Substitute

I opened my legs wide as he pulled a cushion off the nearby sofa. He lifted my pelvis with one hand and pushed the cushion under my hips with the other. My butt was elevated over my head. But he wanted me elevated even farther. He was on his knees below me and between my legs. He gripped the backs of my thighs in strong hands and pushed my torso up so that my weight was borne on my shoulder blades. The sofa cushion was pushing against the small of my back.

I gave a little cry and arched up again as I felt his tongue run between my butt cheeks and brush across my asshole. He continued on up my perineum and was swallowing and working my balls. I was starting to go hard again and I was barely able to control the trembling of my body. The tongue worked its way back to my hole and he was rimming and then tongue-fucking me. I sighed and moaned while he spent several minutes working me with his tongue, making me open to him. The first opening of those gates to the possession of man.

“Rubber. I need a rubber . . . and some lube. God, you are tight. A rubber.”

“I don’t. I don’t know . . . I . . . Cliff’s nightstand. He’s sure to have them there.”

I was left alone, ass over head, hands trapped under a recliner, beginning to have doubts and to hyperventilate again. But, thankfully, only briefly. The Horse had found what he needed and was back.

He stood over me, between my spread thighs, letting me watch him open the condom packet and roll the thin latex on that monster of a cock he had. God, his body was beautiful. Dark, swarthy, covered with a profusion of tattoos. Black, curly hair. A lusty smile. And at the very center of him. Demanding my full attention. Making me fearful and anxious at the same time. That magnificent cock. Soon to be inside me. Could I take it? Surely I couldn’t take it all in.

But I could. And I did.