dress.
I’m beginning to suspect that there’s more to Mason than meets the eye, but for right now, I intend to enjoy every moment.
7. Winding of the Crank
Growling during sex is such a turn-on. It’s always been a trigger for me, the primal sound of a man’s lust. Guttural. Rising up from deep within him, especially when he releases. The way he inflates the moment beforehand, hardening to powerful rigidity, right before he throbs out of himself in pulsing waves. Launching himself inside me.
The growl lets me know he’s satisfied. It’s the perfect barometer for pleasure. First, it lets me know that he’s in touch with his baser nature. Second, that he’s pleased with his conquest. That I’m wanted. All of which is confirmed by how firm and unbending he becomes. I savor that moment, that animalistic sound, especially when he’s already serviced my pleasure. And Mason has most definitely done that.
Yet, until now, I’ve been mistaken. I thought I knew what it meant to hear a man growl. Those other men in my life? They seem more like purring kittens compared to what I’m hearing now. Mason’s growl is ragged and doesn’t stop. Kind of like an idling chainsaw, but growing louder the more aroused he becomes. It doesn’t sound human, or at least it’s not a growl a person should be able to make. Not without tearing their vocal cords.
That’s how Mason sounds right now, leaning over me from behind. His mouth is directly beside my ear, amplifying the volume as he takes ownership of me. I can’t see his face, but I can tell his teeth are clenched.
I reach back with one hand, still bracing myself against the glass shower door, and stroke his flank encouragingly. I grab the back of his leg and pull him into me a little further. Let him know that I want this. That he can drive even harder if he likes. Mason does, parting my lips with renewed vigor.
Most men would have faltered by now and softened, which is perfectly normal and even expected. Not this time. Mason is a different man. No. Man isn’t the right word anymore. He’s a rutting animal. He’s having his way with my body, bending me over like a woman. Keeping me in this position until he’s finished.
A hand reaches into my hair and clenches into a fist. Mason pulls my head back, causing me to gasp out loud, but that’s not all. I erupt again. My body clearly wants this, craves the domination, as the orgasm unexpectedly rips through me. Followed by, of course, the inevitable vision that comes with my release.
It’s more lucid this time, but not visual. In fact, it’s not really a vision per se. It’s more… tactile. Mason doesn’t feel like himself anymore. His muscles ripple in my hand. The hair on his leg stops being soft and becomes coarse. It even seems to grow beneath my hand, but that’s impossible. I can’t confirm it by looking. My eyes are clenched shut.
My release continues without stopping. If I had any difficulty taking Mason in his engorged state before, I don’t anymore. I’ve stretched around him as he keeps thrusting, slapping against the back of my legs.
The aftershocks of Mason’s release haven’t stopped either. I can feel him spurting out of himself inside me, making sure I get every last drop. I love him for staking his claim on me. Marking my body as his property and ruining me for anybody else.
Mason pulls me off the glass door and takes us both backward against the shower wall. He pulls my body against his chest, still inside of me from behind, and braces his feet against the bottom of the basin, lowering his height so I can stand naturally as he wraps his arms around me.
My orgasm has stilled, but not the rough feeling of his arms. It’s hard to see clearly with the shower water in my eyes, but his forearms seem darker than before. Hairier. No, I can see that I’m wrong. It’s gone a moment later, no doubt remnants of my orgasmic vision. Either that, or Mason is transforming before my eyes, which is
I’m beginning to suspect that there’s more to Mason than meets the eye, but for right now, I intend to enjoy every moment.
7. Winding of the Crank
Growling during sex is such a turn-on. It’s always been a trigger for me, the primal sound of a man’s lust. Guttural. Rising up from deep within him, especially when he releases. The way he inflates the moment beforehand, hardening to powerful rigidity, right before he throbs out of himself in pulsing waves. Launching himself inside me.
The growl lets me know he’s satisfied. It’s the perfect barometer for pleasure. First, it lets me know that he’s in touch with his baser nature. Second, that he’s pleased with his conquest. That I’m wanted. All of which is confirmed by how firm and unbending he becomes. I savor that moment, that animalistic sound, especially when he’s already serviced my pleasure. And Mason has most definitely done that.
Yet, until now, I’ve been mistaken. I thought I knew what it meant to hear a man growl. Those other men in my life? They seem more like purring kittens compared to what I’m hearing now. Mason’s growl is ragged and doesn’t stop. Kind of like an idling chainsaw, but growing louder the more aroused he becomes. It doesn’t sound human, or at least it’s not a growl a person should be able to make. Not without tearing their vocal cords.
That’s how Mason sounds right now, leaning over me from behind. His mouth is directly beside my ear, amplifying the volume as he takes ownership of me. I can’t see his face, but I can tell his teeth are clenched.
I reach back with one hand, still bracing myself against the glass shower door, and stroke his flank encouragingly. I grab the back of his leg and pull him into me a little further. Let him know that I want this. That he can drive even harder if he likes. Mason does, parting my lips with renewed vigor.
Most men would have faltered by now and softened, which is perfectly normal and even expected. Not this time. Mason is a different man. No. Man isn’t the right word anymore. He’s a rutting animal. He’s having his way with my body, bending me over like a woman. Keeping me in this position until he’s finished.
A hand reaches into my hair and clenches into a fist. Mason pulls my head back, causing me to gasp out loud, but that’s not all. I erupt again. My body clearly wants this, craves the domination, as the orgasm unexpectedly rips through me. Followed by, of course, the inevitable vision that comes with my release.
It’s more lucid this time, but not visual. In fact, it’s not really a vision per se. It’s more… tactile. Mason doesn’t feel like himself anymore. His muscles ripple in my hand. The hair on his leg stops being soft and becomes coarse. It even seems to grow beneath my hand, but that’s impossible. I can’t confirm it by looking. My eyes are clenched shut.
My release continues without stopping. If I had any difficulty taking Mason in his engorged state before, I don’t anymore. I’ve stretched around him as he keeps thrusting, slapping against the back of my legs.
The aftershocks of Mason’s release haven’t stopped either. I can feel him spurting out of himself inside me, making sure I get every last drop. I love him for staking his claim on me. Marking my body as his property and ruining me for anybody else.
Mason pulls me off the glass door and takes us both backward against the shower wall. He pulls my body against his chest, still inside of me from behind, and braces his feet against the bottom of the basin, lowering his height so I can stand naturally as he wraps his arms around me.
My orgasm has stilled, but not the rough feeling of his arms. It’s hard to see clearly with the shower water in my eyes, but his forearms seem darker than before. Hairier. No, I can see that I’m wrong. It’s gone a moment later, no doubt remnants of my orgasmic vision. Either that, or Mason is transforming before my eyes, which is
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