Behind His Back (6 page)

“I’m going to fuck you, Faith,” he says. He leans in close to my ear. “But not just yet.” The subtle movement of his cock between my thighs nearly sends me over the edge.

Before I can beg him again, he drops to his knees and buries his face in me from behind, causing me to gasp. I’m freaked out at first because no man has ever eaten me out this way before—it’s certainly not something David would ever do. My explorations of porn have turned up plenty of instances of men licking women’s asses. But it didn’t seem like something I’d like, and I’m worried that’s what he’s about to do. But just when my mind is ruining the moment for me, I feel his tongue stroking my pussy and tasting my wetness in broad, lapping strokes, and my knees nearly buckle as waves of pleasure pulse throughout my body.

His tongue is already more than I can take, but he reaches a hand to my front and places his palm against my clit, and the sensation intensifies. He doesn’t do anything fancy—he just applies pressure as though he’s supporting my entire body in his hand. I think back to Jason, who would always try to insert a finger or two during foreplay as though it were hot—probably a “move” he picked up in a locker room or from
Maxim
magazine. I never had the heart to tell him it felt like I was being fucked with a tiny, sharp cock, and he never had the intuition to read the uncomfortable look on my face whenever he did it.

But this is different. Hunter knows exactly how to touch me, and it’s as though he has complete control of my body. Slowly, I begin to gyrate my hips and rub my clit against his palm, and he responds by moving his hand in tiny, slow circles that make me moan.

He keeps this pattern up, slowly and patiently guiding me to an edge that few men have helped me reach. Eventually, he homes in on his target, and I feel his palm switch to the pads of his wet fingers, which move gently in tight circles around my clit. The sensation is unbelievable, and I spread my hands against the coarse bricks of the wall and push my ass backward, giving his mouth full access to my sopping pussy.

Reading my rising pleasure, he speeds up his circling motions, and he pushes harder into me so that I’m caught between his mouth and his hand. My breathing quickens, and I feel a series of convulsions that wobble my knees. Then I let out a sustained, high-pitched yelp as I plunge into the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. The sensation is different this time—not just more pleasurable, but somehow deeper. It’s almost as though I lose consciousness for a few seconds, and as feeling returns, starting from my now hypersensitive clit and radiating outward to my extremities, I can tell from my wet thighs that for the first time in my life, a man made me squirt.

Since the switch flipped a year ago, I’ve learned how to get myself off. I know what kind of porn gets me going, I know how to touch myself, and I even have a few toys that I keep sandwiched between some of my fancy Fräulein undergarments. But sadly, I can count on one hand the number of times a man has made me cum. And each of those times, it was some cosmic accident that pushed me over the precipice. The stars aligned with the right positioning or vibrations or hormonal conditions, and I got off, but I never felt as though whoever was fucking me really had a hand in it.

But this time there’s no question. Hunter made me cum, and I’m certain I could cum again right now if he so much as commanded me to.

As I catch my breath and my moaning settles, he returns his stiff palm to my clit, applying pressure but not moving. He knows what he just did to me, and he knows that for the next few minutes any further stimulation will be too much to bear. I realize that I just came directly into his mouth, and I find it unexpectedly hot. I twist to look behind me, where he’s kneeling and devilishly smiling back up at me. Oh God, I’m dripping off of his chin and onto his tanned chest. Should I have warned him? But how could I? I didn’t even know I could do that.

I’m starting to worry that he’s grossed out, but he allays my fears by licking my juices off of his lips. He wipes his mouth with two fingers and then further soaks them by reaching through my spread legs and gently rubbing them against my pussy. Then he stands up, still behind me, and holds his fingers in front of my mouth. Without hesitation, I suck on them and savor the sweetness I just shared with him. The taste reminds me of the packets of strawberry Kool-Aid powder I’d mix with water and copious amounts of sugar during the innocent summers of my youth.

“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear, and I’m pulled back into the present, which is anything but innocent. His cock rubs against my ass, and I want him inside me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

“You’re good and wet for me now,” he says.

I try to respond, but all I can do is whimper.

Then his cock is gone, and I glance over to see him retrieving a golden foil packet from the front pocket of his crumpled jeans. He tears it in half as he returns, glaring like he’s about to do mean things to me with his heavy, hard cock, which is bouncing menacingly up and down with each step. He resumes his position behind me, and I hear him roll the condom along his shaft. Then his hands are on me again, tugging my hips toward him so that my head drops and nearly collides with the bricks. I reposition my hands against the wall for support, and I silently beg him to fuck me hard enough that I’ll need it.

He doesn’t ask me if I’m ready. He doesn’t even tell me what’s about to happen. I feel his cock slide against the wetness between my legs, and then he’s inside, filling me and fucking me slowly and strongly. I let out a gasp and then flex my firm, round ass as his pelvis presses into it. He takes one hand off of my hip to caress and knead it, bringing his thumb precariously and excitingly close to my asshole.

He picks up speed, our bodies colliding with ferocious intensity, and his hands move from my hips to my tits, which he gropes and fondles and spanks. I arch my back to raise them while still giving him my ass, and his hands move from my tits to my neck, gripping the loop of leather that’s still around it. He tightens his grip—not enough to choke me or make me feel like I’m in any danger, but enough to make me feel like he’s in utter control of my body as he fucks me. In response, I involuntarily cry out with each thunderous thrust.

I start to feel like I’m close to cumming again when he pulls out and flips me around so that I’m facing him. He guides me a few steps to my left, where the wall changes to a recessed enclosure above built-in drawers. Above the ledge is a massive painted mural of red flowers against the black background of the wall. He reaches around me and grabs my thighs beneath my ass, and he lifts me and sits me spread-legged on the ledge. The opposite wall is a floor-to-ceiling mirror, and I watch his muscular back as he positions me, pulling my ass toward him so that I’m sitting on the edge with my pussy fully accessible to his cock. He leans in to kiss me deeply, reminding me of my own sweet taste, and he reaches his right hand down to rub my wet pussy, which is now quivering for more of his cock.

Without removing his hand, he thrusts inside of me, and I lean back against the painted wall as he rubs my clit and fucks me with deep, quickening thrusts. My tits bounce with each collision of his body against mine, and I’m reminded of my early attempts at running on a treadmill before I had the proper attire. Never in my life have I been fucked so hard that I needed a sports bra. But the pain becomes part of the pleasure, and I cry out with each thrust so loudly that I start worrying what his neighbors might think.

As Hunter continues to pummel me with his cock and stroke me with his nimble, knowledgeable fingers, I feel a familiar sensation spreading outward from my clit. My lungs suck rapid, shallow gulps of air and my eyes roll upward, and Hunter dips slightly at his knees so that his cock presses against the front of my pussy with each thrust. It feels as though my clit is being stimulated from both sides, and it drives me wild. My legs become jelly, and I make a twisted face that I hope he can’t see. It’s the face of a roller-coaster rookie caught on camera at the most precipitous part of the track. I shut my eyes as I let loose and cum so intensely that I squeeze his cock right out of me.

Returning to my senses, I look down and see that I’ve gushed again, this time all over Hunter’s thighs. The wood beneath me is wet, and I’m trickling down the drawers and dripping onto the floor.

Hunter kisses me again, gripping my head with his soaked hands, and it hits me that he hasn’t finished yet. Good God, this isn’t over. I’m excited and horrified as I wait for the next onslaught of this strange, ferocious man and his perfect cock.

He kisses me and massages my tits as he waits for the feeling to return to my legs, and then he lifts me off of the wooden ledge and sets me on my bare feet. The floor beneath me is so wet that I worry I’ll slip, but he takes my hand and holds my leash and guides me deeper into his loft. It’s a little scary to think that I’ve just had the best fucking of my life, and I haven’t even seen his bed yet.

Beyond the entryway, his space opens up into the kind of rustic, luxurious loft that most people only experience on Pinterest. It’s precisely the kind of dwelling I’d expect a successful photographer to live in, especially since there are lighting rigs set up around a small stage with a white backdrop in one of the loft’s distant corners. All around me are giant old widows, and dim light floods in from the city’s street lamps and storefront signs and passing traffic. Between the windows are more ancient bricks and occasional swaths of reclaimed timber, which create spaces for photographs—presumably his—and other gorgeous works of art. An open-concept kitchen with shiny steel appliances and sleek mahogany cabinetry sits cordoned off by a dark granite island, and across from it is a living area with leather couches and plush chairs around a massive flatscreen. Between us and the enviably high ceiling are thick wooden beams with weathered patinas.

Right now, in my disheveled, aroused, fucked-senseless state, the beautiful surroundings are too much to process, and I’m thankful when Hunter tugs on my leash to rein in my focus. He guides me toward a sliding barn door—presumably the entrance to his bedroom—in the back corner of the loft. But as we pass the kitchen, he changes his mind. He leads me to the island, and he bends me over it, facing the fridge. Then he walks around me, still holding my leash, to open the fridge and retrieve a clear plastic container of watermelon cubes. I recognize the Whole Foods label as he peels it off and proceeds to feed me a pre-cut piece of melon between his thumb and forefinger. I take it, along with his fingers, into my mouth. I’ve had Whole Foods watermelon a hundred times, but it’s never tasted like this. It’s as though my mind is primed to experience pleasure.

Hunter takes a piece for himself and smiles at me as he bites into it. I watch the juices drip down his fingers, and I want him back in my mouth. I’m certain he’s going to fuck me against the smooth granite of the island, but he glances over at the window and then back at me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Oh God, what’s he planning?

He feeds me another succulent cube of watermelon and then guides me around the island and toward the window. I’m completely naked, so I’m hesitant to approach it, but he pulls sternly on the leash, leaving me no choice. The window’s sheer size doesn’t sink in until I’m up close—it starts just above my knees and rises well above our heads, and every part of me is exposed to the bustling night beyond the glass.

“You like the view?” he asks.

I nod my head yes.

“So do they,” he says. He looks down at the unaware pedestrians and smiles.

The view of the busy street below and the halo of the city’s skyline in the distance is lovely, but I’m more interested in what people can see of me. The lights are bright inside his loft, and even though the fourth floor is at the top of the building, it feels close enough to street level for passersby to see how hard my nipples are.

It should freak me out, but it doesn’t. As I look out over the street at the drunk college kids and lusty couples stumbling around, I’m surprised to discover that I don’t want to hide from them. I want them to see me. I want them to watch my tits bounce as this beautiful man fucks my brains out.

“Put your hands on the window,” he says.

I’m hesitant at first—it’s an old building and I don’t know how strong the glass is—but I trust him, and I place my palms against the aging steel muntins that divide the panes into small rectangles. Their dark green paint—likely the original coat—is peeling and flaking off.

From behind me, Hunter spreads my legs and then pulls my ass back toward him. I whimper when I feel his cock against me, and he expertly slides it into my still-dripping pussy while pulling my head back with his belt. There’s no warmup, no tender kissing, no warning. He grips my hips and fucks me with relentless, deep thrusts as my body bounces and bangs against the glass. I can’t help fearing that he’s going to fuck me right through the window.

In the building across the street, most of the windows are dark, the residents asleep and unable to hear me moan. Other windows flicker with the pale blue glow of television screens. They’re probably watching late-night infomercials. Or maybe porn. But any porn those insomniacs are watching can’t match the show they’re missing in the fourth-floor window of the Garment Factory.

I’m almost disappointed to see that no one’s watching us from across the street, but then I catch a glint of light from one of the dark apartments. A few seconds later I see it again. Twin glimmers, side by side. Could it be from a pair of glasses? I squint as Hunter thrusts himself into me.

Nope. Not glasses.
Binoculars
.

The thought of another strange man—someone even more unknown to me than the Australian photographer who’s currently fucking the consciousness out of me—watching me get fucked, maybe jerking off while he’s peeping, is dangerously hot.

With racing breath, I moan and cry out as Hunter pounds me, and he begins to moan too. His pace quickens, and he fucks me faster, forcing his thick cock deeper with each collision. For a third time—
a third time!
—I feel my legs begin to quake, and the thought of him releasing inside of me causes the radiating waves of pleasure to spread quickly throughout my body. Just as his pace slows to a series of deep, concentrated thrusts accompanied by low, bestial growls, I reach the edge. My wobbly knees give out completely as I cry out, and he holds me up by my hips as I fold helplessly against the glass.