Then ten. A cycle of you gagging on me and running your tongue over my balls as your finger plays with my arse. You can feel me start to tense and the... the hand pushing you down on me. You need air. I hold you there for another few seconds. Panicking but just about trusting. Another few seconds. You need my cum quickly. Pressing another finger against me and then you feel it. I force myself to stand and you manage to take a breath as my third load of the night spurts onto your face. Hitting. It was all to be decided on what was ‘right’ and ‘proper’, on what would give the ‘right impression’. She wondered outside into the grounds. Being winter is was already getting dark though dinner was yet some way off. Faith walked over to the stables. Riding was one of the only times she could feel free. Her father insisted she rode side saddle but when she was by herself or when Gabriel the groom was with her she rode properly. And this way she could gallop and really feel the wind through her. It sounded funny when he put it like that. It wasn’t exactly what I was intending. Or was it? Looking into those eyes, it seemed like a very good idea. ‘Well, I’m not a whore…’ I said, leaving the sentence dangling. He hurried to agree. ‘No, no! I’m sure you’re not,’ he said. He hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps we ought to discuss this inside.’ His apartment was luxuriously decorated, as I had assumed it would be. The only thing that surprised me was the large painting of a young girl. He missed this, the taste of her, the rivers and hills of her body underneath his too-anxious palms: the smell of her skin, her neck, her hair. He could hardly keep himself from shaking with anticipation. Every inch of her carried his favourite tastes and scents. He loved her eager responses in their small, intimate touches: mouth on his ear, breath on his neck, the way her chest hitched when he kissed just below her throat. At this rate they wouldn’t even be able to make the short distance to.
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