CHAPTER 24
PERCY
I wonder, could a man die of pleasure? Because if so, I rather believed George could kill me with his hungry, all-consuming kisses. Arousal burned me, the likes of which I’d never known before. His prick was stiff as he rutted against my thigh, his fingers wrapped around my stand, tugging in time with his thrusts as he plundered my mouth. I was overwhelmed with the sensations and pulled away gasping for breath. “Gods!”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m rushing again, aren’t I,” he said breathlessly. I swear, when he looked at me like that I could forgive him any misdemeanor.
“I’ve missed you,” I admitted as I struggled to catch up with my thundering heart. “Seeing you tonight as Miss Georgette and knowing you’d come home to be with me—“
“You do know I was singing each ballad to you, don’t you? It was quite strange to have a beau in my mind as I sang them; it made the words feel more…real, you know?”
“Yes, I understand. I’ve read the romantic poets for years, and I’d thought I understood what they were trying to convey about intimacy. Yet nothing they wrote compares to how you make me feel, here,” I placed my hand on my heart.
“How do I make you feel?” George asked in an intimate whisper, running his fingers over the soft pelt of my chest hair.
I thought about it, of how I became the best version of myself for George, and that I now knew what it felt like to be in the thrall of another.
“It is difficult to be so candid,” I began, because making myself vulnerable to another was a new experience. “Sometimes you say something or look at me just so and it takes all thought, and all words from me. My mind is a fizz and I cannot breathe properly until you’re in my arms, and then, when you are, I’m finally at peace. I suppose it sounds similar to the descriptions of addiction I’ve read about,” I chuckled.
“Goodness!” George gasped. “I ain’t ever had anyone speak so passionately about me. I wished for a fellow who would. But I didn’t think it was possible, not for the likes of me,“ he admitted self depreciatingly. George fingered my blond curls behind my ears, and then he cupped my face and I rose to meet his lips. The soft, tender kisses swiftly became desperate and hungry again, as if we two could not get enough of one another. I pulled back and, in a lust-roughened voice said,
“I want you to do it, be my first.”
“What do you want me to do, Percy? I need you to say the words love.”
This was interminable, but I was so very desperate to be claimed by this wonderful man. “I…I want you to bugger me, George. You know how it’s done, yes?”
“I do, I know how it’s done, and I’ve done it to a few fellows. I’ll be gentle.”
“Then, yes, I want you to fuck me.” I said decisively.
George ran a hand over my backside and squeezed. “Are you clean…down there?”
“Oh, yes, yes, I was thinking about it…planning. I bathed before I left the house.”
“Good. Now, roll on to your belly and stick your arse up. I have to prepare you first; cos there ain’t no way my pego is fitting in your tight little hole without a bit of help!”
I was embarrassed by the candid nature of his instruction. I turned over and did as directed, burying my face in the pillow to hide my mortification. George tossed the blankets back and scooted behind, trailing his fingers down my back as he went. He positioned himself between my legs and in a slow exploration, ran his hands over my lower back, buttocks, and the backs of my thighs. He then placed gentle, soft kisses down my spine, each one making me gasp, squirm, and my prick twitch. George finally arrived at my backside, and his teasing fingers pulled my cheeks apart. I couldn’t believe I trusted another man enough to even look at my fundament, let alone…
Ohhhhh!
I pushed my face further into the pillow for George was touching a deeply intimate part of my body, a place that I had not even seen, let alone gained pleasure from. I was unsure if what we were about to do would even be pleasurable. Wasn’t sodomy about submission? I’d heard it joked about in such away—that there was an aggressor and a submissive. If I had to submit, I wanted to experience it with George. I trusted George. A sudden tickling sensation at my entrance made me lift my head and whimper, “Whu…what’s that?”
“Just my finger swirling round and round to relax your pucker. How does it feel?”
The sensation was exquisite, and surprising. I let out a moan.
“I’m going to taste you now,” George explained, but my senses were discombobulated.
“P…pardon?” My voice sounded drunk to my own ears. And then wet warmth licked up my crease, over my fundament and my limbs failed me. I melted into the bed and exhaled a groan of delight.
“That good, aye?”
“Gods, George, please…do that again!” I begged, and he did, prizing my cheeks apart and lathing me with his hot, moist tongue. Thoughts whited out and I squirmed, swimming in pleasure the likes of which I never knew I was capable of. George continued licking and sucking at my fundament, moaning his own pleasure to vibrate against my most sensitive, intimate area. The bliss so intense all I could do was lay there and submit to it.
After several minutes of George’s clever tongue, he pulled away and then I felt his weight leave the bed. I was too far gone to even move my head to ask why he’d left. I heard a draw slide open, and then close, and then the pop of a cork. George returned to the bed and then I felt another new sensation at the entrance to my body.
“This is oil of olive. It’ll make things easier, y’know, like greasing a piston.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that!” What followed was the snick, snick sound of George rubbing the oil onto his stand, and then I felt a slick finger at my fundament, rubbing oil on me. I came to full awareness when George tapped his crown against my crease then began rubbing it up and down. I gritted my teeth as I anticipated the pain when he pushed in.
“I’m gonna to go slow, don’t clench, ease back onto it so we get past your ring,” he directed.
George rubbed his crown up and down my oiled crease again, it felt divine, and then there was pressure at my entrance. The discomfort was worse as he pushed forth. I told myself wanted this, I wanted to please my beau, but by god, it hurt like the blazes, as bad as I’d imagined. I cried out, pushed back and suddenly after a burning sensation I was full…of George. We were connected, as one under God.
“Easy there, love, breathe, take your time, and tell me when to move.”
I wanted the intrusion gone and the words to tell him this were on the tip of my tongue, but involuntarily my hips moved, easing his prick deeper inside me. It touched something, a place inside me that sent a flood of pleasure and need through me.
“Move, please, gods, move, damn you!” I exclaimed, and George did, pulling his prick nearly all the way out and then sinking back down to hit that pleasure point. He did it again and again. I cried out with the bliss of it as my darling George undid me thrust by thrust.
George lay atop me and pounded his pego inside, grunting with the effort.
“You okay love?” he asked at my ear.
I turned my head and gave him a soppy grin. “Never better. I can’t get you deep enough. Now fuck me!”
George snickered and we kissed then. It was messy, all tongue and teeth with no finesse. I eased my hips up to meet each downward thrust and we soared together, my prick throbbing as it rubbed between the bed sheet and my abdomen. All too soon George cried out in his crisis and filled me with his hot spend. My own climax came on just as intensely, my untouched prick spurting once, twice; three times until every drop of semen I had oozed out of me. The feeling of George’s spill inside my body was strangely intimate, and I wanted to keep his prick there, locked inside my back passage like a dog waiting for his bollocks to empty. But alas, as soon as his prick started to soften, he eased out and rolled over flopping on the bed beside me. He turned his lust drunk gaze on me and grinned wolfishly.
“That was fun…for me anyways. How was it for you?”
“I think you might have killed me. I can’t move, even though I’m lying in my own mess and I have yours seeping from my rear,” I chuckled, still riding on the wave of euphoria our love making had produced.
“I’ll clean you up love, don’t fret.”
That was the second time George had called me love . Was it a turn of phrase, or did George’s feelings go deeper than lust? I hoped so, because, after what we’d just done, I was sure my feelings did.
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