by Nikki Sex
When he finally removed his boxers, I just about lost it.
I took one look at that big, beautiful cock of his, raised my hands in the air and shouted, “Hallelujah! There is a God!”
We’d both cracked up, bursting into uncontrollable laughter—which was the idea, of course. I hoped to lighten the mood and break the tension. I want Grant to form new associations. I need him to discover that sex is fun.
Tonight, we’ve mostly been laughing our asses off. This is a lighter side of Grant, an easygoing side when he’s not burdened by shame or crushed by the weight of his terrible past.
Unfortunately, it’s impossible to escape from one’s past.
Chapter 11.
“There is only one good, knowledge—and one evil, ignorance.”
― Socrates
~~~
Renata Koreman
Ignorant people thoughtlessly assert, “That was years ago, why don’t you just get over it?” That simple statement is easy to say, but so difficult to do.
Survivors would love to ‘get over’ their issues and move on—if they only knew how! Denial only goes so far. Recovery takes time, hard work and, more often than not, professional help.
There’s no magical cure. Most people don’t realize how deeply their past influences their present. Their personalities, responses to life, thought patterns and feelings are affected daily in so many ways.
Some think accepting therapy shows weakness. They couldn't be more wrong. It takes bravery and strength to open up to someone. Hell, sharing oneself means a person must face the trauma that hurt them so badly—not to mention personal fears, failures and shame.
Memories are fearsome demons more horrific than in any Stephen King novel or nightmare. Ugly, hard truths hurt like the devil. If a person isn't ready to face up to their past and themselves, counselling doesn’t work.
As the old joke goes: How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb?
One, but he must be ready to change.
As corny as this joke is, it’s true. In order to respond favorably to therapy, a person must make a real effort to change.
I’ve worked hard to overcome a lifetime of fear. I still work hard at it. Sometimes things happen, forcing me to see how far I have yet to go. I take anti-depressants to help manage my inexplicable low moods. Rejection kills me. At times, I stutter. I still have sudden panic attacks and I often feel stupid and undeserving.
At times, I feel as helpless as the child I once was. Fear, grief, depression and panic can trap me in an unexpected emotional ambush.
Words, a smell, a taste, maybe even an old song can transport me into the past. Within a heartbeat I return to a time and place that hurts. Such memories are sharp and sudden, like a kick to the gut—or maybe more like a knife, slashing open an old wound.
Abuse is a timeless memory that brands a person’s soul.
These hidden scars never go away. As André says, they must be addressed. Otherwise, just like cancer, the poison spreads and can destroy a person’s life.
André states people are unhappy because they’re afraid to tell their stories. This is certainly true for those of us who have been abused. When a bullied or molested person speaks up, they are often met with disbelief, denial, blame or disgust.
Sometimes they are simply ignored.
Grant blames himself for being a victim. When I look at him, I see glimpses of myself. He feels guilty and unworthy of love.
Why is it his fault?
Because it happened to him!
Yet, in this magical moment—in fact, all evening, Grant has felt none of these things. Usually, just the idea of intimacy freaks him out.
I hope to avoid triggering bad memories by instituting the ‘no touching’ rule. I won’t touch him and he won’t touch me—unless he’s absolutely certain it won’t disturb him.
Control was wrested from him far too often as a child. That’s why I’ve told him if he’s confident enough to touch, he can go ahead and do so.
This is his therapy, so all choices need to be his.
Even then, we’ve both agreed there will be no penile penetration tonight. That has always been his most dangerous trigger for humiliation and shame.
So far, this plan has been working. I’m thrilled because at this moment, he’s light-hearted and carefree. It's wonderful to see.
Grant never takes off his clothes during sex. Yet, right now, he’s naked in a well-lit room and still able to be himself in front of me. This is a significant milestone.
Knowing this fills my heart with a special kind of joy. I’m helping him face lifelong problems and it’s working.
Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, but I just can’t help myself.
Damn, I’m good!
Grant says he’s underweight compared to what he used to be, but I see no evidence of this. Physically, I think he’s perfect—smoking hot, in fact. He’s only about an inch taller than I am, but he’s probably twice my size in bulk.
His gorgeous body is all well-defined muscle, his strength and forceful personality make him seem huge. He’s such a powerful, masculine presence.
Deliberately, I slowly run my eyes over his tight, muscular frame in a seductive I-want-to-fuck-you-more–than-life-itself visual caress.
His eyebrows arch and his lips curve up in a slow, knowing smile. Grant’s intense gaze sizzles with erotic fire. It’s obvious he desperately wants to fuck me too.
My core tightens and my breath catches.
I crave him. I want to bite his broad shoulders and lick his washboard abs. I imagine running my fingers through his dark brown hair then gliding them along his neck and trailing them over his broad, bare chest.
This inability to touch him is torture.
I long to devour him, immersing myself in his masculine scent and taste. I want to lick every inch of him. I’d kiss and nibble each curve, valley, dip and ridge of his scorching hot flesh. I’d caress his massive biceps, lingering on his thick forearms, wrists and hands.
Grant has strong hands.
Manly hands.
Hands with long, thick fingers made to touch and pleasure a woman. They match his gorgeous hard-on.
I flip my card—I throw a four. With a smart-ass grin, sure of his win, Grant flips a three. Both of us laugh uproariously for no particular reason except that we both wrongly assumed I’d lose this round.
“Truth or dare,” I say.
“Truth,” he responds.
“How did you get those scars?”
I’ve wanted to ask him that question since I first met him. I haven’t, because I’ve been afraid to upset him. Yet, he’s so upbeat at the moment, I figure he can deal with anything I throw his way.
“I’ll never tell you that,” Grant says in a subdued, final tone that clearly signals the end of that discussion.
“Bummer,” I say, intentionally lighthearted. “OK. Well, then you’ll have to take a dare, and because you’ve already gotten out of one request—you can’t renege on this one.”
His eyes narrow as he looks at me suspiciously. “Fine.”
I lick my lips with anticipation. “I want to see you play with yourself while I imagine sucking you off.”
His erect dick jerks at my words and his whole body tightens. Rendered helpless by the gorgeous feast before me, I can’t help but stare at Grant’s red, swollen flesh. I shut my eyes for a moment, imagining it pulse as he climaxes.
I swallow and shake my head. “Fucking hell, I really need to watch that big cock of yours come.”
Grant’s body strains with sexual tension but he says nothing. Somehow, I manage to lift my gaze from his fascinating erection. Our eyes lock as a sizzle of sensual electricity flows between us.
Will he do it? It would be a big step, another first. He’s told me he’s inexperienced with women and has never had a relationship. He’s admitted he only agreed to see me because he knew he’d be paying for it.
Other than quick pecks, the man never kisses o
n the mouth. What will that be like, when he finally thoroughly kisses me? The kind of penetrating, sexy, tongue in the mouth kiss that makes a woman imagine being penetrated somewhere else?
His inexperience is such a turn-on.
Can he pleasure himself while I watch? He’s certainly horny enough—that throbbing shaft of his is dripping. My mouth waters from the mere thought of watching him stroke himself. Man, I wish I could taste him.
My breath quickens.
A few moments pass quietly while we stare at each other.
“I want to tell you my fantasies while you jerk off,” I say, with a suddenly dry mouth. “I need to know what that thick, hot cum of yours looks like and feels like when it sprays on my tits.”
I’m down to only wearing my light blue panties. Our sexy ‘Truth or Dare’ card game has created an entire evening of seductive foreplay. My swollen breasts are flushed and full—I ache to have his hands upon them. My erect nipples are bigger than they’ve ever been before. They look like erasers from the tips of oversized pencils.
Grant hasn’t moved but his eyes smolder with lust as he stares at the dark, moist stain on my panties—clear evidence of my arousal. He knows exactly how much I want him.
Will he take the dare?
His penetrating gaze cuts right through me as he shifts his buttocks forward to the edge of his chair, giving me a great view of his bobbing erection.
Lips firm, Grant’s expression still doesn’t show any obvious reaction.
Despite trying to remain focused on his face, my eyes are drawn back to his cock. Thick and heavy, it sticks straight up from a dark thatch of pubic hair. Its tip glistens invitingly, making my mouth water. Eager and reaching, it wants to be inside of me. It needs to plunder the dark, wet heat of my body.
My inner walls clench at the thought. That’s exactly what I want, too.
Our ragged breathing is the only sound in the room. He parts his legs, showing me his heavy balls. Fuck, he’s as hot as hell.
An absolute ocean of lust surrounds us both. I can smell his arousal, just as I’m sure he can smell mine.
“Watch me,” he says boldly, his voice a low growl.
Chapter 12.
“Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.”
— Marquis de Sade
~~~
Renata Koreman
Eager anticipation runs through me, jolting every nerve. I feel as if I’ve received a booster shot of adrenaline.
His smoky eyes are hard upon me. They slide over my face and body in slow, hungry appraisal, taking time to focus blatantly on my lips, my breasts and then between my legs.
Much to my joy and surprise, there’s nothing at all reserved about his bold, sensual stare. I’d assumed that he'd be insecure and would hold back because of his past. How wrong could I have been?
Grant, modest? Meek? Shy? No way!
Woo hoo!
This is an in-charge, alpha male sitting here before me, gloriously on full display.
His gaze locks with mine.
Riveted by his dominance, I tremble and can’t look away. With the palm of his right hand, he grips the base of his cock and begins to stroke the area slowly. With his other hand, he cups and fondles his balls.
Holy fuck! I think my heart just stopped. He’s so incredibly sexy!
I can’t help but squirm under his concentrated attention. My pulse spikes and my body begins to tingle. Blood rushes south between my legs, stirring countless nerve endings. A small sound, a whimper, escapes from the back of my throat as goosebumps rise across my sensitive skin.
At first, he takes long, lazy strokes, slowly and deliberately pumping his palm up and down the rigid length of his erection. From time to time, he adds a sensual twisting motion.
Fascinated, I swallow hard as I watch him pleasure himself. Could anything be more erotic than this?
The desire to taste him, wrapping my mouth and tongue around his big, gorgeous cock is overwhelming.
I lick my lips.
Eyes widening, Grant notices, which thrills me.
He fondles the rigid length of his erection, shifting closer, his beautiful shaft points toward my mouth. Is he teasing me with it? I bite back a moan and clench my thighs together in a fruitless attempt to ease the growing ache between them.
“You’re so mean!” I gasp.
“Am I?” he murmurs, raising a dark, mocking eyebrow.
The rat! Is that a satisfied glint of mischief I see there in his eyes? Playfully teasing and taunting, Grant’s a quick learner. In my opinion, sex is definitely the most fun you can have with someone you care for.
God, I love his hungry grey-blue eyes—eyes that are dark with desire.
What is he thinking behind that weighted stare? I wish I could get into his head. I want to know everything about him. So far, he’s surprised me at every turn.
Is he imagining his cock in my mouth or in my pussy? Does he have dark fantasies that he’s ashamed of, like burying himself balls deep into my ass? I seriously hope he's not fantasizing about the scary, kinky stuff André is into. Somehow, I doubt it, yet anything that gets Grant off will do it for me, as well.
Grant’s steady rhythm doesn’t change. Up and down. Up and down…
My gaze remains fixed on his raging hard-on as I follow his lazy, practiced movements.
His huge shaft has stiffened further, growing thicker and larger than it was before—and that’s saying something. His cock is a freakin' work of art. It’s engorged, primed and ready with the healthy male need to mate.
Seeing him so hot for me drives me wild.
Clear beads of pre-cum drip down his solid, veined shaft. Grant licks his palm, adds the moisture from his pre-cum and continues stroking himself until his cock glistens. His smoky gaze stays locked on mine as he rubs his hand over his length. His fingers slide to the head, squeezing lightly and then moving over the wide, rounded crown of his penis.
“Jesus,” I whisper softly.
He hasn’t even touched me yet, but I’ve never been so turned-on in my whole life.
God, I want this sexy, gorgeous man! I'm so hot for him that I fear my pussy's about to burst into flames. Maybe spontaneous human combustion really DOES exist. This is what causes it.
As he continues to stroke himself, his abs, stomach and hips flex and contract, flex and contract. The intensity of his breathing increases. I hear the air moving in and out of his lungs. Initially he breathed slow and deep, but he pants as he becomes more and more aroused.
So am I.
Originally, I'd planned to keep talking to him as he stroked himself—to tantalize him with sexual suggestions. This proves to be virtually impossible because my brain is stupefied by erotic sight and sensation.
Has all of my blood travelled south? It sure as hell feels like it. Heavy and swollen, my sex pulses with arousal. I feel as though my heart has moved between my legs too. My clit is pounding. I doubt that I have enough blood left circulating through my brain to enable me to form words, much less sentences.
Still, I decide to give it a shot.
With great effort, I say, "I bet you’ve got bucket-loads of cum for me in those big, heavy balls of yours.”
Grant arches a brow.
Breathless, l continue, “I can’t wait to see it, feel it and smell it. I swear I could climax just from watching you come.”
“When I’m good and ready, you’re gonna get your wish,” he replies darkly.
Talk about animal instinct! I honestly think I can hear the man growl. I shiver as the primal, sensual sound he makes skitters across my flesh.
My face heats with both a jolt of surprise and lust. Where does all of Grant’s sudden self-confidence come from?
I open my mouth to speak, but shut it again. I have no idea what to say. I’m dumbstruck—that’s the word.
I’ve been rendered speechless by his hot, alpha male domina
nce.
Apparently, there’s a sensual core of authority built inside of Grant. He’s a masterful, stubborn, hot-blooded man who knows his own mind. I admire that. Much to my surprise, I crave his control. It feeds my arousal.
As a people-pleaser with often shy, mouse-like tendencies, I’m jealous of this powerful facet of his personality. I doubt I could ever have the same type of cool authority that Grant displays. I’d love to have that kind of self-assurance. It adds even more to his appeal and his presence.
Confidence is so unbelievably sexy.
I’m seriously turned on by Grant, even more so now than when we first met. He drew me from the moment I first laid eyes on him.
I’m mesmerized by the carnal thrill of watching him work his big erection and the sounds of his now ragged breathing. He smells fantastic. Everything about him screams strong male animal, bursting with testosterone and lust.
Watching him masturbate is so far beyond hot.
Riveted, I sit here on the bed before him, enjoying the steamy, erotic display he puts on for me. I can't understand why I'm suddenly so short of oxygen. How can I be out of breath without being touched or even moving? It’s as though I’ve been running a marathon.
Desperate for a taste of him, I lick my dry lips.
I'm so turned on, I desperately need relief. I slide my hand down under the waistband of my panties to find my swollen clit. The first touch makes me groan. My pussy quivers as I begin to circle it and stroke myself. Tender and heavy, my breasts throb, aching to be touched. I reach up and squeeze them, temporarily easing my need.
“God, I want you,” I moan.
Despite his stony expression, I can tell how much my words affect him. Grant’s dick jumps in his hand. He continues working his cock, keeping that smooth, slick skin sliding up and down. He says nothing, but the rhythm of his movement increases.
Mouth parted, his chest heaves as he greedily sucks in air. From time to time, his body tightens as his muscles coil with building sexual tension.
My own body hums, vibrating shamelessly with anticipation and lust. Watching the primitive action of a male in rut is such a turn-on to me.