobbing and sucking intently on the leading half of my spear. A guttural moan began building in my throat, and I began pumping my juices into her as it became a soft roar. She continued sucking and pumping.

I came so purposefully into her, that I knew she couldn't possibly contain it all. She stopped pumping, but continued her concentrated sucking, only my tip remaining inside her. I came so much, and still she continued to suck. I wanted to allow my knees to buckle. I wanted to collapse onto the hardwood floor. I wanted to just be lost in the moment, but I had a purpose, and I needed to see it through.

Finally, the wave of release eased off, but Hope continued her gentle sucking. I looked down at her to find her eyes closed. Christ, she was gorgeous. Sweat had once again coated her, and her hair was finally matted against her forehead.

“Good, Hope.” She opened her eyes and looked up at me. Tears had fallen from her eyes, only to disappear halfway down her cheeks, and I was certain that the front of my trousers had absorbed the saltwater. “That's real good, Sweetie. You may withdraw.”

She maintained my gaze as she released the somewhat softening member from between her lips, and I gasped yet again. I inspected her mouth, certain that she could not have contained the flood that I unleashed upon her. When I found no trace of failure, I became doubtful. “Did you swallow, Hope,” I asked firmly and seriously. She intently shook her head. “Show me,” I commanded.

She pulled her hands to below her mouth, and leaned her head forward into them. I listened to several seconds of fluid noises before she raised her head up, a trail connecting her lips to the cupped hands which were nearly spilling over with a mixture of my sex and her saliva. My jaw dropped in disbelief, and she smiled a glorious, disgusting, sticky smile.

“Holy shit, you did it,” was all I could manage for a few moments.”Wow. Hope, I'm really impressed.”

Hope replied, “Thank you, Sir.” It was somewhat distorted by the stickiness that had refused to be evacuated, and we both smiled at the knowledge.

We beamed at each other for a while before I said, “Finish it.” With that, she tried to catch most of the cum and sex mixture into her left hand, then used that hand to slather to copious amount onto her breasts. As she did this, her right hand reached between her legs with an ample amount, mixing my juices with her own, pushing the cream into herself. She began masturbating with her right hand as her left hand went about the task of spreading the mixture over her breasts, down her abdomen to the hair just above her sex. She began frigging herself furiously.

I put my manhood away as I spoke. “Masturbate all you want, but you may not cum.” She slowed her pace and let out a high-pitched whine.

“Please,” she begged.

“No.”

“Oh God, Ryan, please.”

“Another piece of clothing,” I countered.

She didn't even hesitate. “Yes!”

“You ask me first. Do you understand?”

“Oh Fuck, Ryan. Yes. YES.”

“If you come without permission, we're done with this. Permanently. Do you understand?”

She hesitated to speak. I had reached beyond the animal that had possessed her. Calmly, but still shaky, she spoke. “Yes, Sir. Please may I continue?”

“Go ahead.”

She attacked herself. Hope was a woman crazed, a sublime, frenzied mess of shiny, sticky sex. Watching her quickly stiffened my manhood again, and as much as I had wanted to make her wait, I had to feel her.

“Stop,” I commanded, and she squealed in discontent.

“But you said...”

I interrupted her. “Stand up and assume the position on the futon.” I could see she was unhappy, but she did as I instructed. My prick was hard again by the time she'd finished, and I once again released it from behind its curtains. In fact, I shed my pants and shirt as quietly as I could. I hadn't been wearing socks, and was now as naked as she.

I didn't tell her what I was doing or planning, and as soon as the tip of my member touched her nether lips, her entire body stiffened, and I paused. She called, “Oh God, yes please. Please.” I didn't have to worry about making myself slick, as I knew she was already flooded with her own juices mixed with a small amount of mine, so I simply slowly and steadily pushed into her. She let out a long, even “Oh,” as I invaded her completely.

She wasn't impossibly tight. In fact, she accepted me almost as if her sex had been made to fit my own. She was comfortable around me, not resisting, but not quite yielding, either. And by the slightest movement that she made when I'd penetrated her fully, she would not be able to comfortably accept another measure. Once I'd fully inserted into her, I paused motionless, and we both released an audible moan of pleasure.

Once I gathered my senses, I spoke. “Is this what you wanted, Hope?”

“Oh God, yes,” was all she managed in a heavy breath. I felt her tense around me, and she started shaking.

“I want you to come on me, Hope. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

“Don't come until I tell you,” I instructed. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I hadn't moved since entering her, and I finally flexed inside her. She gasped. “Okay, Hope... Make yourself come on me.”

I knew that she had wanted me to pummel her; she had told me as much in her description. I wasn't ready to give it all to her just yet, and I was content resting inside her for now.

She surprised me by starting to move on me. She was going to try to fuck me. “No, Hope. Don't fuck me. Make yourself come on me.”

She quietly moaned her disappointment, then moved her right hand between her legs.

I couldn't see, but I knew she was fingering her clit. Her pussy pulsed around me, involuntarily working me as she worked herself. Every shift, every seizure, every twitch, they all reverberated into me. It became increasingly difficult for me to remain motionless, but somehow I managed.

She occasionally reached her fingertips to the fluids erupting around my manhood. After only a brief minute, her hand reached a bit far, and I understood that she was going to try to massage me. With a significant degree of will, I withdrew from her completely, and she cried out.

“No, Hope. The next time you reach for me, I'm sending you home. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she cried. I pushed back into her to the hilt.

A cry escaped her lips, and she waited only a few seconds before resuming her self-assault.

As she worked, I found myself coming closer to release. I knew I wouldn't release much, as I'd cum only several minutes before, but the fact that I could climax again so soon astonished me. Hope brought something out of me, made me young. I was experiencing something I never thought I'd experience again. I was insatiable.

I was relishing in my hunger when her plea came. “May I come now?”

I wasn't ready yet. Close, but not quite. “No.” Her movements slowed. “Don't stop, and don't come.” Her movements resumed their pace.

She continued working herself. She was still feverish, but I could sense her struggle in the consistent grip her sex had on my own.

I was almost with her when she asked again. “Please, Sir, may I come?” She was shaking terribly now.

“Not yet.”

“Fuck, Ryan, please!” It was half cry and half plea. She was falling apart.

“NO! Not yet.”

She continued on herself, and started crying out a slew of abstract prayers to a god in which neither of us believed. She was holding back, and I admired her discipline. I knew she wanted... No. She needed to release, but I wasn't quite ready.

Not long later, I was finally with her, and I interrupted her now continuous cry. “Come to me now, Hope.”

She screamed, pushed back against me, and clamped down on me hard. I grabbed her hips, pulling her onto me as far as I could, and came into her. We both shook violently, and I cried out in chorus with her. I had not much left after coming only several minutes before, but my nubile goddess milked me for as much as she could get. I felt as if her own youth was bleeding into me, making me younger, somehow. I was a god, her god, feeding this young worshiper with some divine life-force, and I knew she'd return to the temple for more.

Several minutes passed as our denouement consumed us. Week took turns intermittently shaking. I thought about loving her, being with her, stealing her away from her beau, and dismissed the ideas almost as quickly as they arrived.

Finally, the time for separation came. “I'm going to pull out of you now, Hope. Put both of your hands back on the futon.” I'd worry about cleaning the cover later, as I knew it was a sloppy mess now, at least in one area. “When I do, remain still. Do you understand?”

She responded dreamily, still in a haze. “Yessir.” I smiled at her mild slur.

I slowly, and begrudgingly, withdrew from her. Once I had, a string of our juices continued to connect us for a few feet before snapping, and I was inspired to again grab my camera. I knew that I hadn't spent much into her, as I'd spent myself only several minutes before, but I'd felt myself erupt into her, and I wanted to be ready in case I could catch a trace of myself falling from her.

When I'd recovered my camera, I asked her, “Do you feel my sex inside you?” Before she answered, I could see it seeping from her, and I was astonished.

She half-chuckled. “Yeah.”

I began snapping photos from all sorts of angles. “Can you squeeze it out?”

“I'll try.” I watched her pussy flex before my sex started to emerge from her, and I continued snapping. It was the most fantastic vision I'd ever witnessed. I couldn't believe that this woman, this perfect woman, was squeezing my seed from her.

“Stand up straight,” I ordered, and she immediately obliged. I photographed from so many angles as she continued to force my juices out onto the floor. She literally dripped sex, and I worked diligently to capture as much to film as I could.

As I photographed her, I remembered who I had been a mere four months prior. I was broken and beaten, still recovering from my previous relationship, which had left me scarred. I was in utter disbelief that this young woman, this intelligent, thoughtful, sexy, cultured girl could be before me, naked, bent over my futon, in my living room, dripping my juices. I was overcome with a sense of pride in what I'd accomplished. She had begged me- begged me to allow her to satisfy me. How many men barely more than half my age would dream of this happening? I was incapable of processing its true significance, but I was well aware, and I did not let the circumstances escape me.

Finally, I could see that she was spent. There were a few drops of my sex on the floor, and the hair between her legs was a sticky mess. There were no strings between her legs, but one significant trail from her womanhood to my hardwood floor. I was proud of my marks on her, or rather inside her.

I commanded, “Bend over again,” and I reached my tongue between her legs. With one stroke, I lapped what I could from her, and she surrendered a brief yelp. She shuddered as our mixed juices exploded on my tongue. It had been so long that I'd forgotten the taste of a woman. Once satisfied, I instructed her to rise again.

I stepped back for a few moments to take her in, then said, “You may move freely.”

She turned to me and saw my older, less-than-perfect, slightly overweight shape, and closed the gap between us to embrace me. I returned to affection, our naked bodies pressed against each other, both smelling of sex, hers shaking softly from exhaustion, mine reeling from the reawakening. I wanted that moment to last forever, though I knew it couldn't.

I released her. It was a sticky separation, as her sweat and other juices clung to me ferociously. I knew that she was filthy, and she knew it as well. I smiled at obscenity that she'd become.

Once I'd parted with her, we looked at each other for several moments before I leaned in to kiss her. We embraced once again, our tongues exploring each other's. Though I'd just filled her with my sex, my hands explored every inch of her back, hoping to somehow pull her into me, and she reciprocated.

Time slipped by uncounted, but we finally parted. We merely rested against each other until she fell an inch, her knees having momentarily collapsed. I caught her, and once I sensed she'd recovered, I released her and asked, “Are you okay?”

Her response came swiftly and assuredly. “Yeah. You?”

I was surprised by the question, but answered quickly in the affirmative. I moved to retrieve her bottle of water. It was on the floor where she'd knelt to suck me. In disbelief, I found myself smiling yet again as I handed the bottle to her.

I waited until she'd upended the container before I reached and plunged two fingers into her unceremoniously. I wanted to know what she felt like, and I also wanted her to feel that her pussy belonged to me. She spit out a bit of water as I reached into her, and I nearly chuckled.

With my fingers still inside her, I whispered into her ear, “Anytime your beau is gone, you belong to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she moaned softly.

“Say it,” I commanded.

She didn't flinch a bit. “Anytime my beau is gone, I belong to you.”

“That's good,” I rewarded. “When is he due back?”

She paused for several seconds before answering. “Two weeks and two days.”

Christ, he was gone more than he was home. What kind of man would leave a girl like this alone, unsatisfied for weeks at a time? “Until he returns, your orgasms belong to me. You are not allowed to come unless I expressly permit it. Do you understand?”

She smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

“Say it.”

“Until he returns, my orgasms belong to you, and I'm not allowed to come unless I have your permission.”

“Close enough,” I granted. “When you get into bed tonight... Do you sleep naked?”

“Most of the time, yeah.”

“Now you do whenever your beau's not there. Every time. Do you understand?”

Her smiles seemed to keep getting bigger. “Yes, Sir.”

“Okay,” I began. “When you go to bed tonight, you will masturbate right up until you can't help but orgasm, then stop. You'll do the same tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”

Her smile faded slightly before returning in greater strength. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” I offered. “After tomorrow morning, you can masturbate whenever you like, but you must have my permission before you come. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Say it.”

“I must have your permission before I come.” Her smile was precious.

“Very good,” I said as I started redressing. “Let's get you home.” I moved and unlocked the door before turning to her. “Are you coming?”

“But,” she started, then re-evaluated her situation. “Yes, Sir,” and she grabbed her purse before following me out the door and to the car, a naked, filthy mess.

I opened the trunk and asked, “Odd or even?”

She hesitated only a moment, her eyes darting to and fro, trying to see if anyone could see her exhibition. “Uh, odd?”

I retrieved the two agreed-upon articles of clothing: her bra and blouse, and handed them to her.

She accepted them reluctantly. “Um... Ryan?”

“It's late, and it's likely that no-one will see you dart from your car to your front door. I'm sorry about the mess you'll make on your front seat...” I thought for a moment about her mid-nineties Honda Civic. “Actually, I'm really not sorry,” I amended. “I suggest you get dressed and get going before my neighbors decide to peek out a window.

She didn't bother with her bra, opting solely for the blouse, before I walked her quickly to her car. She nestled into the front seat, turned the key, and opened her window. Once she had, I leaned in to capture one more kiss. Our tongues teased each other for only a few moments before I withdrew.

“Goodnight, Ryan.” She beamed at me as she said it, though I knew she had to be as exhausted as I. In that moment, I saw something new in her. I realized that what I once mistook for a calm, calculated aura had really been a tenseness brought on by frustration. Something had been lacking in Hope's life. Now that she'd found it, I understood that she was finally relaxed. She was finally satisfied.

“Goodnight, Hope.” She put the car into first, and I watched her taillights disappear over the hill.

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