The Saturday Girl Pt. 01

Some cities never stop. Whether it's noon, midnight or 2AM their streets are always busy, in one way or another, with people going about their business.

Granted, those who occupy the streets at night are usually of a different kind from those that you would find in the day and taking a walk in the small hours of the morning could well mean meeting some very exotic people, nonetheless, some cities are never still, never resting, never quite happy to just be quiet and have a night in.

Those cities, the ones who never sleep, are the ones in which you can observe an interesting phenomenon. Take a bus, one that runs a main route, after 4.30AM and before 6.30AM and you will see it happen, right before your eyes, the majestic, and sometimes explosive, changing of the guard.

As the good people coming home after a night out collapse into their seats, they are joined by the early birds who are on their way to work. As the burlesque dancers and clubbers make their way home, they mix with the unfortunate students and workers who have to travel a long way to get to their place of learning or emplyment. The former will be loud and happy or sprawling and tired, the latter will be rigid and numb, their minds busy with the effort of trying not to make eye contact.

He liked to watch it happen, the change, as he rode the 1A every night on his way home. He knew that his peculiar occupation gave him, in this case, a rare position of privilege: to be able to sit on the bus both sober and relaxed as he made his way home after working for the night.

The 1A was perfect for change-spotting. It followed the same route as the number 1 in the centre of town, making it a popular choice for those leaving the kebab shops and clubs, then left the main roads and wriggled up the hills and into the residential districts at either end, making it the prime mode of transportation for those needing an early ride to the office or the station.

The trick was to sit on the fourth or fifth row of seats on the upper deck. Far enough from the back not to end up in contact with the wilder passengers but still behind the stairs, where you could see everyone who got on and subsequently, came up. Apropos, rule number one of bus riding: The lower deck is for the elderly, the physically disabled and the depressed. There's usually nothing fun to see there.

After a while you tend to learn the recurring faces of the perfect strangers who take the same bus as you on the regular. The morning people are the first ones you memorise. They are taking the bus to work, after all, and are usually habitual in the time of their travel. For people going home after a night out things are different, you might see them once and then never again. Sure, there's people who work night shifts but they don't usually work every night or come out at the same time. The few night faces he saw on the regular were usually cashiers from 24 hour shops or short haul flight attendants on their way to the ariport.

He noticed her for the first time on a hot July night. It was a Saturday and he was making his way home after a long Friday night. She got on with a couple of friends who went straight for the front seats like a pair of school children who want to sit in the front and pretend they're squashing all the cars at the lights. She walked up a few seconds later, a petite brunette with a bob haircut and blue eyes. He only really noticed her because she seemed to notice him. She paused at the top of the stairs and smiled at him, for a second, before sitting behind her friends and being annoyingly loud with them for the next ten minutes until they all got off at the edge of town and the bus finally fell silent.

He thought nothing of it back then, and for most of the next week he'd forgotten all about her until, early on Saturday morning. There she was again. Three friends this time. One of them might have been the same girl, the other two were new. She came up last again. Same pause, same smile, same sitting on the second row and making far too much noise for 5AM on a Saturday. They got off at the same stop again.

On the third Saturday she was alone. She looked like she had had a bad night. She stopped and just stared that time, then shrugged and sat down. Third row, right opposite the steps. Quiet ride. Got off at the same stop. Thinking back he felt stupid for noticing these things. What an anorak, what a weirdo he would sound like, if he told the story that way.

For the next several weeks she was always on the bus. Always on a Saturday morning. Always getting on and off at the same stop. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes she was with friends. If she did have company one of the friends was always the same, a leggy pale girl with long auburn hair. She always got on last, she always stopped to smile, or stare, or acknowledge him in some way, before sitting down. If she was with friends she'd always sit at the front but, when she was alone, she'd change, experiment even. Sometimes she'd sit forwards, sometimes she'd make a point of walking past him, always giving him a nod or a smile, sometimes even a wink.

Once she had dyed her hair pink. He noticed her at the stop that time. She said goodbye to her friends who still didn't want to call it a night, then got on the bus. She walked up the stairs and discovered there weren't that many seats left that time, so she sat right in front of him, smiling at him both as she sat and as she left. He remembered thinking she looked pretty. Nothing special, nothing incredible. A pretty girl, like so many pretty girls who you see out on a night in town. A bit too slim in his opinion, not curvy enough, and very short but she did have something about her, a charisma of some kind that made her unique, noticeable. Perhaps it was her face, he thought, heart shaped, distinctive, unusual in a very comely way.

He started to refer to her as Saturday girl. In his mind at least. He hadn't really mentioned her to his sister. He hadn't really thought about her, except on Saturdays, of course, because Saturday morning was when he saw Saturday girl get on the bus. It became an event, a tradition of some kind. Friday night, burritos for dinner with Steve from IT, light night of work, then Saturday girl gets on the bus on the way home and sends you off to bed with her smile.

Months had gone by and it was starting to get colder. Saturday girl had skipped a week here and there. She'd looked ill once or twice. She wore a thick gray coat when the weather got really chilly, and a green hat, or was it more of a beret? Her auburn haired friend was still there any time she had company but, since autumn had arrived, she tended to be by herself most of the time.

Then one day she got on the bus and sat on the seat behind him. He could feel her gripping the metal bar at the top of the seat for some reason. She'd never done that before. He shrugged. What a night he'd had. Thank god it was Saturday. Except it wasn't, it was Thursday.

For a moment he thought he'd turn around and ask for an explanation. How unprofessional of Saturday girl to show up on a Thursday and mess up his internal clock. What was the world coming to? Then he heard someone clearing their throat on the aisle beside him and turned to look. Saturday girl was standing there next to him.

Instinctively he shuffled towards the window to make space and she sat down. She'd smiled at the top of the stairs but she wasn't smiling now. She just sat next to him, after having sat behind him, and stared blankly towards the front of the bus. For a good five or six minutes she just sat there, making him deeply uncomfortable, back against the seat, staring into the emptiness.

"It's my birthday today." She said somberly.

"Happy birthday." he replied, with a half-hearted attempt at not sounding confused.

There followed another thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence until she finally turned to him, her blue eyes staring a hole in his face.

"I'm 22 and yesterday my nan gave me an envelope with 150 quid to spend celebrating my special day."

She probably expected him to reply but he was dumbstruck, so when she gathered that he wouldn't be saying anything she went on.

"So last night I bought a bottle of vodka and went to bed early. I got up at 3, got dressed and put my face on and all that, called a cab, drank two shots and asked the cabbie to drop me of at the bus stop."

"Oh..." he managed. Admitting to himself this was far from stellar work conversationally.

"It's 5.10 on my birthday. I've got 18 hours, 50 minutes of it to go and 98 pounds and 30 pence left and I want a special present. From you."

"What?" he stammered, and immediately thought of Samuel L. Jackson double daring him to say it again.

She rang the bell for the bus to stop.

"I'm getting off next stop." she paused "I want your next 18 hours and 49 minutes. As your present. We can spend the money together."

When you first meet someone and are expected to establish some sort of conversation with them, the ideal situation would be to find common ground as quickly as possible. That is why first dates tend to be cliché; a dinner, a drink, or a coffee. People like food. People like drinking. People like to have coffee. This creates difficult situations however when someone doesn't quite conform with the norm and doesn't like one or more of those things.

"You sure you don't want a cappuccino?" She asked for the fourth time.

"No, I'm good." he replied "You should spend as much of your birthday money on yourself."

"Oh fuck off." she said, slapping him on the shoulder.

He feigned holding his shoulder after the slap. More a courteous gesture than an attempt to convince her he'd felt it from under his coat. He noticed her gloves, nice ones, expensive ones. Her coat was expensive too, and her green hat. She sat elegantly in her chair and spoke in a proper, middle class accent. Her earrings on the other hand were straight out of an Argos catalogue, her shoes were nice but looked worn and she'd sworn more in ten minutes than he had in a whole month.

As she left to go and get herself a coffee, he wondered who she might be. A runaway? The daughter of one of those noble families who have fallen on hard times? Maybe she just had a rich aunt who gave her clothes? Why all the swearing?

He pondered away for a few minutes until he saw her make her way back. He sat up and gave her her warmest smile, which she answered by rolling her eyes before sitting down. She slid something at him across the table and he awoke from his deep thoughts just in time to grab it.

"I got you a Twix." she stated proudly "You should at least eat something."

He unwrapped the chocolate eagerly. He was hungry and he hadn't had a twix in ages. It was just one of those things he didn't really buy anymore.

"Don't you need to call someone?" she asked "Wife, girlfriend, boyfriend?"

"Single." he replied, his palate full of caramel.

"Job?" She suggested.

"I work nights."

"You should let them know you're not going in." she said tapping her wristwatch "You're with me for 18 more hours."

He smiled, admitting to himself that she was very sweet, in her own way. She must have misread his face because she immediately looked at him disapprovingly. He reckoned she would have punched his arm, if she could reach from where she sat.

"I didn't say you get to fuck me."

He almost choked on his twix.

"Just call your job and tell them you're not going, please."

He giggled as he emailed work from his phone and texted his sister that he would stay out.

"What?" She enquired annoyedly.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Tell me." She insisted.

"Seriously, it's nothing." he said "I was just thinking it's... you're kind of cute in wanting to spend time with me."

She stood up and reached across the table to punch his shoulder; he felt it this time. The girl was small but had a mean jab.

"I'm not cute." she said curtly "Ok?"

He nodded, even if he still thought she was.

"You can say I'm weird, you can say I'm peculiar, you can even call me desperate for getting on a fucking bus and asking a stranger to spend the day with me, I don't fucking care. Just don't call me cute. All right?"

"Okay." he said, still holding his arm. "You're not cute."

There was more silence but this time it felt far less uncomfortable.

"Do I get punched for asking what your name is or is that on the approved list?"

"Madeleine." she half smiled at him "But just call me Maddie, nobody's used my full name since i was 10."

"Good!" he said standing up. "I suggest we go down towards the seafront now or we'll have to watch the sun rise on your birthday from the majestic setting of Costa Coffee."

Having gotten to the seafront just in time for sunrise, and not having been able to see it due to the beach being pointed the wrong way, they spent the rest of the morning walking along the road parallel to the sea, embroiled in a conversation that quickly became a competitive effort not to admit they were freezing.

The contest almost concluded in a double knock out via hypothermia when he brilliantly suggested they headed for a nearby shopping centre to spend some of the remaining money on a birthday present for her.

In the warmth of the mall, she chose to buy shoes, which he found stereotypical but necessary, given that the long walk had caused her current footwear to fail. They both had baguettes in the food court, too afraid of the cold wind to venture outside in search of better food.

He bought her a cat shaped plushie she had noticed on a stall out of his own pocket as a more "proper" birthday present than his company alone, then a coffee break later and her day's budget was starting to run dangerously low.

"Shit!" she said, he had grown used to the swearing by now. "I thought we'd get more miles out of that."

"It's okay. I can..."

"No." she interrupted him. "You gave me the cat, you're not spending any more."

She looked out of a nearby glass door. The wind was picking up and the clouds didn't promise any more sun for the day.

"My flat's a five minute walk." she said "Would you like to come over for tea?"

Her statement was genuinely serious, not a hint of irony in it, yet he failed to suppress a laugh.

"Tea?" he smirked.

She frowned and smacked her fist into his chest.

"Arsehole." she muttered, before turning to the door. "Let's go. But don't get your dick hard or anything. I said it before and I'll say it again. You're NOT getting to fuck me. Come on, it's close, it shouldn't rain before we get there."

Of course it rained. The weather teased them with a thin ray of sun when they were halfway to Madeleine's house, then thirty seconds later it washed away their hopes with bucket loads of cold, thick, sideways rain that soaked them deep into their clothes before magically stopping two minutes later, the moment they stepped into the house.

The flat was part of a larger house that had been divided into cheap apartments. A narrow hallway with 1970s wallpaper and a door on each side led to a creaking flight of stairs which took them to a third door on the first floor. Maddie found her keys and spent an alarmingly long time working the chub before moving to the top lock and finally managing to open the door.

"It's messy." she said, pushing the creaking door open "Deal with it."

The term messy didn't quite do it justice. The flat was covered in all sorts of clutter, from magazines and old newspapers to books and bags and items of clothing. Fortunately, he noticed, none of the mess was food or drink or worse. Nothing was perishable, the flat smelt nice and was apparently quite clean under the thick layer of junk. Maddie made a show of hanging her wet coat on a hanger by the door and doing the same with his. She took off her shoes and headed straight for one of the doors on the opposite side of the front room.

"I need to dry up." She said, opening a drawer and extracting a towel, which she threw at his face. "I don't have any dry clothes for you but you can stay in your pants, it's fine. Just wait for me on the sofa and don't get any ideas."

He started by sliding his Jumper of, then his t-shirt.

"PANTS ON!" She shouted from the other room "I don't want to come back there and find you waiting for me with your fucking dick swining around!"

He laughed quietly and took the rest of his clothes, bar his pants, off. he made some space for himself on the sofa among some mismatching cushions, an old dress, a few coat hangers and a purple blanket, which he initially used to cover himself up but abandoned after a while because it felt suspiciously rough on his skin but also because the flat was, surprisingly, very warm.

He sat on the sofa in his underwear, occasionally deciding to try putting the blanket over his legs, only to discard it after a few seconds. Finally, after an interminable amount of time, Madeleine emerged from the bathroom she had gone into, throwing a towel she was using to dry her hair on the floor next to the door.

In front of his astonished eyes she walked nonchalantly across the room to stand in front of him, damp hair dark and ruffled, naked, except for a pair of white and light blue striped knickers.

"Is it okay if I make us a Lasagna?" she asked "In the microwave I mean, it'll be done in a few minutes."

She stared blankly at him when she didn't get an answer. Her small, perky breasts bobbling as she brought her hands to her hips.

"What?" she asked "You've seen tits before, right?!"

More silence met her question.

"Fucking pervert." she mumbled, walking off towards another door, which turned out to be the kitchen. He heard the clunking of a freezer door and the whirring of the microwave, all accompanied by a symphony of swear words and insults, which he presumed were aimed at him. She stayed in the room until it pinged, then came out, still topless, holding a tray with two portions of LIDL microwaved lasagnas and a bottle of Pepsi Max on it.

She sat next to him and turned on the television, then placed his portion of Lasagna and a fork in his hand. He ate staring at the screen with all of his might, not noticing for a moment what program he was watching. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable about her being almost naked, nor did he feel a powerful urge to actually look at her breasts. He was more worried about the fact that, if he did look at them, even accidentally, she might punch him again.

She barely touched her food, then waited for him to finish before taking it all back into the kitchen.

Upon her return she placed herself between him and the telly and stood in a proud, Peter Pan like pose in front of him, forcing him to look straight into her eyes to avoid any chance of looking elsewhere. She shook her head at him, disapprovingly.

"You can look at my tits, I don't mind."

The phrase hardly helped him relax, he now felt uncomfortable whether he was looking at her pink, round nipples or her penetrating blue eyes. In response to his discomfort she puffed in mock disappointment and climbed onto the sofa, straddling his legs, her chest stopping inches from his face. She placed two fingers under his chin and raised it until he was looking dead into her eyes.

She sighed in disappointment, the way Lord Blackadder would sigh at his servant in that sitcom, which he suddenly noticed was actually playing on the telly.

"You know when I invited you here, and I told you you wouldn't get to fuck me?"

He nodded.

"And when I told you not to take your fucking pants off, so I wouldn't have to come back to your fucking cock waiting for me?"

He nodded again and she punched him hard on the shoulder.

"You were supposed to actually try to fuck me!?"

"Oh..." he replied feeling more and more like Baldric by the second "but you said..."

"I invite you over." she explained "I tell you we're not going to fuck. You try anyway and I turn you down a couple of times. Then we actually fuck."

"Sounds like a cunning plan." he said, sarcastically, receiving another punch to the shoulder.

"It's my birthday." she said, sounding more relaxed after punching him "I'm naked." She made a show of coming closer, rubbing her thighs against him as she did.

"I want you to fuck me." then she pushed her lips against his.

He immediately gave in to the kiss, letting her plunge her tongue deep into his mouth and responding, appropriately, with his own. His hands were drawn to her small breasts. Her skin was so firm, her nipples hard and warm under his fingers. He caressed her for a few seconds as they snogged, then was interrupted when she pushed his hands aside, making space for her own, hurried hands to reach down towards his pants and feel his manhood, her fingers clawing around it in an eager, aggressive way. She broke off the kiss, panting, smirking as she rubbed her palm over his crotch.

Jumping to her feet he pulled him up behind her. Dazed by the pace of events, he watched as she slid his boxers off and grabbed him by the penis, pulling him towards one of the doors. He followed, his head light with emotional drunkenness, his eyes following the groove in the middle of her back all the way down to her bum, still partially covered by her blue and white striped panties, which bounced enticingly with her every step.

Small, round and impossibly smooth, it was, he thought, a very European bum, something you would probably find in a French or Italian photographer's artistic nude collection. It called out to him, begging to be grabbed, for him to test its elasticity, but before he could extend his arm towards it Maddie had already dragged him into what seemed to be her bedroom and flung him, without too much thought for his safety, onto the bed.

She followed him onto the mattress, throwing some misplaced clothing onto the floor, and straddled his hips, keeping him pinned by pressing down onto his erection with her crotch. He could feel her warmth under her panties as she rubbed up and down, staring down at him intensely as she began to pant.

As she had her fun dry humping him, he felt the haze in his head slowly clear. He looked up at her, riding him and fully concentrated on her own pleasure. He hadn't really noticed how pretty she was until now. Small, dainty, but incredibly well proportioned; young, firm and smooth; she was sexy is a strangely wild and at the same time cute kind of way. Without realising, he found himself caressing her breasts once again, his hands delicately rubbing her pink nipples.

Sharp pain brought him back to reality, his hand racing to cover the cheek that Maddie had so suddenly and unexpectedly smacked.

"OW!" he shouted.

"Stop it." she said angrily.

"Stop what?" He enquired, red fingers appearing on his cheek.

"I'm petite, I get it. Stop treating me like a dolly."

She stood up on the mattress and loomed over him as she slid off her panties, revealing cleanly shaven labia as small, dainty and pink as the rest of her body. Lowering herself again, she took care to place each of her legs over one of his arms in an attempt to trap him.

In reality, he thought, she could not have weighed more than 45 Kilos so he probably could have lifted her off if he'd wanted to, but he got the message and let himself be "captured". She moved her pelvis forward, placing herself over his mouth, then delicately lowered herself onto it, pulling his head up by the hair with one of her hands.

She panted softly as he began to taste her, his tongue immediately seeking out her clitoris and rubbing vigorously against it. Her back arched and her muscles contracted as he explored more of her with his mouth, allowing himself small breaks here and there to catch a desperate breath, only to be returned to task by a not-so-gentle pull of her hand on his hair.

She looked down at him once more, huffing and puffing as he ate her, then closing her eyes as he found a sensitive spot.

"Fuuuuck!" she whined, then pressed down onto him, rubbing herself hard against his face.

"Eat that fucking cunt." she whispered, followed by what he thought was "I'm not your fucking dolly now." although it could have been something else.

He kept at it until she started to shiver, feeling extremely proud of himself as he brought her close to orgasm with what he thought was impressive speed. He kept going, knowing that she was close, that she was enjoying it, that she was loving it. It almost caught him by surprise therefore, when she suddenly broke off, lifting herself from him and sitting, quite roughly, on his chest.

"No.. " she panted "... no not that way."

Moving downwards where she hurriedly grabbed his manhood and placed its tip on her labia. Barely a second's hesitation and down she went, with a hint of an "Oof" as his shaft made its way into her. She was tight, tighter than he was used to, but her excitement had meant that he had managed to slip inside her quite easily, and was now deep within her, her body having slid all the way down until his cock had all but disappeared.

She didn't wait for him to react but started moving her hips, looking for pleasure, trying to find the right position, to put his erection right up against her spot. Falling onto him, her breasts pressing onto his chest, she wrapped her mouth around his lips, kissing and licking in an effort to taste herself on him. She was so tight that he could feel every twitch of her thigh muscles as she rode him selfishly, concerned only for her own pleasure.

Lifting her torso once again she arched backwards and began moving her hips back and forth rhythmically, making a wavy dance-like motion with the movement of her pelvis. He knew she wasn't really thinking about how he felt, but wasn't, unsurprisingly, at all fussed. On the contrary, the fact that he could feel every, tiny movement of her cervix was overwhelming him with pleasure, a pleasure that he needed to keep under constant control in order not to reach his own pleasure too quickly.

As he raised his eyes to look at her, he found her looking back down, as if she'd been waiting to catch his gaze. Her mouth slightly agape, she looked proud and pleased of how she had him, beneath her, between her thighs, inside her as she panted and moaned with wild delight.

"Call me a slut." she ordered

"What?!?" Again, he thought, Samuel L. Jackson would have shot him in the shoulder by now.

She pulled him up by the hair and kissed him.

"Call me a fucking slut." she panted "Call me your fucking slut... do it!"

He called her a slut and she immediately smacked him across the face, then kissed him again as she increased the cadence of her ride.

"I'm not so fucking cute now, am I?" she asked, smiling lustfully down at him.

He didn't mind her asserting herself like that. He liked it, even. Really, all he could think of was the feeling that her body gave him as she rode him, that pleasing, tingling feeling that rose from his perineum, all the way up his shaft and from his gut all the way to his brain. She was wild, she was beautiful, she was slightly crazy in a strangely irresistible way. He almost felt bad for thinking it but, really, she was quite cute too.

She began to move faster, more aggressively, as if a more beastly side was taking her over. He saw her expression change and immediately knew what was coming. He knew that feeling, the irrepressible feeling that comes when pleasure floods your brain and you have no more control over your actions. She didn't moan or talk much anymore, except in whispers full of curses and swears. Mostly, she panted with increasing intensity and communicated solely with the expression of her face, sometimes fixed in an image of desire, others showing an overload of pleasure, sometimes smirking evilly, others showing a hint of vulnerability as she neared the end of her senses.

She kept at it, doing her best to pull him up and into her, feeling the need to have him deeper inside, though pushing up hard with his hips as he was, he did not think that more could fit in her. At the peek of her intensity she started to lose rhythm, the curvaceous and smooth movements of her dance becoming wild and erratic with every passage, her breath becoming heavy and laboured, her eyes becoming desperate and possessed, her muscles twitching and trembling with the onset of oblivion until she burst into a sigh of relief and let out a single, husky moan from her mouth, her head tilting up for a second as she came to a sudden stop, her joints locking and her body remaining immobile, almost statue like, except for the heavy heaving of her chest.

She looked down at herself, her body finally relaxing, and noticed the pool of moisture gathered just above his shaft, like a small puddle below his stomach.

She immediately blushed, the redness of her cheeks heightened by the glistening sweat on her skin.

"I..." she panted "I get really wet when I cum."

For a moment he thought she was going to faint as she swayed dangerously from side to side, then she rolled off him in a controlled fall, his cock sliding out of her as she almost pirouetted onto the mattress beside him to lay with her back down, small breasts waving up and down with the effort of her breathing. She pulled her feet back, raised her knees and spread her silky, shining legs.

"Come on big boy." she mocked, ironically slapping him on the thigh and cheekily biting her lip "Your turn to ride."

He didn't need to be told twice and with a pounce he was on top of her. He felt like he would need to hold her legs with his hand but she had spread them wide by now, welcoming him in with an impressive stretch, only closing them slightly to teasingly place a tiny foot on his chest in a "I still got this" sort of gesture.

As he placed his glans against her labia, wet and shiny pink, she took a deep breath and he hesitated, knowing her small size and not wanting to hurt her.

"Hey." she said, calling him to attention.

Her face was a mixture of anticipation and excitement, though he thought he could detect a tiny hint of concern on it. She lay a hand on his cheek, caressing it with her thumb.

"I like it if it hurts a little." her voice was soft and strangely comforting "You can go hard."

He pushed down towards her and slid inside again finding no resistance as she stretched wide, only to wrap around him tight once she felt that he was in all the way. She lifted her legs up into the air, bending them at the knee so that her dainty feet hovered at his sides. The heavy panting soon resumed. She reached up to his neck and brought him down towards her, kissing him and wrapping her legs around him, pushing him towards her with all her strength.

"Harder" she panted "I want you to pound me...."

He complied and gave one or two hard strokes, lifting himself up to then hammer down as strongly as he could, using all of his weight to push himself in deeper than ever before. She closed her eyes and let out a squeal which made him stop, afraid of having pushed too hard.

She lay there for a second, catching her breath, then realising he'd stopped she opened her eyes and looked back up at him with a peeved expression.

"Why did you stop?" she demanded to know.

"I thought it was too hard." he replied, rather worried.

She held her hands against his cheeks, keeping his head pointer towards her own.

"Look at me." She waited for him to meet her gaze "Good. Now fuck me. Hard. And don't even think about stopping unless I specifically tell you to. Ok?"

She lifted herself up to peck him on the lips, then lay back down and placed her hands behind her head, grinning. She was clearly toying with him.

"I'm waiting..." she almost sang as he loomed over her.

She was about to tease him a little more when he pushed into her again. It wasn't a pounding stroke, nor hard, but it was deep, determined, the opening salvo of what was clearly going to be a heavy bombardment. She immediately smothered the words which were about to come out of her mouth and gasped for air as he pushed deep into her, his whole length stretching her vagina and almost feeling like it would go all the way to her womb.

He lifted her legs over his shoulders, leaning into her and making her raise her bottom from the mattress. She found herself staring at his face, her own feet lifted up behind it. He wedged her between himself and the bed and began moving upwards, sliding out until only his glans was inside her, before pushing back in with the strength of a piston.

It did hurt, just the way she wanted it to. The kind of pain that eases off and leaves you unexplainably looking for more. With every stroke, with every plunge, he pounded into her with seemingly more strength, the pause between one burst and the next becoming shorter and shorter as he gathered speed. She found herself unable to look away from his eyes as he rode her faster and faster, taking more of her breath away every single time.

She panted harder and faster, her body slowly relaxing as it gave in to his strength, which seemed to grow by the second, going from normal, to impressive, to what seemed to her to be almost superhuman.

Her legs slipped off of his shoulders and she found herself pointing her feet as far away from each other as she possibly could, desperate to give him another bit of space, to have just a little more of him inside her. She could hear herself grunting, uncontrollably, every time he pushed down. Her gaze kept finding his eyes, focused, confident, determined. She would never have admitted to it, but that look made her insides melt with unmatched desire.

She knew he was getting closer by the throbbing of him inside her and the ever growing moans coming from his mouth. Short, soft and animalistic. She let him stretch her, fold her as he pressed down on her until he could reach down and kiss her. She let him plunge his tongue in her mouth and tied her own tongue around it. She held him tight against herself to feel his wet skin over hers, she listened to his pelvis crash into her, the distinct sound of his body slapping against her wetness, she let herself be lost in the moment, in the emptiness, in the oh, so delightful pain of it.

"Don't..." she remembered just in time "Not inside me."

He pulled out at the very last second, his hand reaching to his throbbing manhood just as it began spraying warm semen onto her. In the suddenness of the moment, most of it ended up on her stomach, a little of it raining onto her breasts. She would have loved it, she thought, if some of it had gone onto her face, or into her mouth.

She waited for him to finish, to exhaust himself on his orgasm and to finally crumble at her side, depleted.

Without giving him a moment to recover she pounced, popping up to kneel beside him and kiss his stomach, which was moving up and down with every heavy breath. Working her way down towards his slowly softening cock, she lapped up droplets of stray semen along the way, revelling in the taste of them as they melted on her tongue.

Once at her destination, she took him in her mouth, ignoring his pleas to give him time to recover and enjoying the shivers and convulsions of his body as she wrapped his still hyper-sensitive penis with her lips, savouring the taste of his sweat, of his cum and of herself on his meat. Only after she had licked and sucked him clean did she relent, resting her head upon his stomach and listening to him breathe.

He lay speechless, thoughtless on the bed, letting her listen to the sounds of his body as it softened and relaxed beneath her. Exhausted, deprived of sleep, in the clutches of a pleasurable vertigo, he slowly let himself drift off to sleep, her warm hands still caressing his softening manhood as his eyes closed and reality faded away.