banana bread

We joked about my ability to handle a banana as one flew out of the mixer. I was making banana bread. He sat at the table. He was wearing the look that always made me nervous- like he was going to devour me:  it was inevitable.

Then we went upstairs. It was quiet. We didn't talk much. We spread the duvet on the floor. Sunlight streamed through the skylight.

I told him I felt imperfect in the bright light. He told me imperfections were real, and that I was beautiful.

We removed each other's clothes. Slowly, with deliberation.

His hair was tawny in the light. His cock, hard, big, and wet. Until him, I'd never encountered a guy whose cock wept with excitement. It was intoxicating.

He is bigger than me, by a lot. Long legged and tall. His hands, hard fingered and smooth, and large on my ass as he pulled me into his body.

He kissed me and I melted into him. And then he spread my legs, bending to take me with his mouth, his fingers. Looking up into my eyes to watch his effect. I let him see me- opened myself to his ministrations. His hands held my thighs, and sometimes my ass, scooping it like he was holding a melon. Eating me like I sustained him.

I came hard, in shuddering shaking waves.

He turned me over, onto my hands and knees, and began to fuck me. At first it was slow, again deliberate. Soon it was harder, faster, insistent. He owned our movements, and rode me fiercely. Once upon a time we both worried that he was too big for me. His cock hit the roof of my cunt, and filled me almost to overflowing. Now we knew that I held what he gave me, and he was no longer worried. Instead he was thorough.

I could feel him stiffening further, his balls smacking me as he drove us on.

He withdrew, coming hard on my back. Striping me with his wet streams, his weight falling down to cover me, cuddle me under his arms. We breathed in unison.