Political Biography

He made me slit the condom packet open and roll the rubber on his shaft. He crouched down in front of me, sliding his thighs under mine so that he was sitting on the chair too, facing me, and I was in his lap. The chair legs did a staccato beat on the bare wooden floor as we ground our bodies together in the fuck. His arms went around me, his fists clasping at the back of the chair, and he buried his face in my neck and sucked on my throbbing vein there as he humped me.

Eventually, he pulled me up, pushed me belly to kitchen table top and grasped my wrists, forcing my arms over my head, my palms pressed to the table, while he pounded my ass into glorious submission. I lifted my head and focused my eyes across the room to the fire he already had going in the fireplace. My jaw was slack, my panting heavy, my head bobbing up and down in consort with his deep thrusts up into my channel. I was in ninth heaven, every nerve in my body concentrated on the friction of the hard, latex-sheathed rod sliding in and out of my ass.

He let loose of my wrists, and I grasped the far edge of the table top to hold myself in place, while his hands went everywhere on my torso and ended up grasping my waist and pulling my hips hard toward him with each strong thrust inside me. From his repeated mutterings of “Fuck, yes,” “Give it to me,” and “Tight and sweat; just how I like it,” I knew that he was dancing on the clouds too. That made it all the more pleasurable for me—made the hugeness and cruelty of his cock all the easier to take, more the center of worship.

I took up the cry of “Give it to me! Punish me! Shaft me! Put me to the sword!” He laughed and complied.