My eyes are glued to his hands as they slowly rub down against his cock, which is large and outlined against the grey fabric.
I gulp.
Lord have mercy on me.
He steps out of his jeans, and since he works barefoot, he’s already half-naked.
Then he pulls down his briefs, really making this into a show.
A show worth any cost of admission.
I’ve been taught that if you see a man’s penis, you should politely turn your head. No one wants you to stare.
But I can’t take my eyes off it.
And it’s obvious Claudio wants me to look. He’s proud … and for good reason.
His cock is large, thick, and vaguely threatening. Like, if I don’t treat it well, it’s capable of some very sweet, severe punishment, the kind that keeps you coming back for more.
Eventually I close my mouth and look up and into his eyes.
Of course he’s got the cockiest grin. A cock like his would do that to you.
I swallow, rubbing my lips together, my entire body tense and on edge, wondering what’s going to happen next.
“Turn around,” he says, his voice dropping, becoming rough. His smile fades. “Bend over the stool.”
I stare at him, mouth agape again.
He stares right back, sliding his fist over his cock, his eyes squinting in pleasure as he reaches the thick base.
I am in trouble.
Somehow, I manage to get to my feet and turn around, bending over the bench so my behind is to him.
“No, no,” he murmurs. “That won’t do. Pull up your dress. Let me see your ass.”
I reach back and start tugging up the hem of my dress until it’s gathered around my waist. I have to say, it’s a wee bit easier to be on display this way when I can’t see his expression.
That said, I can feel it. His eyes are practically burning my skin.
Silence hums between us.
Finally he clears his throat. “I’m beginning to think that perhaps this is what I should sculpt.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him, adjusting myself so that my boobs aren’t as squished against the seat of the stool. “Are you just going to stand there or what?”
So bold, Grace.
And yet I don’t care. I don’t feel like myself right now. In fact, I haven’t really felt like myself since I got here. It’s all been leading to this moment, the chance to really do something freeing. To do something for myself.
Getting fucked by Claudio might be the best self-care possible.
“I don’t like to be rushed,” he says, his voice sounding like silk as it cascades over me. “I like to take my time. I have wanted this, dreamed about this, got off to this, and I am in no hurry for it to be over.”
But then I hear him walk forward.
A grunt of appreciation.
He runs his hand over the smooth curves of my cheeks. “You have tan lines from being in the sun. I don’t know why this is so sexy. Like I am seeing something I’m not supposed to.”
He pauses.
Then…
WHACK.
I jerk up, my fingers gripping the edge of the stool as the sting from his slap shoots through me.
The bastard just spanked me!
“Did you like that?” he asks, running his hand gently over where he just slapped me. “Was it too much?”
There is so much rough desire brimming in his voice, but at the same time, I hear his concern. Like he’s actually worried.
“Wasn’t too much,” I manage to say, licking my lips. “Do it again.”
I practically hear him grin.
WHACK, WHACK!
Both cheeks get it and I let out a cry of pain and pleasure. The sting somehow makes me focus on him, on what’s happening, on the feeling, instead of wondering. It’s like it’s anchoring me to this moment.
Anchoring me to him.
After a few more hits, he leans down and places his mouth where my skin is burning, soothing it with his lips and tongue, making me melt into a puddle of want. I want him inside me so badly, I’m positively aching for him.
“So,” he muses, pulling back as I feel a hand move to my hip, encasing me in his large, warm palm.
I wonder where his other hand is going, and then I feel it between my legs, stroking me.
I gasp, unable to stop the sound.
“You are so wet,” he says. “I was worried that I wouldn’t fit, but perhaps I might now.” He slowly inserts his finger inside me, one, two, three.
“Fuck,” I cry out.
“Say it again.”
“Fuck.” I pause. “Fuck me.”
He chuckles, a wicked sound. “I never thought I would hear you say such words, with so much desire. Of course, all you ever had to do was ask.”
His fingers pull out and I tense up, just as I feel his grip tighten around my hip, and the hard press of his cock teasing my wetness.
Then he pushes in, achingly slow. I tense around him, unable to relax, trying to breathe through it. I think if he went any faster, I would be impaled.
“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice breaking. “It feels so good, musa.”
I make a strangled noise, trying to nod. I take in a sharp breath through my nose, forcing my muscles to relax. I feel like I’ve been revirginized, it’s been that long, and Claudio is a big boy to start with.
He pushes in to the hilt until I feel the soft press of his balls against me, and then he’s slowly pulling out. Achingly and teasingly slow. His breath is long and steady, but while I’m breathing to relax, to accommodate his girth, he’s most likely breathing to stay in control.
I like that he’s in control here. I like that I’m bent over this stool in his studio, surrounded by his art, and he’s taking me from behind like this. I don’t have to think, I can just be.
I can just enjoy him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs through a strained groan, then lets loose a few Italian words I don’t understand. I don’t need to understand them. Their dramatic cadence tells me it’s all about desire.
He starts pumping in a bit faster now, his grip holding strong. In and out, his hips press against me, and my mind wanders to how this must look from behind, the bronzed strong muscles of his ass flexing as he pounds me.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“Grace,” he says roughly, but he doesn’t say anything else.
We lapse into silence, the sound of his skin slapping against mine, the wet sound of his cock as the small thrusts get longer, harder. Delicious little grunts come from deep within him, turning me on even more, and then his hand slips under and finds my clit.
I moan loudly, and it seems to fill the room.
“You’re so perfect,” he says, his fingers stroking my clit in circles. “Your skin, your cunt. If you could see what I see, the way I move inside you…”
He picks up the pace, working me harder, his cock sliding against me with each pass, the pressure from his fingers increasing.
I won’t be able to hold on for much longer. The ache is building, starting in my belly and moving to my spine, and I’m opening wider and wider.
“I’m close,” I manage to say, not knowing if he needs a warning.
He just grunts again at that, going faster now, rougher.
Another whack as he spanks me, and it brings my mind around, and then his fingers go back to work. I feel like I’m the matchbook and he’s the match, and if he strikes me just right one more time…