Chapter 1: Pleasured at Dinner

Mason's eyes are the most dazzling green that I have ever glimpsed; green as the bottomless sea on a lukewarm and sunlit day; green as the leaves of a tree in an unbounded and never-ending forest. As I stare into his eyes, gradually and with deep infatuation, he strolls towards me, throwing his brief case—which he has brought with him from work—farther away. While he draws closer to me, I feel my breath weaken and die away from my reach. What is he going to do to me precisely?

The desire in his touch is too extreme to put up in words. He tweaks my hair, hauling me towards himself, and when he is gripping me by both sides of my waist, he gazes down into my eyes and breathes delicately, "I am starving for you, Emma, this very night."

I am Emma Jenkins. I wedded to this Incubus of a man known as Mason Cox. He is different from commonplace, fashionable human beings like me found out there. As a substitute, he is both paranormal and inborn to nature, having in his possession both human elements and features, as well as those of the ghostly or unearthly ones. The only thing that he feeds on is lust and sex, and thus it is my responsibility as his wife to satisfy this of him.

I set my hands on his behind—or buttocks. These buttocks may be his. But they are mine to embrace and stroke unreservedly; mine to love and rejoice in. I don't lay my hands on his stark-naked buttocks. He is clad in a pitch-black suit, and it is on the haunches of his slacks that I settle my hands on; we are both un-stirring here inside the well-lit dining room where we are taking our stand, gawping and gazing open-mouthed at each other. I think he should have his dinner now—or must not he?

"Don't we have to proceed to our bedroom, Mason? You can have your dinner there." I question in a relaxed and polite voice, trusting that he is going to pick up some bit of sensibility in my decent proposal. He doesn't, but instead nestles—or stands firm—on what he wants to get see agreed to and executed.

"We are not going anywhere, Emma. We shall have sex here in our dining." After he is done stating this to me, he snatches me by my throat and thrusts me down to the dinner table erect just four feet away from us. I can't breathe for a split second. But then I finally pull in air into my lungs as he slopes and tilts himself down towards me, snogging my lips inch by inch and progressively, grasping me more firmly and securely.

I swallow saliva down my throat. I can't accept that this is at last happening. Right here inside our dining room? Where I am meant to have my dinner in noiselessness and isolation from the public world? I love him; with all my heart and soul assuredly. And I am going to fully surrender and yield myself entirely to him. This is precisely what I am doing right now. The Incubus is all mine, for tonight at least.

His hands reach for the buttons of my blouse and starts to work them free. I feel this immense sexual-stirring emotion race and shoot its way speedily in my blood. I can notice my body itch and tickle from deep craving of him. I want to seize him to myself right this very moment, then kiss him like nobody's business and also make love to him furiously and energetically until there is no more strength and willpower left in me.

Once my breasts are stripped nude, and both my bra and blouse are tossed away by him neglectfully, as if I am not ever going to need them once again, I let him finger and graze my boobies as he feels like carrying out. He smiles gladly at me, pressing on to lay one hand into my skirt underneath so that he can touch my bare buttocks. The sensation of libido that is getting bigger and sprouting up inside me keeps on swelling and surging highly. I feel like I am at long last going to blow up from it. I cannot get to have power over myself anymore. I cannot!

"Mason," I murmur his name softly, moaning to myself silently as he winds me farther down against the table and in addition to this unfasten the zip of his fly so that he hurriedly yanks out his dick and furthermore wrench my panties down to stick his thing inside my vagina. This all feels so incredibly sugar and honey melded together. I like it. I feel like I am somewhere in heaven already.

In no time, he has begun to tap in and out of me, banging me gently at first, and strengthening up his pace and vigor as he carries on with the labor. I slant myself down on the table, checking myself from groaning out the more louder. He tugs my hair to himself and winds and snuffs it. I love that he is bearing this on himself. He consistently tells me that I have got the most sweetened smell in the entire world—and I believe him!

My hands rush their way to his behind and grips on to it firmly and doggedly. Why is that ladies' and guys' buttocks are the softest stuff on their bodies? I love bashing my hands on my own butts and also playing carelessly with my anus. I what's more love to play smoothly with Mason's fantastically made and fashioned ass. This is an obsession which I think has to have no any possible healing or remedy. Maybe I am mistaken. But I am just so insanely possessed and perpetually teased in a sexual way by eyeballing guys' butts. How come?

He braces me harder, wresting and pulling me sharply to himself. I am just peaceful and reserved in stillness. What have I got to say in any case? What certainly? I must let him take charge of the situation and do what he feels like executing. He pecks me swiftly on the lips and then switches his tongue up and down my neck. I am un-stirring and soundless, staying my eyes close and allowing tears to spew out lavishly, just like a faucet does with water.

Sex does not hurt or pain. It is one of the most beautiful and delectable things around which we come to experience in life. Then why am I weeping silently here—you may be wondering? It is just that I can't stand it anymore. I can't put up with too much of this sugar and sweetness. Enough is enough already! When I am getting aroused, I feel so starved and deprived of sex that by the minute that Mason is already knocking his dick inside me, I am genuinely weary and sick and tired with everything. Maybe I am suffering some form of sexual break down. I don't know really. What matters most is that I nourish him with his meal for now until his hungriness gets quenched and satisfied.

We are still inside the dining room; slumped and sprawled down on grassy green carpet that is fanned out and stretched all across the entire floor. I have got my bra and blouse flung away a bit far from where I am lying. Underneath there, I am just putting on a skirt and some pink-colored panties that are stained and dripping freely with Mason's cum. My breasts are nude-stripped and uncovered to the cold air breezing its way inside the room. It has been twenty minutes now since Mason and I began kissing and spanking each other.