Chapter 2

Now after that first time, I was pretty much addicted. A slave to the sex, if you will, but not so much a "sex slave." I don't even believe I was familiar with the term. I mean I knew Sir was interested in the kinky stuff, and that we had a shared interest for a bit of pleasure for a bit of pain. I soon found out that it was not just the kinky sex he wanted. But more of that later, cause ironically enough, I never found any of this out during the actual act of sex.

We christened just about every surface of his house downstairs, with the exception of the kitchen. He showed real distaste for bringing food and sex together..."unsanitary" he kept saying or something like that. It didn't stop us from starting out in the kitchen though. We soon found a pattern, having a bit of a conversation that involved lots of touching, and a bit or rubbing that eventually led to me in front of the TV, by the patio door with him on the couch and that one word "strip" hanging lazily in the air.

The first few times I remember, I was uncomfortable with the situation. But I grew accustomed to it, our "routine" as it were, was flawless in its perfection. We'd start on the couch, laying on each other, licking on each other. We'd then move to him fingering me, one finger, two fingers, three was our max at that point in time. I said four hurt; he'd stop and keep it at three. Then back to the couch, where he'd lean back against the cushions and I'd sit between his legs, both of us very, very naked. With guidance I'd blow him, lick him, and suck him, running my tongue up and down his shaft, focusing on where the head met the body licking under the ridge then gently sucking on his tip. I paced myself fast, the slow sucking so hard and so much that my jaws would ache from all the suction, but all that was a small price to pay to see the look of satisfaction on his face. We'd then move back the middle of the floor (I'd like to point out that with the exception of the first time we had sex, just about every time after that during the summer we were downstairs in the living room) where I'd get on my arms and knees and spread em'.

His favorite position was doggy style, and god did he give it to me good. Long sure strokes in and out while he ran his very capable hands up and down my back. He'd slap my ass from time to time, and I'd whimper in pain and frustration. Pain because it did sting a bit, but frustration because I wanted more, felt I needed more, but didn't know how to articulate it to him and because some part of me thought it was wrong, thought he might think it was wrong. Ah, and let's not forget me bending over for him. Now sir is tall, or at least a good 4 inches taller than me. So I would stand on my tippy toes while he worked me from behind. I struggled to keep that balance, too keep standing even when my legs would buckle from the mini orgasms I was having, feeling so weak, so worked that I thought any minute I'd fall and bring down the both of us, but just when I thought I would give up, he'd grip me tighter and pull me up then whisper "down" where I'd drop to my knees providing me with the relief I needed to focus.

I could always tell when he was almost at his climax. He'd come down on me and hug me close while pounding furiously into me as fast as he could go. It was always so rough, so intense that I'd come in waves of heat with the inside of me contracting so hard I thought any moment I'd pass out from the overload of pleasure. But right when I'd reach that point it was done, I would feel him tense up rigid hard, then release and collapse on top of me, still gently working me causing immense pleasure on what I'm assuming was both our ends, while he whispered things to me and nuzzled the back of my neck and upper back. We'd stay like that for what seemed like hours, and then he'd slowly lift off of me and pull out of me.

I always felt a type of grief every time he pulled out ... like he was taking a piece of me with him, but I kept that to myself, for fear he might think I was creepy. Our time together always ended too soon I thought, but hey, when you have a mom coming home from work, and you don't want to give an explanation as to why there's a naked black chick laying on the floor in your family room it's time to pack up and head on home. He was always quite the gentlemen, walking me back down to the library and even providing me with reading material so that my little trip wasn't such a "lost cause." I'm not going to lie, Sir's book collection is better than any library I know, well, with the exception of my own. How could I not be in love with a guy like him? Awesome sex, a gentleman in every sense of the word, anything a girl could hope for, right? Hehe well, depending on the type of "girl."