[CyberStud]

I am captivated by the slight tilt of her head with eyes a hue of blue bright enough to pale the sky, luscious lips and a petite feminine body. She's coy, demure but I know what resides within. This gorgeous femme admires my height and weathered features, shock of brown hair and broad shoulders sturdy enough to brace her bucking rounds of passion. I tower over her but the fit is precise and as I lower my weight we are concise in the distinct nature of our roles. Under the full throw of my body she cannot reach beyond me, not my legs or my arms, she is contained, covered by my span. And to this she is responsive.

I hear her soft moans of longing as I begin to feel the pulse of desire. We push and glide and move and slide and I am straining to slow, against the heat and tempo of our passion. The power of our hunger rushes upon us as a pate of sweat begins to fall. Palms astride each side, she is picketed beneath me. I am up on arms, awed by her wildness and her beauty.

Rocking I nudge and press but don't quite enter, my movements met with a whimper for more. Every push draws the dampness of her arousal as we enter that cline where desire burns bright. My hands have curled a knot of sheets, my back rigid, hips tilted, legs driving with slow deliberate pressure, we are mated. As I enter she freezes in a breathless gasp, a sharp contrast to the moans uttered just prior. I stop, the full weight of my body pressed to her. This gripping, seizing wave of pleasure subsides and we resume the tempo of my charge as she matches my strength and ardor. Passion turned, burned into my loin in this throbbing tome of stone and fire. The pulsing rhythm of this tide drives my every thrust of hip and belly and with bridled fervor we find our stride. The hunger comes in waves carried by a gasp, a breath and the sighs of rapture sate me until my next thrust is imposed.

She is running unrestrained and bliss is no longer elusive. It shines for her taking. She moves intently and deliberately toward it and I know I must wait. I whisper this prelude and confess that I am close, so close, but brace against the weight of my longing. Those words open her, tumble her, send her racing and as I breach a final rhythmic draw and thrust, her back arches, breasts bared, arms flailing through air she's thrashing, stretching, reaching for balance she finds my arm she grasps and holds and folds the other around my neck. Dominated by hips and legs and arms and hand, her head and face braced against my shoulder, and with heaving breath she screams her pleasure. She cries and bucks and she moans and in a final breath of capture I drape the reins to her surrender. In the wildness of our passion I gather and hold this generous gift, my glowing spirited lover.

Our bodies, sweating and entwined amidst a tangle of sheets, dance a quiet rhythm of tethered rocking. I've made no exit, my ache still clear as I push away the urge of my hunger. I stop our play, encircled within her arms and under my weight a pause, a breath and then another. The whisper of rapture lurking, beckoning me from behind a dark corner. In this lapse, I gather from her mouth the heat and tenderness of this moment. Lush, sensual, arousing. I raise myself, buoyed upon a platform of breasts and hips and body, this femme on her back with arms outstretched holds my head with her hands, her open legs canted, feet firmly planted to leverage this place that I remain. A laugh of pleasure serves to measure the depth of ease we share but soon rises into the hot bare breath of something larger, igniting a bolt of strength and power. My chest heaving, my breathing deeper, her mouth again seeks mine. Sweet, wet, hungry.

With the quickening beat of pressure gone unanswered I contrast the very character that defines me. I blur the edge of control as she moves beneath my strokes with deep undulations. I am braced firmly in the V of her legs as she draws me back into play. With hands now slipped around my back, she pulls me deeper, legs wrapped to spur me to one last stand. I am stripped to the last modicum of restraint, mute in this symbiotic show of passion that is mutual, deep, intentional, held in reserve and deliberately served. With feeble shaking hands upon my chest her head thrown back, lips in full arc mouthing her silent delight, I find within her power a beauty and grace like none other. She spurs me, pulls me, grips me, lures me deeper, stroke by stroke. There is no retreat and in this quake of abandonment we explode to the synergy of Butch and Femme.