I looked at the big glossy black-and-white photo of him in the turtleneck and the tinted aviator glasses, smiling at the camera. And I shut it and put it back. I rested my elbow on the end of the desk and pressed my teeth on my knuckles and actually cut them with my teeth before I realized what I was doing, and stopped. Then I stood up and stripped off my clothes, getting impatient with them and almost tearing them, and just letting them fall on the floor. Naked, I went into the bedroom. I stood in front of him and looked at his face again, sliding my fingers around it and tilting it up from the rim of the white collar so that I could see it better in the light. I ran my thumbs over his lower lips, stroked his cheeks. He had silky skin, the kind of skin only men have, not soft like a woman's skin, but silky. The heady sense that I possessed him, could do anything to him, was overpowering, yet the feeling was not what it should have been! It was not, was not ...
I felt locked out of him and he was not the one locking me out. All of this was locking me out! I could have whipped him more, made him crawl. He would have done it. And I would have been locked out! He was still agitated, almost frantic. And my touching him made it worse. I reached back and undid the strap that was holding his arms and his hands. And before he could work himself free of it, unsnapped the collar and threw it aside. His body seemed to sigh all over as the straps fell to the floor, the tension knotting in his cock. Then his hands came to life. He went as if to rub his wrists, then he reached for the blindfold, his fingers dancing right in front of it without touching it, and then he reached out for me. I jumped. He caught me by the arms; wrapping his fingers all the way around them and bringing me forward. And then he realized I was naked, and he felt my sides and my breasts, giving a little startled noise. And before I could stop him, he had pulled me to him, forcing me against his chest. His cock was thumping against my sex, and he kissed me in that shocking way and I realized he had lifted me off my feet. I reached up and shoved the blindfold up and off his eyes and his eyes were like some sort of unearthly part of him, a spectacle of light and blue colour unlike anything else on his body, these two living reflecting orbs.
I am going crazy, I thought. I am truly out of my head. But I couldn't see anymore. He was kissing me again and we were going down on our knees, him pulling me, and it was so hot it was like losing consciousness, the lights going out around me, the walls dissolving. He stretched me out on the carpet and then he went in with a fast, thick scraping motion so that I couldn't find myself in it, hold it back. It blazed at once. I moaned into his mouth, then my breath stopped. I was rigid, the pleasure erupting in waves, one after another, until I almost screamed, certain that it couldn't go on or I really would die. He was driving against me, right against the core of me -- I could see the shaft of his cock against the blackness in my head -- and I felt that sudden little spurt of my fluids against him, that impossible opening up, the sensation positively raging, as he came, roaring right over it, stoking it and stoking it and driving it further, until I shattered, screaming No, No, No, and God and Shit and Damn and No, Stop and finally giving up, like something broken, smashed to pieces, unable to make a sound or move. After a long moment, I pushed at him a little, at his shoulder, his chest. I loved the crush of him against me, his head on my shoulder, the sun-cooked smell of his hair. I pushed him a little, loving the fact that I couldn't possibly move him. And then I lay perfectly still.
When I opened my eyes it was to see an almost formless shimmer of light. And gradually the bed, the lamps,