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Her fingers work me so good as I find myself folding back into her arm. She is holding me relaxed in her left arm as her right hand works my body like a puppet.
She begins to fuck me now, finding the perfect rhythm effortlessly.
Willow seems to know exactly when to slow down, to draw me out, and when to quicken, to feed my ache. I’m shaking so hard, tightening around her fingers. I’m losing any control I’ve ever had.
I feel myself squirt around her fingers. Once. Twice. Three times.
I lose count.
Suddenly I feel more pushing inside of me. It is the rest of her hand.
It hurts for just a second as my body stretches open for her. Then her knuckles slide inside me and it feels suddenly very easy. I’ve just taken her whole hand inside me--and it feels easy.
I reach down and realize I can feel her wrist. Her whole hand is in me. She starts to move it slowly but surely, back and forth. I feel her knuckles against my G spot.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” she says and my eyes flicker open obediently.
Her eyes are flooded with the hunger she has for me and her pupils are wide with lust. She doesn’t take her gaze away from mine and I daren’t move mine from hers. We are locked together. In that moment, I never want us to be apart.
“I want to come for you,” I moan. I’m pleading.
“You can come for me, baby. Come with my whole hand inside you.”
“I want to belong to you,” I hear myself gasp between hurried breaths. I’m so close, but I’ve never come before without anything on my clitoris.
“You do. You are all mine,” Willow growls, fixing me with the intensity of her gaze. I know she means it.
And I explode.
My orgasm crashes through my body from the depths of my pussy to the tips of my fingers and toes. I feel it everywhere. I come, and I come, and I come some more.
I feel tears in my eyes. I’m crying as I feel my whole body curl up, still held by her, still with her hand deep inside me.
My mind is lost to her, making six a.m. my new favorite time of day.
I am an independent woman. I am very aware of my body and I exert control over it. I also use it to control others. I have done so for most of my adult life. And I have had great, amazing sex before. It’s not like I was finally discovering how good it could be.
But sex with Willow Rutherford isn’t within the normal realm of sex, either. Nor is it a BDSM power play of dominance. I don’t want or need to be physically restrained. The control Willow has over me is mental. It is in the way she edges my body. It is in the way she gives and pauses, teases and toys with me while filthy words drip from her lips like honey. I am a butterfly, addicted to her sweet, sweet nectar.
She is mommy-like in her sweet, gentle brand of dominance and care for me.
This has flipped a switch in me. It has helped my usually full head to feel empty and clear. I have a new lightness about me.
Willow would never need to tie me down. She could tell me to lie still and I wouldn’t move an inch.
Is it just a wild lustful affair? Honestly, right now I can’t tell, and I haven’t asked.
We both seem cautious of discussing the magic between us---as though by voicing it, we might accidentally burst the bubble of happiness we are in.
Willow and I have spent most of our time together naked in one way or another. And the second that sex isn’t in the air, the power dynamic between us shifts. I take control of the conversation, tease, and flirt. I’m confident and much more my usual self and Willow seems to settle into a softness that I’m not sure is her natural state but one still she feels comfortable in. I even saw her blush once or twice.
Many days blended into one. We have both sacrificed pretty much everything in our lives to spend time together. It is strange how quickly your life can entwine with another person’s, and in this case it is almost effortless.
Willow lives such a busy life that it makes me tired just to see her calendar. And I live a life of the night, rarely seeing the sunrise other than on a late walk home.
We live in different worlds, clearly. I haven’t asked about her family, but it is apparent that even though her job is well paid, there is another source of funding. Beyond that, there is a casual classiness to Willow that only seems to be there in the truly wealthy. She has an easy attitude toward money and spending, which seems to be the exclusive privilege of someone who has never had to worry about working or affording rent. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure someone like Willow has never rented anything. People like Willow buy things. Expensive things. Like her luxurious apartment and everything in it.
