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Place your hands behind your head and don’t you dare move a muscle. I’m going to abuse your tits for my pleasure. That thought alone makes my cock harder. Do you still love knowing that you make me hard, whore?” Amber turned around to face me and placed her hands behind her head, she leaned back till her shoulders and head were on the mattress. “Yes,” was all she could manage to reply. I retrieved a riding crop from my dresser’s drawer. Amber followed my steps with her eyes as I approached her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath when she noticed the riding crop. “Nervous?” I grinned. Amber nodded and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. She was uncertain how she would react to pain. Her heart was pounding frightfully hard; her cunt was aching to be filled with my cock. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. “Good,” I coldly replied. I stood over her and dragged the popper of the crop across her spread cunt. The initial contact sent a rush through. He pulled a CD from his backpack and inserted the disc. Al Green’s voice began to fill the room. He lay back on a pillow, putting his hands behind his head and waited. The bawdy nature of his correspondence with his friend brought a smile to his face. The memory of the down right lusty phone conversations stirred him even more. He heard a card being inserted into the door, the clock read 3:20. ‘Well, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,’ was her wry opening line as she walked into the room. She tossed her coat and bags on the couch, kicked off her shoes and slid onto the bed. ‘No, wait,’ he said. He stood up and held his hands out for her. She knew what he was thinking and quickly folded herself in his waiting arms. They swayed together like they had so many years ago as Al Green pleaded for his special someone to please, ‘Call me…’ It was the awkward college box step where rhythm and aesthetics were secondary to the molding together of body parts. His left hand ran up and down.
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